Sleep is deliberate and shallow.
I awaken only to find that my dreams and nightmares reflect my reality.
Unsafe and strange.
I’m in love with the darker side of life, the only thing I’ve ever known.
I’m out of the ordinary, nothing at all like you.
The gates of Hell will open up for me.

© Copyright June 2011


Your final thoughts, your final words.
Oh how I wish I knew them.
Instead they were tragically playing out in your mind,
like a vibrant montage of your grounded memories.
Just behind your empty blue eyes they race, faster than a hellbent bullet train.
I will never know them, never possess the knowledge to understand.
I’m not even sure if that’s really what your eye color was, nothing about your flesh and bone existence seems real anymore.
From your Metallica and AC/DC, to your perfect school image,
everything is a fictional charade.
Pieces and parts colliding together to form something human and breathing.
Did you feel any pain as you strung yourself up, waiting for your feet to touch the ground,
fully aware that you never will?
Was it painless or did you run into complications?
Not the swiftest of exists sometimes, I could only imagine.
You chose a noose, while others might have branded a gun or glass.
I written about you once and cried over you twice, a clever understatement I hope you know.
I have no pity for you, only sadness and collected fits of rage.
There was help somewhere out there, you went by other means.
I only hope one day we can walk where the stills and screenshots of our lives are in slow motion.
Relive those moments and make our own destiny.
For you are not in any concept of Heaven nor that of Hell, there is no such place.
You’re alive forevermore in the hearts that still beat strong.

© Copyright June  2011


Collapse in and out of the dredges that you so righteously explore.
Experience all feelings, all nerves falter, leaving a numbing aftershock of solitude and regret.
The broken piece of glass is your one and only vice, never managing to break the skin no matter how hard you try.
Scratches that will scab and heal over time, but they’re nothing compared to the horrors you witness in your nightmares.
Nightmares that inflict loneliness and an ever-lasting gloom into your reality, when will the lines blur?
Fools might say that you turn to those shards of glass as a well-thought out cry for attention, some kind of bullshit trend.
You mutilate and scar not for the recognition and gossip of your peers, but because it’s the only thing that’s real anymore.
Pain took the place of any genuine feeling, any conscious thought.
Your scars eventually heal,
leaving no evidence that they were ever there.
You know better.
They will forever be etched in the fictional blackboard of your brain,
burned deeper and deeper.
Accept what cannot change, rise above the ashes of your own wreckage.

© Copyright June 2011


Grayish-white smoke flows freely into the desperately dark night sky.
The perfect time to spill my heart,
my guts already exposed themselves neatly on stone.
Still fresh and warm, blood marking where it will forever stain.
I inhale the silent beauty that could be the literal end of me, filling my lungs with the sweetness of mint and forbidden sin.
We’ll be sinners to the end, you and I.
I proceed to take another hit and slowly exhale, watching the phantom climb somewhere above, only to disappear.
This night will end with a weak confession and an even weaker body.

© Copyright June 2011


Push the needle into the blue vessel that just so happens to be my vein.
Devil knows I have none left, the rest imploded inside themselves long ago.
Just a single second of pain, sharp yet numbing.
Rushing through my hollow muscle, the bittersweet sting of the saline drip.
Prime for the cutting, all shame and sin above and below knows I’m good and ready for it.
Fish the paper-thin needle through the bottom of my spine, my tourniquet relieving the pain of the inevitable incision.
My mind becomes fuzzy, swirling in a tidal wave of sudden laughter and euphoria.
I mutter one last meaningless piece of imagery before my head hits the pillow.
My six and a half hour slumber frees me from the horror going on inside.
Removed are the wretched guts that once plagued me with its sadistic tugging, binding my intestines ever so tightly to a devious rollercoaster.
Attached back together are my guts that still have some meaning, fixed is the horrid scar that once graced the blank space above my belly button.
I awake, thick drowsiness still enveloping me, incision swelling and smoldering.
My anchor to a painless salvation is shining bright green, a single movement connects with the needle still expertly executed in my spine.
Warmth of the greatest kind circulates throughout my being, the ravaged meat inside wrapped in an amber embrace.
For how long?
I’ll find out when this painkiller fades to nothing, bringing back the still fresh agony.
My newly recognized stitches turn me into a monster with temporary means, my recovery turns me into a ghost.

© Copyright June 2011

A Wish Before Dying

The ocean breeze muddles with the silent thoughts of the father,
doubting and pious.
We waste away ever so slowly, walking beyond the fabric of time.
Clocks stop abruptly and we become the monsters they’ve always feared.
The fairy tales of rainbows, lollipop kisses and gumdrop dreams are nothing.
What is this world made of?
Cast out are thoughts of such foolish things, replaced by the filth and disgust I’ve only seen in my dreams.
The fear of drowning, the blackened liquid filling my lungs
to the point of catastrophic explosion.
This fear, I trust, is what keeps me hanging onto the thread I still have left.
This substance will be my downfall, my second greatest effort at a peaceful descension.
Bury me alive and blow away my swollen ashes into the sea, stars forevermore across the edging dawn.

© Copyright June 2011