Internal Cues of Approaching Storms

Fluctuations of mentality quiver the flesh.  Subtle tremors illuminate the core to its fundamental foundation.

An inward shift beckons, and from within we summon forth a siren’s song, one that will both infatuate and mesmerize all those parties indecently exposed to the inner workings of an assembly line that has yet to produce all that which it had previously promised.

Before a fever strikes, the initial beads of sweat begin their perspiration.  Prior to a sweeping illness, we take for granted what we have and how we utilize the blessings we’ve been bestowed.  But the sickness keys us into just how fortunate we truly are.  It contrasts daily life with a portrait of contrast that at first fills us completely with an embalming sense of fear.  Here, something as primitive as breath itself becomes a luxury, something that we swear to, something that we promise, if we are able to land on both feet, that we will never take such graces for granted again.

An itch upon the chin gives away the inner platitude of the

Sickness creeping, one that we swore in vain, an oath betrayed, a tapestry marred, by bitter triggers, sirens, smoking rings and gesticulations.  Here then, the twitches and tingeing tautness is overwrought yet well defined.

5th and 43rd

Exsanguination in the darkest of alleyways, where only a flickering sputter of light permeates the afterthoughts of rats and those who've long since distanced themselves from the at-large biddings of incorporated vampires and conglomerated succubi.

The temptation to scream is ever prevalent.  Yet inactivity has rendered you mute.  Dissociation has severed your linguistic abilities clean and deep. You sit in the corners and alcoves.  You've done it for so long you remember no other way, you are invisible to the passers by and even when noticed, there isn't much left of who you once were. It's hard to fathom that this is the same person we all once knew so well. And to see you here, in such a state, I have to wonder what could've gone so terribly wrong to pen your conclusion in such a way.


and I can't help but think,
that penicillin is everywhere.

Found dead on 5th and 43rd.  A situation that easily should've been avoided.


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An Unhealthy Strain

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I got the x-ray vision of a thermostat

Heat boiling over what temperature lacks

A wisdom laced with a mercurial flash

Flash-flood warnings and Frozen floes,

gushing fast it’s flush of sin

soaking swiftly, this pool I’m in

I got the fever with the chills, ague

Where clammy skin and frozen eyes

Never knowing how long or what’s to find

Coughing, breathing, wheezing-pain

Disrupting, stirring, accruing-vibrations

from lungs to cage, ever wondering what’s been done

I got the ringing, in my ears

signals steady before they clear

chiming harshly before the disappear

Vision blurs sights unseen

Tear-stains mar the rouge of cheek

Never gaining the answers this sickness seeks

Vein Puncture Theory

Leech to me

bloodletting

allowance for

this punctured cure

From pressure built

I crush within

         and here you stand

         with solution

Anticoagulation

in ephemeral state

waiting for alleviation,

questioning fate

The arterial walls condense

and the cells repent

away from me

listlessly lying

anemically

Cured, yet still

a clotted mess,

obscured

but reticent

of every

sin

until

the pressure

builds again

66

Heightened sensation of precognition
drew lapsing thoroughfare of cognition
into frantic disembowelment of faction.

Cryogenic remains of what once stirred
the elemental bliss--container not dry,
yet frozen for the present tense.

Sleight of spine, tinged in tears, bludgeoned
self-confidence and castrated the anointed--

words. ever-true. Turned against in desperation.
Panicked, at the thought
of hurting you.  Yet hurt was then beckoned
not to one but unto two.

Oceans filled the decanter of dreams
spilled dry…into wounds, opened-healed-
re-agitated by the salt distilled upon.

A sovereign voice
never thought of his own people
only worried- about what pain was paved  ahead
/closing the kingdoms door
/refilling the moat
too deadly to cross
/inflicting drought and plague
amongst those intent on protecting.

Sorrow filled the kingdom
from throne room down.

Boss of Guardians beheaded.

Perhaps…
The rain will clear
to the point where the antidote can be properly administrated

Perhaps…
Those wronged under the premise of intended deeds of noble airs, will return to the kingdom…

One day…perhaps.
One day…filled with hope (and a cure for spine).
One day..I pray.

Sick

To excretion

And sweat

I’ve no choice

But to deflect,

All and any inquiries

Into the matter of

health.

To rattling cages made of rib

And all the gelatinous masses

Vacationing in, I must accept

Any and all, lack of

Comfort experienced through,

Confined in this condition, relegated

To such positions of internal anarchy

As to the removal of

Such insurgents,

A healing process works its way,

One I find to be, entirely cruel

When it comes to the rehabilitation

Of the self inside

 

Anti-Bacterial

Wash-less

Unscented

Lather.  Bounce

Naturally

Carry-on

Side-pocket

Available unconditionally

During drought or shower

Caressing skin, comforting

Warm rivers flow about

Immersing flesh

Exiling sin

Any place, any time, (minute, second or hour)

Long after the valve’s done dripped

Last beads trickling down

Swirling remnants of me

Circling the drain

Bye. Bye.

Former self.

Paranoid vines estrangle Breath Away (Deliving Into Madness Chapter One)

Zombie like I wandered for hours,

into locales I’d long forgotten,

Despite the close proximity to my abode,

I watch these people,

What they drive, what sort of dress they wear,

How they interact with others, when the violence starts?

And have come to the conclusion,

If you close your mind to the answer,

The question will not appear,

Trying to roll the dice a bit this night,

I’ve got myself into a dabbling I don’t deny,

However, the terms are what the terms were back before,

They cannot simply change because someone decides so,

So I stay away from my bed,

I let the pantry rot with moldy bread and rotten fruit,

I leave the lights on, in case, actually I do not know,

But they are on, and the doors are locked,

Yet I know so well,

These aren’t the sort, who takes no very well,

I fully anticipate, five minutes into message checking,

The whole place to blow, and then for real, I’ll have nowhere else to go