i don't know what tell you, dear reader. the Old Burn is bubbling away. it all happens so fast, doesn't it? i'm at work and i can barely breathe. fist of a vice gripping my torso. like i've had a limb cut off. one that used to grow out of my chest. phantom pains and phantoms haunting. i don't know what to do. rush the stage or feign indifference? but the cost...could i sacrifice my world for my desires? could you? i tried once to let go, and thought that i had. but oh, dear reader, it wasn't me holding it, you see. no not at all. The Big Reversal in yet another guise guiding me to the doors of The Great Indifference. you can choose to enter, dear reader, or take the black tunnel where the exit point yeilds triumph or greatest failure. if you don't know about feigning The Great Indifference or what it is, i'm afraid i can do nothing for you. you either know it already or you're lucky so just hold tight and thank your ingnorance.
thick soup. black flag. greylit he entered.
hope by a string like a barb in a sting.
so unsure of it all.
oh, what a thing, as if it's reluctant.
down. out. everywhere inside.
inescapable grace in a deadly art unknown.
insufferable crust of holding on to it.
lost his way around a pair words.
i could've sworn he mentioned it earlier.
he used to pick the apples there. the motorcycle crash. there's still a piece of glass in his leg.
who could say how he'd disarm it?
the state of the art. he drinks it in.
i must be some kind of fucking lunatic.
alas...





BREATHE

Overcome
drowned suffocated surrounded.
Shaken violently
like from a drunken raging
father who screams
"Goddammit Joe where the hell's
my bottle 'o Johnny Walker Joe!?!
Where's that goddam bottle
you little fuckin' whelp you?!?
I know you drank it Joe!
Joe. Please Joe.
Help your old man out here Joe.
Goddammit where's that
fuckin' bottle Joe!?!"
Forced to bare witness to
an onslaught like that
like right now when
thoughts are stampeding, rampaging
overpowering.
Help me out.
Totally shocked into idle vulnerability.
Self-induced terrorism but
I sure never asked for this.
Screaming for stability,
yearning bleeding
totally satisfied with this happiness.
The happiness of
this grief, this anguish.
Confused like a pup in the wild
stepping onto snow for the very first time
and plunging down into a leghold trap.
Isn't that just like life.
Confusion over the raw truth.
Of loving to hate
and hating to give
and giving to be sane.
Satisfactory malcontent.
Helpless to brutal emotional lashings.
Beaten into delerium
and nursed back
to do it all over again.
Annointed by myself after
I've ripped me apart.
Dissected for the fun of it
and not even bothering to examine
at what's laid out on the table.
Sado-masochistic victim
being blindfolded and plugged into emotions
pure with no pictures.
Hunted down for sport.
How utterly terrifying to be
afraid of something indefineable
that spurns words or even concepts.
Pure feeling irrationally alive
manifest beyond fear itself.
Threatening to engulf you into
the incomprehensible void.
The oblivion of never feeling just one thing.
Such mesmerizing agony to feel them all at once
reducing me to wait out the storm.
Drip drip drip afterwards reminding
fading taunting tormenting
warning of it's destructive potential.
Breathe deep.
Inhale like you woke from a bad dream
only it's not any dream.
Just absorb the sensation and
don't think too hard oh no, never I tell you.
Emerging from a war
a battle, a duel, a deathmatch
with none of your friends anywhere
in the crowd of combatants.
Too stunned to even wonder
how you're still standing in the silence.
Covered in blood not yours
well maybe a little.
Don't ever wonder why
just stand still for a minute
and register that such a thing could happen.
Did happen.
Breathe.
Breathe.
You're still standing.
Breathe.