She Has a Big Heart

She has a big heart
But it belongs to someone else
She recites a sonnet
And rhymes his name in her head
She laughs and loves
And I know she’ll bring that smile home to his bed
It hurts
But it is truly perfect
Taste of blood
Static medicine
Breaking bodies
Like waves on a beach
Years pass like seconds
And in the blink of these eyes
We are one

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Energy Reborn Repeat

This life is wholy messy
Splinter veins and roots of a tree
Mother and child rip away
In our mortal hearts she’ll stay
Oh no
Oh yes
Pain and rememberance
Alright
We’re all left
Salt to the earth are we
This great gift of pain I see
It is so much more than me
Tissue tears and tissue meat
Energy reborn repeat
Oh no
Oh yes
Pain and rememberance
Alright
We’re all left
Salt to the earth are we

The Others

Magenta paints every wall
Every cloth
Every face
This is our tribe
They keep us alive
Pledge allegiance
Blind obedience
Loyalty
To anyone who looks like me
The enemy is every other
Disagree and you will see
Magenta teeth
Or just stoned for their beliefs
Shadows aim to steal our fire
Not left in the dark
When it spreads with a spark
But royalty
Says they aren’t like me
Magenta paints every wall
Every cloth
Every face
And crimson will paint every other when we deny the life inside
Special by birth or clean minds?
Scrubbing away all other residue with this cerebral vortex
And sharpened stones become a valuable technology

Cold Water on an Empty Stomach

My love
Come back to bed
The ashes will be there in the morning
In dreams together we are whatever we choose to be
But she cries milk
Eyes sore and red from refusing to blink
“What have we done?”
“What have we done?”
Whispers haunt my lonely dreams
And she cries milk
Sulphur twilight seeps in through the cracked curtain
Grey reflections in her dark pupils
From here, “fortunate” is a relative term
My eyes burn without her
But she cries milk
Acid rain
We sleep all day
Perfect pain
Eye to eye
She cries milk

Lord Cellu

I know this is a touchy issue for some. I mean no offense. But this would seem to hold the potential to work as a great insight as to where I go in my head a lot of the time. It’s a lot of fun in there…

Messenger: Lord Cellu, the humans love the new world you’ve created for them, but are horrified by your appearance.
Lord Cellu: Yes, it is good that they fear me. Better that than they learn the horrible truth of their past with “The Pimp”.
Messenger: Of course, Lord Cellu. The Pimp’s “pimples” were a horrible plague on the human race. And your gift of Noxzema gives them great comfort. Still, the last three humans to witness your true form suffered myocardial infarctions.
Lord Cellu: Perhaps I’ve made my appearance to them too disturbing. They must be desensitized to my appearance.
Messenger: But Lord Cellu, couldn’t you just change your…”
Lord Cellu: Enough! I will desensitize them by imprinting my image on women’s legs and bottoms. Women’s legs and bottoms are some of the most beautiful things on Earth. If they carry my image, then humans will love the way I look to them.
Messenger: But Lord Cellu, wouldn’t the site of you on women’s legs and bottoms kill anyone who looked at it.
Lord Cellu: You are right, Messenger. We will need to lessen the shock by imprinting a similar, less horrifying image, a sort of “Cellu light”.

What Makes Me Happy

Warm coffee on a cold day
Standing in the summer rain
A smile on my nephew’s face
The knowledge that these things are gifts
The memory of my father’s abuse
The exes that reach through time to correct me
The pain that comes from being alive
The knowledge that these things are gifts
Skin and blood and bone and meat
Perfectly flawed
I am perfectly me
And while nothing could ever make me smile
I find inspiration to Be happy in these things

Dream 10.30.18

School setting. Maybe 30 of us in this room. We sit at desks. Our heads protrude from sheet-covered bodies. I reach out my hand and, through her sheet, wrap my finger around her’s. She squeezes tightly. Quickly, excitedly, we both search for the edge of her sheet, aching for skin to touch skin. We find the edge and our fingers interlock. Now we are laying. The bow of her neck rests on my wrist, our fingers still interlocked, now on the other side of her head as she faces me. I awake and feel her jerked away from me. The memory fades. Where ambiguity worked in my dream, I begin trying to fill in the holes. What color was her hair? And that face, where did it go? I suppose I treated myself this morning. I know I want this, although I don’t know where to find it. Then again, had we slept? Were we going to sleep? The thought that I must return to my sleep, to that state that had me angry with everyone and everything, that perspective of division, in order to see eye to eye with someone on this level. Still, I like to envision that our classmates, the world, may sleep as we skip nap-time. How could we be bored or lonely when we have each other?

Another Person’s Perspective

A friend/co-worker recently took it upon him/herself to correct my perspective of a certain medical miracle. I’m using vague laguage here in an attempt to not call him/her out directly. I cannot say for certain he/she was the one who was misinformed, but I am fairly confident in my understanding of the issue. Instead of arguing with him/her or attempting to correct him/her, I let him/her find joy in the fact that he/she could correct me, even as I have reason to believe he/she was misinformed. Another person’s perspective cannot define mine. I was confident enough in myown perception of the issue that I could let him/her continue to hold his/her perspective unopposed. Imagine if we could do this on a grander scale. You are a Christian and you are a Muslim and you are an Atheist. And the fact that we see the world differently doesn’t have to inspire us to fight. Perhaps it is a lack of confidence in our own perspectives that inspires fighting. I suppose, if we were truly secure in our own beliefs, it wouldn’t matter what others thought of them.

Trading Water for Poison

And the Aliusterans line up to trade water for poison. And they drink it until it has numbed the pain that living in Aliustera causes. They don’t think to remove the causes of the pain. Life in Aliustera is painful. This is just how it is. They wouldn’t know where to begin. Those few Aliusterans who don’t drink the poison are veiwed as somehow deficient: “Does he have a poison problem?… Why doesn’t he drink the poison?” And drinking the poison may be enjoyable for a time. It helps Aliusterans to temporarily forget their pain. It pacifies, sometimes until the next morning. Like a tourniquet, the poison holds back the pain for some time. Then, as though releasing it all at once, the pain floods the individual’s perception of the world. The Aliusteran’s body rejects the poison, often spewing it with anything that had been consumed during a window surrounding the imbibement of the poison. But it is means to release. The act is means to a sort of temporary vacation during which Aliusterans may feel entitled to act without regard for their responsibilities. The poison works as a scapegoat: “It wasn’t me. It was the poison.” This is the true draw of drinking poison, the social permission to act irresponsibly. This is the real trade for Aliusteran’s water and even the sickness that follows.