I am a Black Star

I was born the day you died,
thirty one years ago—
I was reborn when you died,
yesterday mourning.
It all started eighteen months ago:
our slow death.

I Bow to you, master smith of universes,
Mighty Goblin Disco King.
You pass the torch on to the world
waiting for the next Black Star to shine,
we are many, a legion of your children
all awoken by the changes in your persona
arranged movements of your beauty
all spoken, sung, made into discourse
of falling walls, bullies pushing,
drugged out evenings, dancing china queens.

I breathe, because I once saw the light which took you,
it said that it would be hard
it said it would be difficult
yet I know it was love which spoke to me,
it was love you went towards,
it is where we all go,
Us, Black Stars.

Contrary to popular opinion I want to LIVE!

When your life is a roller coaster
you've got no choice
other than to take that ride
enjoy your time in the light
shadows and spikes
like a neon forest
climbing up the side
its glow engulfs you just
as you fall down so hard
as you fall down so far
that the only thing you've got
is that breath
coming quickly in and out
you're so in love with it
you're so in love with it
with yourself, and that is okay
because we all want to live
we all need a break

On a rainy day, court is in business.

There in the court

with the massive Queen

which sits in the middle of the great hall

just spitting out words to the masses, orders

Our lovely maiden–anticipates
swords unsheathed all in a row, stiff

a queue of would be gentlemen await her

across the entrance of the great hall.

While their hands tightly grasp their swords

their lips whispering of her great deeds,

it rains as the Queen loudly drowns away

a soothing sound of water coming down.

If it doesn't rain, the land withers.

If it doesn't rain, the crops die.

If it doesn't rain, there is no dinner.

If it doesn't rain, babies starve.

So she saves the world

enchanting crowds with red lips

floats across the open court

on her nimbus cloud.

Lunar Pirate

Eviceral

That moment when you feel something cold and distant in your bones, when the pit of your stomach falls to depths unknown, and all you can do is watch processions of emotions crawling their way down your throat.


Eviceral.

On depression

So the thing about depression is that you can never really leave it behind. No matter what you are doing there it is, no matter how hard you pretend there is always something hiding behind eyes that once ached to see the world which turns them towards the dark and only want to sleep. In fear of sounding like some over sensitive idiot I tend to stop writing mid sentence, but that's only because of a series of social stigmas implanted by schooling and television, ex's, people who often drift through your life, which dictate that expressing emotion is wrong and shouldn't be done. Well, sometimes we stop caring enough to actually put something down on paper, or a digital format to be viewed by others. Maybe to help, maybe to vent, or it could just be to help the ego.

It just hides back there, in the darkest little parts of the mind. Any moment and every moment you spend on your own is a moment it gets to reach out further into your soul(?) and pulls it apart. So far, 28 years have passed through me and each and every year since I recognized this, it keeps happening. Sometimes the happiness lasts enough to let me see some sort of opening ahead, but just then the depression comes back and drags me back into the bush, away from reason and the ability to contain one self. As of recent one thing had kept me going, and it was as selfish as it could be. Being selfish after all, is but a lingering string that lets us find the way out, or sometimes even deeper into the woods. It really does often feel as if there is nothing one can do, that this is an end of sorts.

Covering up the wounds has become second nature, smile at the passing professors, the fellow students. Every once in a while you run into others who are pretending just like you. Something calls you to them, there is an inherent need to be near them but... it's never going to go into fruition, damaged goods and damaged goods probably shouldn't be together. Then again, in the pit everything seems like a bad idea, even the best of things that could help one move forward in life. There is nothing like depression to bring you to a dead stop, literally.

Drugs. Never had any experience with anti-depressants except for one bout where a doctor prescribed some wellbutrin to help with the cigarettes. They didn't do very well, still smoked. Ended up dropping the meds, it just didn't feel right. Alcohol has always been a friend, although sometimes it seems like the kind of friend that is willing to stab you in the back at any moment, a real cunt. Cocaine and other "hard drugs" are just that, hard. It's like getting fucked in the ass by a large prison inmate. Feels great at the moment, you enjoy yourself and even cum a little, but afterwards you feel dirty, used, and like your ass is going to explode. It's a real fucking trip. Marijuana is the only thing that has helped to keep it leveled. It lets some happiness in, reminds you that it's alright. Too bad it's as illegal as it is around here, nothing like having the government tell you that you have to get their sanctioned anti-depressants which might kill you instead of smoking a plant which grows from the ground. And people wonder why I'm so fucking depressed.

I was about to write some great paragraph about how people can be there and help you but, it's all a fucking joke. People only make it worse, you start to depend on some cunt of a friend and next thing you know they are just another notch on the post of souls to be avoided. Real fucking hypocrites whose only need for you is to justify their existence, be it with words or my dick. There is nothing like fucking a corpse, someone you know is already dead or dying in the great scheme of your life. Good-bye, it was nice knowing you, don't mind the load I've left in your "tunnel of love." There is something wrong with me, and all I know is that I'm the only one who can deal with it. I'll stick to my drugs, to my loneliness, to a sort of conventional mind fuck trip, a trivial yet ergonomic existence with the way in which the world has treated me. A real fuck you to the stars and to the heavens. There is nothing holding me back, so I feel like I can do anything, even if it's writing about my sadness, depression, about the small moments that add up to nothing, about the love felt and ignored. Because no one is going to read this and thing "gee, he had a point." They'll only think "what a sap, glad he never made it."

Peaches

Her black hair flows over her shoulders
like the weights of time weigh upon mine.
Except her's is beautiful,
while mine is just a reminder.

A reminder of a clock counting down,
but who is to say that death itself is not beautiful
that the act of disappearing is not joyous,
only to be left in the memories of the few.

Coming up my throat I feel a snake crawling
inching it's way past my esophagus
cutting off access to lungs
and all of this is just one instant.

She waves a salute of goodbye,
never knowing when that bright smile
kind eyes and soft voice
will inundate the soft recesses of my mind

where pleasure is stored
and create a chemical reaction some have come
to call love, making me addicted to you.
I wonder how long this withdrawal will take.

How long my veins will ache
and my head will pound screaming
"more... more... more..."
with rivers flowing from those orbs

which knew and gladly accepted
the glow of your being
the curves of your body
the taste of your words.

Time stops when I'm around you
and death takes a step back.

Q

Thom York sings
through speakers.

Melancholy leaves stains
only wisdom helps to clean.

Oceans are abysmal and dark
as is the id of humanity.

Kurt Cobain liked heroin
he even fell in love with one.

Only time erodes the facade
which people use to sustain normalcy.

Chaos is a symphony.

Dancer

Dry mouth
chapped lips
fingers twitching to the beat
of base and drum
electronic arpeggios
inundate thoughts

Imagine her in her skirt
dancing to the beat
hips accentuating motion
as her body follows closely
like an enchanter
seer of visions
hair over her face
sweat pouring down her back
bare feet

The dust of the evening
seldom settles

Wishing on Dandelions

Dandelions are made for wishing
one thought followed by
a soft whispered kiss
from tender lips
into the wilderness of the world
and within that beautiful chaos
a white ball of seeds explodes
into a thousand pieces
each carried by the wind
hoping to find that heart
to set root in
and grow.

for now the warmth of the ethreal kiss
tender and joyous
keeps the hearth warm
during the nights they still haven't found
one another
at least  now they know
they are not alone.