In Sleep

Jun. 27th, 2015 04:00 pm
offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
There are lawns here, beneath the sheets.
And endless summers too.
They flicker and roam like the moment when you awake fresh from a dream.
Experiences and images are cultivated and blended together in a comforting sense of bliss.
Sleep: It breathes and pushes life inside of you, a private conception.
A solo acquisition.

This is the paradise, the place where the thorns will not grow.
The sun will taste you with her warm tongue but your skin shall not blister.
The air is sweet here and filled with birdsong and twilight.
'Bring me back.' I say over and over again as my head lays lightly on the pillow.
'Bring me back.' I continue to chant like a private prayer.
It becomes nothing more than a whisper and finally a sigh and then I return.
offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
I'm disappearing and they never warned me that it would be so difficult to remove red wine stains from the rug. A scar upon it's surface.
I'm disappearing and they don't tell you what decay smells like until you have experienced it for yourself. Skin blackened and ready to burst from the lightest of touches but you just can't bring yourself to lay your fingers upon the rancid looking flesh.
I'm disappearing and I've forgotten what it feels like to not have to worry about the undefinable future. To see through it's deceitful veil and know not of what it brings nor be affected by it's endless outcomes.

I'm disappearing and I know that they look upon me with fear in their eyes. Maybe it's not fear, maybe it's something rooted a little bit deeper. Of contempt. They do not wish to allow that sort of torture unsheathe inside of them. To feel it's pin prick as it begins to unravel and systematically shut down each of their functioning body parts. It's not your problem, it's someone else's but therein lies the problem. Not a singular person to surrender and suck the venom from the bite.
I'm disappearing but I guess you knew that already.

Inertia

Mar. 16th, 2014 06:30 pm
offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
Despite the lack of commitment in the true sense of the word,
I have resolved to finding the mundane my ultimate past-time.
Reeling in the weight-gaining materialism of the 'bucket-culture'.
Here I am, exhuming the bitter parts that we had long since forgotten,
wishing for a cremation, a ceremony, a send-off.
They still linger beneath these fickle layers of skin.
Haunting me. Persuading me. Consuming me.
What happened to that exuberance of committing to worthiness?
To celebrating the flow of the juice of the soul.
Sky-rocketing like sex, the pleasure-tingling experiences tasted on a spoon.
They have been laid to rest and the rot smells putrid.
Hush, hush these swirling desires.
There is so much more to be gained from abstinence,
Says the devil perched to my right.
This schizophrenic torture remains a burden and I am lost in the flutter of possibilities.
For longing to live again, vexes me.
The sacrifices are too steep.
First steps are always the most difficult.
offwiththeirdollheads: (Default)
Calling on illusions.
They are the diamonds and the heartbeats and the basic nourishment that flows through the guts.
Calling on superficiality; the bitter dilution of the blood, the leash of the soul and the distorted perspective of a reality that is meandering down the sink-hole.
Dance in the mouth of the monster.
Whisper your prayers to the plastic idols and the angels and the mother.
This is the garden where we break our bones and throw them down the wishing well.
To give up our spines to make our wishes come true.
Nothing is achieved from nothing and everything is achieved from nothing.

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January 2016

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