Cracking Creaking No More

Cracking creaking and suffering more, I see no reason, no reason at all as to why I hurt ever more.

The cracking and creaking and ever leaking form suffers and suffers ever more, though the pain shows not on my fading form.

It’s locked inside with these screams of mine as this cracking and creaking mind of mine breaks and shatters more and more, like a hammer to glass my soul falls apart and I hear it cracking and creaking and shattering more.

I wrap my arms around my self, to hold myself together, and simply scream in silent pleas “No more, no more.”

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Tipping, Tapping, Don’t be Caught Napping

Tipping, tapping, tipping, tapping, don’t be the one that is caught napping.

They’ll snatch you up and eat your soul. Slough off your flesh and devour you whole.

Then you’ll awake and wipe a sweat drenched brow and think to your self just a dream nothing more, nothing less, just idle thoughts tipping, tapping at my minds door nothing more, nothing less.

Tell me my friend, how does that comfort sit when you pull your hand back and see the blood on your clenched fist?

How does it rest with a throat torn raw from the screams of hell,  that idea that whilst you were napping it was only just nightmares  tipping, tapping, at your minds door?

I’ll say it again and I’ll speak no more, I’ll not be the one napping as they tip and tap upon my door. It’s never just a dream, or at least that’s my fear.

Because quite truly friend, while it is a dream, and it might be less.

There is a chance, a slim belief, that those tipping and tapping at your mind’s open door, might indeed be something, not less.

But quite dreadfully more.

Distant Star

And there upon the evening star sat upon those lips ever far, a smile.

Despite the distance that smile did make that evening star so bright, and yet upon the dawn that star did dim.That smile so far, so distant and however bright, did mourn the unimpeachable grasp of time, that length of space between revealed within the sun’s cruel light.

My friend so cared for that evening star, ever watching from upon the far, far off shores of home, I offered friendship, comfort to both, for that distance, that length between his dear evening star and the shores of home.

The tyranny of that space between, the grasp upon their love, it never did cause their love to wax or wane despite the weight upon their hearts.

It made me wonder, it made me wish, if ever I were to find an evening star of my own; would I give my all despite the distance, between that far off smile, and these distant shores of home?

I’m Sorry I Sorrow So

Tired of sorrow so I’m sorry I sorrow so, I never meant to worry you, climbing so high I never thought to fall at all.

I’m tired of sorrow so I’ll say one last time I’m sorry I worried you so and now its morning and your mourning for a friend that climbed too high and never thought to think of that fall at all.

Someone who needed to be above the clouds just to feel safe to breath, the press of bodies the swell of souls was to much to bare, to know.

So I climbed higher still and never thought to fall never thought to slip or tumble, or worry towards that at all.

So I’m tired of sorrow, I’m tired of mourning but I’m sorry I brought you to it. The last apology, the sorrow of a sorrowful poet, my tears have dried and my years have gone, and gone without any kind of love or hope, just mourning every morning, and sorrows every night, I couldn’t rest I couldn’t stop so I reached and reached towards those glorious heights but I never meant for you to hurt for my hurt, my inability to stand the press of people and the swell of souls, and that dreadful wound that was the only emotion I was ever to know.

For The Smile of My Muse

I’m just a dreamer, living the lie, I know its not right but god damn it I deserve it, it’s my time.

They call it pointless, they say I’ll never make it through, I’ll show em all, every one that calls it a dream, I’ll show them I’ll make it real, make it true.

It’s not just a dream, its a calling, an art, not just words on a page its a matter of soul, sharing of hearts.

I’m not just a dreamer living the lie, I know its right, god damn it, I’ll get what I deserve, I’ll make it my time.

I don’t want lights in the skies, or praises for my name, I don’t want riches, or simple material gain. I want my muse to be proud, to hear that smile in her voice, I want her to say to me, when it’s all done and gone.

I’m glad it was you, you were the right one, the perfect choice. You weren’t just a dreamer, it was never a lie, and it was right..

I knew it was your time.

Doubt

I can’t think for all the silence yet can’t talk for all the shouting, this constant echo ends with only myself that is doubting. Rounding the corners of the mortal coil it doubts my own existence, unable to shake the apathy it breeds with a rather cursed persistence.
It scratches it gouges it wounds my very mind, causing the coils of thought and sanity to become disturbed, unwind. I feel myself unmade, i see myself undone, and I have to wonder in the first place, when this even begun. When did I exist? Was it ever real? The doubt inside spirals away, disbelief shadows everything, all that I see and feel.

Don’t Call it Survival

Don’t call it survival

That’s not what I aim for, that’s not for what I wish

I want a revival, I want something more, I want the lights and the bells and all the whistles, I want the glitter, and the glisten and I want all of you to lend your ears to listen.

Don’t call it survival, that’s not what I aim for, it’s not for what I wish

Survival is empty, a thing of meeting needs, never wants, and it never ends and never gets better, it only gets worse. There is no dreams, no lights, no bells but the funeral bell that tolls, at the end that is forever and always foretold and known.

No, what I want is not survival, I want a life, a meaning, something more then an endless meeting of needs, of simply surviving, never truly doing, not striving.

Don’t call it survival, it’s not all that we should aim for, aim higher, and see the light, don’t call it survival.

It’s so much more than that, so don’t call it survival, don’t aim so low, remember your dreams, those stories you told that you would one day be, and look around, look at your now, and ask yourself, did I ever live? Did I try to strive to thrive?

Or did I simply try to survive?