In the Middle

In my imagination there are two crowds. One is shouting out to me to follow them, be with them, and deliver their voice. The other sits quietly, knowing that my heart is already with them, allowing me the opportunity to compromise what I believe in order to grace the hypocrites. They do not beckon, but watch as I struggle to let go of the arms that hold me, so tightly, desperately demanding my compliance. They wait, knowing that my decision has already been made and until the other crowd quiets, which it never will, or my heart cannot bear to carry the weight of appeasement any longer, I will continue to heed the cry of the crowd that screams for my membership.

Denial

Kiss that rotting flesh.
Stroke that hollow cheek.
Taste the disintegrating life
You refuse to bury.

Locked in this mausoleum
Refusing to live
For fear of death.

Lie still in your rotting flesh.
Poke a hole in your hollow cheek.
Save your disintegrating life
And do not wake the dead.

As I crawl out of this mausoleum
Determined to live
For fear of death.

Blue Eyes

Thick walls of steel or something stronger.
Pressing into emptiness.
Nothing to keep from collapsing on her.
Sinking from the wet surface

Deeper, Heavier,
Darker, Farther.

Close your eyes,
Go to sleep,
My baby blue eyes.

Close your eyes,
Go to sleep,
My baby blue eyes.

Rough hands of splinters and heavy boards.
Gripping my shoulders and breath.
Float down with salty tears dry and bloated.
Calling my music from stench.

Expanded, Unmounted,
Rejected, Disgusted.

Close your eyes,
Go to sleep,
My baby blue eyes.