Hope of a fish

The flightless wavering body pulsed froward and slowed in an undying rhythm. It examined every observable space of the circular fused glass barrier; searching for an escape. It's one eye is void of life, exactly as it's fallen one.

Perhaps it truly believes that all the world could be seen through half of sight. Perhaps it's unattached eye was still open when plucked out, only now looking forever down so that half his perspective remains unchanged. Perhaps his pale sallow skin swallowed the eye whole, sucking it inward to derive him of half the joy he could have glimpsed.

Sight equals survival.

He is hollow - halfway gone.

A mirror is presented to his face, where he views his corrupt condition. Vibrant scales turned putrid and moldy. Playful wings turned numb hollow fins. Gagged by his wretchedness, he monotonously circles, glimpsing upwards, towards the window, where his free eye wishes to be.

Reverie

Sew strong wings into my shoulder blades.

The needle's pain would be well worth it
To rise at the eagle's pace
And to allow whipping wind - my bones to lace.

Break the windows! Let me out!
Every muscle pulses in prolonged desire
To escape the ones who feed to devour
And to free my cluttered ears from their roars and shouts.

I need shelter from angry hands,
And warmth to clothe my crawling skin.
You fancied, perhaps, Valor's chance,
Victory's satisfaction and Freedom's breath.

There's nothing here left to reminisce,
Instead an expected end to attain.
Soar with my out of this gnawing abyss
My strong owl and loyal friend.

Untitled: For lack of a better idea

Q. "Why don't you talk?"
A. "Because I have nothing worth saying."

God knows the world needs not another talking head. My ideas are not mother or virgin or even daughter. My ideas are whores and daughters of whores. Taken from thoughts that were once genius, but were used until invaluable. I actually wonder if there is anything left to discover in the world. Anything left to say that has not been said already.

You're eating yourself. Don't ask me to join.

AGAIN AGAIN
I CAN FEEL IT!

Your silence is too much proof.
I wish I didn't know you like myself
I wish I could ignore the tug of wires on flesh!

NO NO!
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

You've had too much,
But never enough!
Your full of the same shit that's killing you!

PUTRID FLESH
AND WHITEWASHED BONES!

And you're full of it
And while you throw it up on your shoes,
You're picking it up to regurgitate.

Nomad

Confined spaces where the mind is cramped
From being unallowed to unrobe and stretch.
I'm restless but weary,
Relentless and fading,
My fingernails still grasping the edge.

I rehearse preconceived limitations
Fencing in every surface on earth.
And cannot join company
With any singularity
Perchance my dispassion becomes evident.

So I'll drive
Cursing red lights.
I just want to be anywhere but here.
Perhaps misery does love company,
But sadness fancies solitary.

Embracing Robotics

Your eyes don't flicker.
They are like marbles in cripted diamond,
Or coarse sand that ne're witnessed rain.
My God, what has he done to you?
You look like a shock-treatment patient,
Or a mental house victim.
The wires are disconnected from the outlet.
As you sit and stare. Static.
Your mind sailing upstream
In search of what you used to be.
But you absorb life - while lost.
Lost in the aftermath.

Better safe than sorry (It always applies)

There are two lovers
In my life. One is named Safe
And one named Sorry.

Leave well enough alone (Eaten by the shading)

As I was walking,
I fell into a shadow-
Like my barren mind.

raven's eye

windchimes glisten.
but the wind cannot rip reality - black fingernails - from the cuticles of tree fingers.
your breath is sad.
like humanity.
as you deeply expel the filth that you have no say but to swallow -
like cigarette smoke.
did one who lives in the icebox ground
once plea to habitate their current dwelling
before their time?
would they be sorrowful to see us...
wondering to be in their company.
two ghost.
we prefer community of the peaceful dead.
rather than those who contribute to clique.

Mind numbed.
It's been pulsed down with a grinding tool.
Unable to speak after the fact.
What has become of us?
I thought you were my savior.
Now the damsel is her own rescue.
You're just like all the others. The ones I differed from.
Proud and full of mass produced bubbles.
Your ears are sucked inside themselves.
Your anger is reverberating off my words.
"I" am beautiful, but I don't mean a thing to you.
Refrain from using that slang.
I can't bear to think how it suffocated me into my willful chimera.
Either punch my eyes or turn away.
You've turned me into something strange.
Something that is estranged from you.
I love the raven,
But you are not a raven.
Because I'm not dead yet.