poem

A poem: Heavenly aspirations

I want to purify my body and soul
to reach my version of
blasphemous heaven.
I want to summon the stillness
of the dormant light within
to exorcise all feelings
provoking inner conflicts.
To become an empty vessel
for a moment,
penetrated by light
no longer dormant,
now shining so bright.
Such cravings are born out of
a darkness
with the power to enslave
any spirit
and yet, I am its conqueror
I have tamed it and moulded it
into something beautiful,
fulfilling, ever-growing, and hopefully,
ever-lasting.
Once you taste this version of
inner freedom, untainted,
it’s the only nurturing addiction,
the most welcome overindulgence,
the most heavenly sin.

A poem: Evocation

There was nothing left
except her orange blossom scent
in the air,
her skin cells
on the conspiring blanket,
the energy he was feeding off
and her seraphic aspirations,
elegantly penned
in a forlorn diary
before her concept
of the world expanded into
postmodern depths and
her self-concept became
a liberating fluidity
of thoughts and impulses.
She’d been through a lot of
symbolic suicides before
deciding to resort to
serial homicide.
She loved herself, yet
with every touch
there was a numbness-
perhaps in her multiple deaths
she was seeking
life,
perhaps in her metaphorical murders
she was seeking an escape from
pseudo-life.

Various poems

Catatonic state

I feel your ashes
like quicksand
I’m sucked into
so I’m standing still
trying to enjoy the view.

 

Your faith

I never confessed this but
your faith helped keep me
anchored in myself
whenever the currents started
hitting from all sides.
I just wanted to thank you
for still existing in my mind.

 

Extensions

Extensions of me
are ramifying under
your skin.
Does it hurt when
I unravel your bloody
nightmares?

 

Discrepancy

As you weed them out,
slowly, the space between
you and the other you-
both mental concepts-
will become smaller
and smaller
until they merge into one
at which point you will look
around, filled with life,
no longer tainted, you will
open your eyes and see
the discrepancy is abolished
but so is everyone else.

A poem: A smile among ruins

All dead things are
resurrected
by the phantom smile-
you conjure it
when the world collapses:
that lovely,
foreign yet familiar
equivocal smile
your mind translates into
life and pure hope
stays engraved in your memory;
through mirroring,
you borrow it
and unknowingly pass it on
to someone else-
that is the sweet beauty
of connection.
–

Alternative ending:
that is the bittersweet beauty
of apparent connection.

A poem: Face to face

Face to face:
eyes locked,
staring into each other;
seeing your reflection
in the dark lake of her iris.
Hand on hand,
praying together-
not like those bible verses preach-
no, praying to the abyss,
hoping it won’t swallow you whole;
understanding at first the irony
and then the futility
of your act.
The abyss has wet black lips,
kissing you to compensate
for chewing pieces of your soul
and spitting them out
because they were bittersweet.
Now they are soaked, slippery,
no longer sticking either in or to the puzzle,
which is why you don’t make sense
except in the silver,
face to face,
where your soul is pure, whole,
and wholly unleashed.

A poem: Unfiltered

Clinical,
surreal emptiness.
Chocolate-scented wood.
Smell of new and
non-alcoholic intoxication.
Life as art for art’s sake.

Neon light flickers as you blink
infected by dizziness.

No longer tone-deaf to the harmonies
of your own soul,
you don’t shrink for someone else to grow.

An invisible corpse in the plastic bag
winks at you from the corner-
madness, it grows
in sanity.

Lifeless but intense:
you don’t pray for another,
you prey for yourself.

 

A Poem: Bloody act

Two bodies wrapped in an embrace
in a tomb of glitter and frost-
the blood lingers while they kiss,
then it pours gently down the legs
of the cradle surrounded by mist.

The lake of tears reflects the moon of sorrow-
trembling, fluid, unpredictable;
their red eyes locked, unblinking,
while eternity replaces the morrow.

A poem: Echoes

A silhouette merging with the unknown-
all that is left is your breath in the cold air
as you exhale in slow motion.
I speak in shadows,
you respond with specters of light,
haunting every word-
making sense of it all;
I choose to live in the now,
but if you whisper in my ear
I will take decades to figure out
why you chose to disappear
that day
when I ran down the hallway-
gargoyles staring from above-
for a second I thought I could hear
another set of footsteps
under a different weight
even after I accepted your longing
for the netherworld.
The statues were grotesque,
threatening, demon-like in thunder and lightning,
and still, I hoped that hallway would never end
just so I could hear the sounds again and again
and convince myself they weren’t merely
echoes of my footsteps into the unknown.