Lo, Does The World Not Shift And Move,

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So this started out as a sort of homage/inspired by a dead mans bones song (who you should listen to if you don't already) but then changed and evolved as most of what I write does. It isn't what I wanted it to be at the start but I like what it has become. You're gonna drip ethereal Your blood will illuminate the fires in the sky Celestial ecstasy For I am the devil And darlin you are done Your soul will come When I do We're all just trying to move up And let's face it I can't get much lower Deep down in the chasm of you Burning through Burning through A brief taste of destruction With a mouthful of ecstasy Lose yourself To your sensibilities To the fire that grips you From the deep Deep Depths Let go your inhibitions And break down the walls Let you take over yourself Flow free With me And I will make you A queen Of your own being Now reign Look into the darkness Reach out And taste it Know yourself Before I take You Away

Questions of waiting

I find myself In a waiting room The real life Purgatory Realised With seats And nonsensical material With which to 'entertain' And pass the time. I'm Not free And not Accepted, Imprisoned, perhaps, But Just there. Between a boy And a beast Perhaps they symbolise me Perhaps that's why I find myself between And not beside. When they call my name Will we all rise? Or will they be left behind?

Let's start with something easy

Or let's not. I write because the words speak to me, when they come, I stop whatever I'm doing to record them, it's like possession, it takes over and I lose control. But saying that, I like to write, I could never keep a diary because I think it was too regimented, but I've always enjoyed writing, for me. It's only recently that I've let people see this side of me, let them read my thoughts, which is essentially what it is. I guess some of what I write is pretty deep, but that's because I like to rant to get how I feel out of me, I can understand it more if I can see it, like a tangible reflection. Conversely, I write some random things that aren't deep. Essays, poetry, conversations, it's just how my brain deals with life. Anyway, welcome to the ramblings.

Smoke

This city makes me Angry Not at any one particular thing Or things It just makes me feel angry. There's a hostility to this city. And I'm not sure how much longer I can take it. I've realised I need the calm The open. I feel older after one hour here I feel threatened and on edge Eyes constantly darting, Checking light and shadow alike Fearful of nothing And the potential for anything Wolves in sheeps clothing. This is not living It's surviving But surviving to get by.

Begun

I should preface this by saying I'm not sure that it's finished, but I like where it's at and I don't like having to force more words, so it's done for the moment. I learnt to walk, By following the goat on the mountain side. I learnt to see, By watching the hawk high overhead. I learnt to hear, By listening to the lone coyotes howl. I learnt to speak, By talking to the trees. I learnt touch, By floating in the ocean. I learnt of you, By forgetting everything.

Breath

She's only happy in the sun Or in bed My bed We inhale Hold Exhale Push our souls out Through our mouths Share the light And the darkness Share the space Between our touch Feel All there is Care and care not Drifting with purpose.

A final question, begun

"Shall we begin" "How Fucking Dare You?" The beast, enraged by a seemingly random and unfounded accusation, snarls, fangs bared. The boy, not understanding, much like the beast, what has been asked, but presuming the worst, cowers, and pulls himself up onto the chair. The man, dumbfounded, just sits there, and stares at the painted man, as if querying the query, with a slight tilt of his head, but otherwise his face portrays no emotion, once again stuck between his two companions.

I'm finding that as I get older Getting older feels divine Now I don't believe in the divine There's just no better word to describe The feeling of age in my mind Now sun is dead ahead And the road is behind. I'm being blinded, Is this the cost of freedom? Too much coffee And not enough sleep Black. Light. Spots. Peaks don't help when Stars are staring you down And December is no place For tinted lenses

I stand and lean

Against

Ancient granite.

Ancient by the standards of my short life.

Another waits a stride away

Seems this is the place.

Who knows how many have done this

Who knows how many will after I'm gone.

She takes a step closer

And fixes her eyes my way

I look up and smile

She's looking past me

Which I'm glad of

This is a time of leaning

Not of interaction.

She takes a step closer

Still looking past me

We wait together

Though entirely separately.

I reflect as I write

And watch the people pass by In this cool, clammy heat.

There's no message here

Just narration.

Death threats

If your gonna take him, take him, If you’re gonna leave him, leave, But please make up your mind, Because I’m starting to find, That I can’t take these fucking death threats anymore.