A plain flat world

Tell me what I hear in my mind
A flurry of pealing laughter, soft
The dancing foam of watery graves
The confused rumbling of memories
Words half formed, reformed, unformed
I am become the undoer of me
Brighter than a thousand lamps
But dimmer than the iridescent sea

Eyes closed mind open
I let the thoughts flow through me
I hear the waves of that sea
Washing upon the dry parched land

There are waves here that do not flow
Stilled, sudden, eroded and driven away
I am dead within, a straw man
Seeing fear in handfuls of nothing
Yet doing nothing, this flow
This unmitigated flow of words,
Some day it will drown me
And my bones pickled in the light
Of this cruel world (cruel-mad-happy-sad world)
And the demon will laugh and make pipes
Out of my dry pickled bones
And play my song, my last song


Rhythm, there is no rhythm here
Rhyme, no sir we do not rhyme
We do not judge, we do not time
I am the shell of all I survey
A skeleton of words encumbered
In the thrall of my own nothingness
I have left my body to reside in the sky
Where I am lost not to be found again
Where my words flow into the wintry wind
Of floating emptiness and dark rain

Again I close my eyes.

Inspiration is my drug, my drug of life
A life of drowning lights and sights
Words, they are my savior
Words, they are my soul
Words, I am their slave
Words, they are my blade

Their darkness is black and deep
But they are mine to keep
Mine and only mine to keep

Ask me of lights on those lonely shores
Where I walk daily on the crystal sands
Where the mirror of my broken soul
Points at me with a thousand hands

What is it that wants to be spoken?
What is it that cannot hide?
What will stop this rising tide?
What is it that wants to be heard?

There is no reason, there is no aim
I live a gray dark dream of pain
Where slimy slithering snakes abound
Where darkness hears its own sound

There is no love left in me, neither life
Only words, and a catharsis
A catharsis of that never ending strife
And this place, this place that I call life.