TheBloodWriter

The visible spectrum of everything may alarm you, but don't become hideous above all, don't be horrid, or crowd-like. The swans, graceful brutes, are watching, testing. Be as knee deep waters for them and drown your ugliness there, or at least bury it in the mud to make some brine shrimp happy. Too many among the every and all try to conceal their unfortunate faces by sprouting toadstools, mustaches... These are edible, impermanent schisms while the swans swim everlasting; brutal things of beauty.

August chimes in like a bell, or a blue jay, makes little fuss, despite summer and cools the morning; elfishly with the smell of rain the shape of clouds.

Blood flows. This ancient fetish grows. A moments lapse is all it takes' it crows. something in the wings shakes, like death throes. Wherever you were a moment before now it's here you wake, cold and spotlit on an antique floor, while the clock slows and a faint heart begins to quake. Echoes. Sounds to missing visions that your ears abhor. This is what most men can't endure. The brightness dims, the lights go low. For this awful tension there is no cure; but to bargain for more and break.

I seek to break convictions that have been laid upon me like bands of iron, lengths of clinking chain. Marley’s ghost weighs less than me, on certain grim, disturbing hours of left to myself. I want to be the me I was born to be. Born to be. Born. Why I wasn’t born for anything (Clotho disagrees, stretching my feelings taut between each forefinger and each dainty thumb. She plucks me and I thrum). You are a lost notion of yourself. Coming to. A part of you is coming through. There was an attic once. There was a basement space. There was a hole in the wall. There was an ancient wagon trunk. Pull yourself through. Let go. They shown in undimming beauty, like a star of evening dressed in sterling and a warm hoodie with steady, ursine eyes that flame and pulse in a game of night-dark bewitching blue. Their lips invite you and as you are drawn in they recede, like a sound, they recline and make space there beside them on the hill. The wet grass, those dark clouds obscure the sky and

There is nothing to be amused by just get used to the new sky. It is up up up and so am I. When you say I am troubled Do you think I will crumble? Will the fetters that hold me be made into rubble? Shall the fall down then slay me? An imposed unmaking? A pretense at morals we're only just faking. So you finally should see That you are troubled by me I make up monsters and then they go free. You send me red daisies but such tokens are weighty when carried by eagles who seek me out daily. This drip drop goes on Till the end of the song that you keep on singing to the moody python yet if you just quit have done with all it why then I'll look you up with a grin that won't fit I'll walk through the space which you used to replace and the sun from the glass of the sky I'll efface.

I don't feel gorgeous anymore I am letting myself down by feeling that way but I can't be upbeat about it without beating myself up and I am still raw in some places any slip could be hilt deep before I know it I feel like a ripped shirt, I am running home to change isolation is just so easy, it is the walls we put up castle building, dungeon delving, locked and stocked with traps I am, monsters, monstrous, low-fi by design. Just gimmicks, just a frankly fraying hand, extending reaching out, offering peace to a place I am no longer I'll be at my work bench just a moment more I'll be: stay busy, and upbeat I'll be: i'll keep, everything's fine I'll be: delaying some inevitable

Is this sin? To know the heights, the scaffolds of bitter bark the thorn lodged within you are paying for your knowledge with each bite but you are riveted, eyes alive to the sky there is no going down there is no far off beseeching cry it is only you this far from ground and they can only be best pleased when you decide just what you've found.

Oh my little one your fuss, is pure delight my tame one, my summer sun rapping on my window every night begging me to let you in with small heartbeats, a snag toothed grin you who leave little cuts of meat outside, familiar each time who saved me one year, in the deep dark unrelenting july you remembered me just the way I loved to be how could I ever do other than let you go free