The grand gesture of a little lamb.

I gladly lay down my life
I do not care who agrees or disagrees with my actions.
My goal is to create a fear where there wasn't one before.
So the next time those in power decide to take away from the poor man with the stroke of an expensive pen they will think.
They will fear their life taken away from them.
They will fear their body and blood ripped to pieces
They will think twice
And
Although they may still make the same decisions as they would without the fear
The consequences of their actions will be obvious.
All it takes is another necessary soul to take action and make a sacrifice.
The simpleminded man may follow easily
He may toil and suffer for a greater good beyond his notice.
Whether they like to or not they heave the weight of humanity before them
A great weight they have burdened willingly or not
Taken on nonetheless.
For this I gladly lay down my life.

Come the nothing.

What do you do when the lights get brighter
the music gets louder
another cigarette isn't enough to calm it down
there isn't enough water to quench it's thirst?
My lips go dry and numb
my limbs tingle and go restless uncontrolled
Color and colors of things melt into each other
My peripheral is a bubbling frenzy
the inside of my eyelids is nausea
Everything that is my tangible self hangs on by an invisible thread so distant and imaginary the thought of it brings fear and disbelief.
An abstract connection that defies you to believe in it with it's own breath.
A distant deep buried scream beneath a paper thin piece of glass being held together only by the pressure of the idea that it actually exists.
The hope it does.
The brittle laws of reality so frail can be easily confused with the symptoms of death
As the body attempts regaining equilibrium the mind is turned inside out to compensate before the damage is permanent.
The constant failure to achieve this is perceived as trickery and trust inside and outside of the mind slowly die.
There is no word to describe what happens when the five senses become obsolete.
The people around you become poorly made movies of what you think the people around you should be.
There is nowhere to run
or anyone to run to.
There is nothing and this is it.

Giddyup

Not until the lines on the edges get blurred
not until they're waving and bending
                                            calling
When the bright lights go dim
when the colors fade
the sounds fizzle
                   trickle away
A pain
a twitch
a puff of smoke
unsatisfying
    swollen
The little piles of time lying before me
things gathered together
unorganized stuff
used but not broken
wasted
    chewed
I think of my bed
the things I might dream of
the process to complete
the movements
still my feet stick to the ground
stubborn
     glued

ColOars

Creative
To be creative
To create.
To see the visible colors
To see the colors no one else does
To pour your imagination out of yourself through your eyes and onto the world in front of you
To create.
Being creative
When your hands and your eyes and your mind all become one thing
To know that in the tiniest of places lays the largest wonder.
Smiling
Smiling hard at the world and knowing that's all it takes to alter it.
Thinking creatively
Feeling your idea build up inside of you and pour out of you exploding in all directions
Seeing
Seeing is believing
Believing your impalpable thoughts will become tangible.

Writhe

Pressure like gravity's senseless hand squeeze
Sweat hits the head before the rest of the body
You think
Death
Sooner than expected but expected
Aches like organ failure
like life leaving
You think
Fuck
Shoulda coulda woulda
Then it's passed
Back to pissy tunnel vision
A distraction
a cigarette
a bite to eat
Water
Water will fix this
Fooled again
Stand up fast
Feet tingle and head spins
You think
Death

You've self loathed yourself here and self diagnosed your way out again
Rinse and repeat
and repeat
Cyclical hypochondria like wheel spoke expectation
Then nothing
back and forth and around
At this point you know this is you and this is me

Tweedle Bruhi

Looking up to your monument of white granite
standing beneath the majesty of construction and grandeur
I'm in awe
for a moment
Lost but not quite gone
Soon the white marble peels and falls away
the concrete and steel are exposed
The bars my eyes once could not see now visible
Your hopeful smile now looks more like a smirk
the waving flag once a beacon of hope is the blindfold over my eyes
it's the plastic bag over my head from which I gasp.

Inoperable

These devices left to me
passed down
contraptions all
tinkered with
toyed
sparking smoldering fritzed
alien and complex
yielding no freedom
exposing no answers
asking no questions

Like a disappointed child on Christmas morning
feeling guilty and selfish
cheated
not what I wanted but the best that could be given
something is better than nothing written on my face
the giver's paper thin smile an inadequate dam holding back shameful tears
no one speaks the thoughts thickly fogging the room we sit and stare in
this is the best we can do


Left to me these devices lay unfixed
not my own but mine.