We Are The Wild Things (poem)

You’ve become a deceiver.
You were born with innocence, unmatched and sweet,
But as you grew, each word became more dishonest than the last,
Thorny bushes of lies weaving into tales that become your life.
And for what?
So you can forsake yourself for the sake of others?
To placate those around you?
To give yourself a false sense of happiness?

As you do this, your facts become fiction,
Soon, those fictions become a fact of your life.
You seek to have people you can trust around you
Yet they’re the people you lie to the most.
And you often lie to them more than you lie to yourself
Because you know you can’t lie to that person deep inside.
You can pretend you don’t know the truth of who or what you are,
But sooner or later that truth becomes apparent…

And some will say that it’s your parents fault
That you should blame them for your deceptive lives,
But you are grown.
It may be true that as a child you once could cry
This was mom’s fault
That was dad’s fault
And maybe people once believed you
But now you hold your own actions in your hands.
Those bloody twisted claws of deception are yours to bear

You know right from wrong.
You know what to do.
You know how lies have affected you.
You know how painful it is…

You know because that innocence in you
Was tainted when you were a child
For years wicked lies flooded in all around you
And It’s for this and no other reason that you know
The grief
The Anger
The Pain
All of the emotions that deceit causes

And now, no longer a child, you do this to other people?
You think that’s okay?
To make people feel how you hate feeling yourself?
To make people hurt?

You shouldn’t… not even a little bit.

With each passing lie you dig deeper
Into a pit that turns ever blacker
It’ll soon be so dark
That one day the light in your heart
Will no longer be able to penetrate,
And finally, when all is said and done,
When the clouds of untruths finally bears down on you,
You’ll be consumed… left wondering what you could have done to change all of this.

One day you’ll realize all too late that you had the power to change…

That you alone are the one to blame.

Your Damaged Heart

Never did you see in the dying of the light
The minutes or hours or seconds I spent
Cultivating something deep and warm and bright.
Distractions of life left pieces of reality
Strewn about like toys in a child’s minefield
Those that did offer yet unseen fractures of actuality.

But there it was, under the blackening sun
Where songs attempted to sing futures untold,
But what was unknown to me is that the battle could never be won
Because it’s your heart that’s cold and fucked
Because it’s not you it’s them or it’s them not you
Where you’ve taken yourself away, sealed and gently tucked.

You see, singular madness deprives of happiness and smiles
But were there ever smiles to begin with, even once?
Yes! They did exist, but your darkening heart defiles
That which you could have known yet you remained unknowing.
You didn’t see that I had always known that someone did exist there
A “cousin” in disguise feeding you, seeding you, ever sowing.

Now, is it I who should feel this pain or sadness or betrayal?
No! Only once had I endured such dissonance in my soul
Breaking down the barrier, fingers underneath my skin from a disloyal
Discordant and unloving one, and yes there was you in the light
With all the hope and positivity that I could have ever dreamed
But never did I dream that I’d have to step into a battle field and fight

For your love or your attention—

Is that how it should be? Forevermore wondering
If you’re breaking or you’re taking or you’re faking this shit
And is this how you want to live?

Under the all this blustering and seething darkness spewing from
Your damaged tar pit of a heart layered with grime lies something
no one can break because its already broken.

Should I hurt when all your strength’s controlled by that one weak part?

No

What It’s Like to Play Live Music

A red velveteen veil
Surrounds the black laminate world.
Outside, strong lights burn furious
Washing faces with a buttery sheen
As sinuous voices slither whispers
Of words I can never know.

Behind that immense fabric barrier
The Frosty air chills me to the soul.
Still, I sweat heavy beads of glass,
Heavier as the sea of eyes are exposed
Under hundreds of dying tangerine moons
Who reveal softly twinkling stars.

First, slick black silence entrances me
But soon, those penetrating eyes
Sink under an inundation of sound.
Before, I was strung strong and tight
Like the silvery tines of a spider’s edifice
Now, there is nothing but sweet resonance.

As calculated vibrations disappear with grace,
The dark seraphs of fear return once more.
Then a rhapsody of primordial music plays
A thousand cracks of thunder—and thousands more.
The fear dances with the scintillating smiles
And disappears into the darkness from which it came.

The Haunted Maze (Poem)

We step through the entrance,
And within seconds,
We are welcomed with iniquitous grins
To a place where men go to smile upon death.

Strawberry syrup splatters the partitions slick
Like the oil tapestry of a deranged artist.
Polished blades pierce the wall
Holding disembodied hands high waving, “Hello!”

The second thing we observe
Is a soldier laughing in a prison of red brick.
He weeps to us a deal for release,
But we cannot acquiesce.

Next, a woman supine in bed.
She’s bound at the hands and ankles,
And she screams a tormented ululation.
Her face perverted with cold-blooded rage.

A phantom emerges from the inky black shadows
Sick with insidious intentions.
His deep, heavy breaths
Turn sour with a depraved, yet welcoming smile.

Around the corner, shimmering threads
Of a spider’s web hang from the ceiling.
They softly tickle my neck
As I pass the silky nylon strands.

In another dimly lit chamber,
A man is chained to a lightning machine.
Electricity burns, and soon a
Silvery scentless smoke permeates the corridor.

I tell myself
“This is no place to fear.
It’s all a mirage—
A pretend world to escape.”

Still, I am horrified,
But not because of what we see.
It’s the world that created this place,
The ideas born from a man’s delicious imagination.

Now, beyond the perilous passageway,
We see the exit to safety.
It’s not a long journey,
Yet too long for us.

The last thirty feet
Tells a tale of seven sins.
Each fatality a warning
To anyone who dares to tread.

At last, we step into the frigid night.
She releases her painful grip on my arm,
And I breathe a relaxed sigh.
Wait! — A butcher attacks with a chainsaw.

There’s a deafening buzz
Of its dangerous blades,
But he soon relents, and peace returns
To this night of man’s malevolent dreams