mine own ghost

because the heart of me is In It,

and only I can spin it – with the angst

I know so well

my mania-spent self

lies thwart  a deck

I am the Living, aye, both

the Living & the Dead

this ship at sea, me

paralytic

angst owns me

nimble mind which does foresee

the wrecking ball, deformity

my own parts missing, carved & sorted

dysmorphia, distorted –

 mine expansion

thus aborted

trauma which left me for dead

still hovers constant by the bed

crippled & exhausted

had some peace but now I’ve lost it

can you feel subsonic plates

shift even now?

I must me write the truth of me

no one else

comes close

raving revenant I be

Lo, I shall be
Mine Own Ghost.
Perhaps I am,

self summonsed
outliving canines by the
dozen
heartbroke a’thousand times
depths, despair
mad
sublime
who else would seek to write
such stuff?
why, no one’s suffered near enough

as feather upon Sea

landscapes of subconscious thought
do come to me in dreams :
the wounded and the long forgotten
winnow ’round my feet
holding in my arms that which
does bleed and barely breathe :
all is upon me to Save & I am calling out
for help, for I am incomplete.

something in me reckoning
the soul within this skin
knows the magick happens
but is not now happening

weighted, I am downward pulled
by gravity of spinning :
oh, to have my soul released
finally shed monstrosity
aging & disparity and all the human things of me :
perhaps then I could just
float on
as feather upon Sea
let the wind me upward send
and leave the body be

carrion birds, casual

Yaşar Vurdem Artwork

carrion birds perched & patient

to comfort the disabled

do not called me maimed : I shall my own scars claim

individual chemistries will damn the living lot of thee

two thumbs and four strong fingers

so long now anger lingers : plucked from living

so succinctly

myself thus lost distinctly

sculpting a new concept has been difficult for me

all that I could do, I did which made me who I was

she is not here, not anymore

a ship which drifted far from shore

returning to a hometown, spent

recognize not one percent

of what I was to what I am

I would deny

take me to the nighttime

let me loosen up and fly

into the span of shadow

waking, ah…a rising to the surface
& an irritant, methinks the purpose is…
one known and known again ;
a ragged stuttering of pen
and ink on paper, a poem incomplete
on and on I venture,
this me who seeks to speak

Night then, self to carry, weary – wrangled woe
into the span of shadow
behind the Earth’s back, tucked in close

Sunlight cannot reach me :
oh, so much the Night can teach me
It quiets chatter from all ‘sellers’ and the
screens, my gods they lie
even mirrors queer the visage : bound to
psychologic missives
How to Look & How to Dress
eroding self esteem
without all doubts
mirrors, magazines & screens
None mean a single thing, they don’t equate
they are never in my dreams
and rightly so : there is no contemplation
of reflections where I go.

bring me Night, with fingers touch
in shadow I am quite enough
None into Dream can Follow
Nightsong Sigh, a soul unspooling
neither vain nor hollow
escape the pain of the form in which
i needs dwell : listen, shhh… She Calls
ah, the Night knows me  so well.
we meet as in ritual, twilight Her Venue
baptism in darkness, thus
Life can Continue

Tenebrae

https://rduffus.wordpress.com
(verse ^^^^^)

not herself at all these days

Mount Dystopia

{} avoided the coffin, I did and lo,

 no longer in bed

where the ‘give up’ does lie

the ‘i’m all done’ resides

 not stoned on narcotics

now caring a bit

thus roused, and on with

this thing, this, my life

from suff’ring and guilt on the lam

come, life

take me as I am !!

 

I So  want these words which

swirl in my head

to land and convey

a true sense of Lost Dread

behold Mount Dystopia I have myself

climbed and the thought of one stilled

at the end of the line

dotage, passed prime

taken from life

one small limb at a time

biopsy, amputee

made in self mockery

broken mind mended

and here, thus I stand

come, life

take me as I am !!

absinthe & epiphany

absinthe & epiphany : sticky with the

synergy, understanding some, not all

and stressed –  for Time

will win it all

oh,shake a fist

furious

with an unknown

entity,

for I would be me wise & strong

and most of all

me, free

thus I cannot

curse my birth;

i must me free

while in this plane, my reign

on Earth

not guaranteed

 any length or span

for this uncommon woman

living in the realms of man

furious then

divine within

my own

inequity

of wisdom & of strength

and my own uncertain

circumstance

which none can circumvent

rise & sleep

and through it creep

one small step

each day

shake the fist

drink absinthe

the mortal, wand’ring way

epiphany comes slowly

or should I say, slow goes the path

stumble on the

money

 cut yourself in half

mightier than ye know

or even might suspect

toiling

for the money

while havens beckon, peace

bedeck’d in strands of fragrant

life : beaded, seeded

sometimes heeded

work, workwork

no play play play

you will not find release this way

we only accept

self when we have

lost all of our

masks

and rising in the predawn chill

we find ourselves

at last

written there in kindersong

The Void ..t’is Welcoming

and deep

promises of shadow keep

abysmal darkness without form

sad sustenance to keep me warm

without fear to turn me here

Make  a   . home sweet home

to  gaze therein

indeed

i see a soul

the abyss is me

there is no

Other Thing …

I am  me Heaven and thus am Hell

having lived it , tis time to Tell

,,,,

repeating fact, tis

All One Place

tis our self consciousness

we Bring

we would love to say

)Dark is Apart(

 Nay, it dwells and burrows

in every heart

brought to

desperation

by life’s

incriminations

we slither and we bleed

we lie and cheat, economize

use, abuse  & fantasize

ignoring

good that calls

Gains, we’d have them All

perversions which we Know as wrong

are written There in Kindersong

do not doubt

Depravity

we carry in us

all the seeds of gardens

dark, malicious, ill

and with the right conditions met

we’ll grow abysmal gardens yet

to chill and sweat and long desire

our souls perhaps

to travel higher

for the bottom, well I know

never claim the dark night’s soul

for there is ever deeper woe

within your own abyss to grow

you may doubt

and hear me not

i am the one which time forgot, where

I am born is where I’ll rot

and count it out as won, the

rugged and the strong

Truth a final resting point

and oils which would Soul Anoint

grant the wisdom of the age

within a self which does enrage and

weaken both in turns

heaven shall be made of such

and hell is cold, I know that much.