Tag Archives: vent


[Written on 5/10/2016]

in a far-off hour:  { one distant and dreaming, and a frightful measure more blessed with Being than the wilting Now–

i bade the ruby, rose-borne tenants of a labyrinth of harlequin veins, the ones that towered over those sleeping thoughts of mine that loaned them, ever-gracious- –

– – a favoured twilight, a shining dusk ;

— a dawn trimmed at its seams with pixie ashes of phantom wars, gossamer graves in splinters and riven song —

these i bade them, left prayers at the foot of a mourning patchwork door, wove shards of benediction into walls of weeping gold-lust.

these i bade in hopes of harnessed hues, of gradient saviors to reignite.

to Inhabit again.


the weather boy’s lament

[Written on 11/8/2016]

there is a storm in my mind i can’t quell,
though with chipped, tearing fingers i have tried.
and as a result, i have ravaged them down to a mess of mangled seams,
a mess that resigns itself with bumbling haste into its nether, earthy grave
ever breathing ghosts of supplication into the chasmic bay of an ever-condemning night
a night stippled with star-eyes trenchantly glaring, each pointedly huddled away from my scrabbling, mortal scopes,
each pompously cradled in overhead navy nooks of lofty assurance.

there is a storm in my mind i can’t smother,
though with ragged, lurching lungs i have tried.
nursed a kingdom of faux-cries that fall wheezingly short of clarion caliber, each one thawing unloved and in a sorrowful, wailing hurry, desperate to be rid of their shriveling scorned selves.
why ever were we made, come the lamentations, ridden with blood and silver whipped into a demented, roiling roux
and why was i

there is a storm in my mind i can’t tame,
though a whip was accorded to me, in days distantly bygone
i held it and let my blood surge loose, left to conspire with the tenebrous voice of my infant ire
let my blood unearth a wicked calling, engorge a vile commission from an audience of devils with voracious glee
but alas, the rapacious fall farthest, are bidden to kiss and couple wretchedly with the deepest abyss.
…. i withdrew my whip and stepped duly back
into the heart of the storm in my mind.


[Written on 26/7/2016]

He perches on wraith-like tiptoe upon a lilac-clothed apex, engorged in lambent washes of a prodigal effect and breeding chroma-blades that gnaw contours loose and wedge bloated gaps into tautening, hissing junctures of ink.

And from these expunging agencies, a gingerly crowning relish blooms, slathering visions of lush vines and pastel flora across blood-scented corridors, in the chinks of paper bone and the jittery notches of a heaving heart. A blooming conquest tamed, quelled and freed from a silverwood sepulchre, spilled at no tyrant’s behest over a brittle, aching chassis of bio-signs that frolic in timed, nihilistic motion.

The ceaseless pulses of this unworldly incursion send tactile messengers afoot, a cavalry of beacons that plunge sensation into skin and draw secret banshees from their hiding places, screeching ripples and spewing throbs as nerves ascend in frantic benediction.

Never has he felt more alive than this.


Un – anatomy

There are days when you feel an overwhelming sense of emptiness, bubbling up from inside you as it proliferates across the mite-sized intricacies of the life-sustaining bio-machinery installed within the capsule of your being, pumping and pulsating in utmost synchronicity with the seconds of this transient world — seconds that flutter by on abstract wings. 

How much you feed it, how much you unwittingly nurture the malignant seed of discord planted at the base of your heart — from the very hour your conception is defined, the very second the tactile awareness of your being makes its indelible mark on the tattered records on which this world is built — is what ultimately shapes your end.

There is no way to curb its imminent birth, though with this seed, we have been granted a freedom. A freedom to do with it as we wish.

When Time Flees

[Written on 3/9/2014]

Drowning, drowning, drowning,

Floundering helplessly within the suffocating sea of sands,

You thrash your way up as lungs constrict, and the air forms blades that lodge in your throat,

Up, up, along the sleek, sloping figure of the hourglass,

Grappling futilely with the fear that latches on your weight,

Wrestling with your obtuse sense of time as what is left of your essence drip–drip–drip

… drips away, and melds with the eerie sands whose individual grains whisper death threats upon you in impeccable synchronicity — a chorus of malice.

you can swear you hear them, you swear it

you’re not mad, and you’re sane enough to know that–

Your time is leaking.

And the seconds burst into flames and the minutes combust,

And the ashes dance mockingly between your toes, heckling your folly as their silent taunts fade into the malevolent symphony.

The hours scatter and the days break free from the orbit that once held them captive to your asinine indulgences and material pleas,

Where oh where have they gone — you wonder as the fragments multiply, revolving around your forlorn existence at a manic velocity–

and it’s when the final piece breaks when you hear a faint crack in your soul…

Who knew a crack would herald the coming of oblivion?