Scarlet Tears

How faint the brutal smell of this burning wreckage so cleverly hidden, the timbers smolder grounding their faith. Smoking and choke on the fumes of discontent, all hands on deck I’m just a disaster. So you want to know me, don’t look in my eyes, just focus on the deem patina of my speckled disguise. I’m one who knows enough to get by, just enough by step you and run. Why is it my hands reach with out reaching, I mean what is the purpose of me extending a friendly fisted hand shake? I mean I look for answers in another’s company, the answer repeats "you’re better off alone". it’s a crying shame my tears are so salty, I’m too damn human if you ask me. What is this chest heaving that sorely soothes me, never heaving it pulses just beneath the surface. Not present enough to release me, not sufficiently controlled. My wrists cry, my hips sigh, save me from myself. Oh the lengthy road one condemned must follow, so many circles, so many cells, white walls. Imagine just one day of freedom. It says something when the essence of a being begins to wonder if running might be better without a soul. Unencumbered I could fly to any given hell, unweighted by my moralistic mind. Could victory then be sweet? Could I even feel my relief? Would I enter in if then I am not whole enough to keep myself together? Pulled from the inside out, navel, neck and knees, grounded in prayer. Thwarted, noosed, I’ve got me again. My twisted fate my own twisted creation. Crave ReNae, reach, be alone, quick run. B e safe, don’t breathe, get caught, get going. Look for someone screwed up enough to understand, tell all your secrets and wait for the end. How brutal that burning smell that covers the stench of my hellish yell. Ashes settle in my tired lungs. Posted inside me all those sorrows sung.

Caverns

The view is of uncompromising stature, greater than that of my whimsical grasp. Outside my door rages the demon soul snatcher, outside wait’s a dangerous road. I have traveled over many mounds of earth, stepped over, fallen through, and dived into what can only be simply described as a hell of a different kind. One where demons are self-created. The stuff that nightmares are made of. I have done my best to run, to cross myself with unholy protection. The binding of a cursed body has held me together while ripping my soul, undoing my stitching. My silent nature has hidden the forbidden paths into my mind, yet my inner screams can be heard echoing through the empty caverns of ribs and spine. Oh that the tender flesh that embodies so many secrets could be set free to experience guilt free living, to become something other that what it is. Oh to be juxtaposed with my own intolerance, to be studied by a more understanding self. How that little girl cries inside, innocence tainted, tears torn from and thrown to nothingness. She is naked, can you see beyond? She is bleeding can you mend what is beyond mending?