Writings in an Airplane; Mid-Flight Mid-Fight.

I’ve hit so many walls

walked upon so many roads

died so many times

but most would never know

I smile large

I play the part

I say the words

break my own heart

this battlefield

this empty life

questioning and betraying

every scent and every sight

this tricky rope I walk

it’s tight

but I begged for this challenge

darkness is my right.

of all of the doors

and all of the faces

why choose me

to be your surface?

you speak through me

you use my voice

the darkness never leaves

forever a thorn that won’t rejoice.

All of these signs

so many fractions

the many pieces that crumble

causing all the more traction

we shuffle and tread

we swim and we hustle

but my heart is so dead

and my mind is but a muscle

exerting it’s power

and distraction

just like a missile

but the sound of it’s thrust

more like a sudden whistle

hurting the ears of the children

blood already clogging their dirtied view

and that carnage is me

while the color is you

sucking out the life of every hue

loving so many, but selecting so few

selection is my compromise

commitment is so crude

and this torture is tantalizing

let’s not squander this feeling with unfortunate truth.

I’ll need a stealthy butler and host

just to introduce

an awakening so belligerent and rude

you’ll cry out for relief, shriek

the way your mother did when she was in her youth

fragile and used

like a spotless oven

not one sign of health or satiation in view

hungry, unfed, trapped

unintentionally abused

no matter the intention

a bruise is still a bruise.

My how I’d die

just to build you some wings

sturdy and glamorous

webbing out to collide with

and capture everything

someone give me a feeling

just a sign or a jolt

I just need to know

that one can roam and still be home

that to run can bring about the sweetest tone

when your spirit wants nothing more

than to be alone

but your conscience is so very stubborn

as stiff as archaic stone

even the most beautiful creatures

will one day die unknown.

interpret this

and then admit that you are wrong

to crawl into this tunnel

with a storm so fucking strong

was a request for a slow and sure suicide

all along

my pen cannot be finished

keeps continuing to write despite my hand

my body can grow so heavy & tired

but my brain never seems to understand.

All of this pressure

self made and manufactured

all of the topics

too many fucked up chapters

I’ve lived my days like I’ve cried my tears

lacking any sufficient planning

unafraid of my own tomb.

I will die when I’m supposed to

my hands won’t be involved

that, only that

can I surely promise you.