Kinglorshi

Fade in and phase out Afloat upon oceans of air I sense you in silence Through a thicket of dissonant thoughts Phantoms in a fog An arrow overshot Insects creeping up again Crawling all over the walls We have what's held onto But we're clutching too close Animalistic A reddened repose A rose that regrows Choking itself with its thorns Moonlight allures me as it slants through the door A line that divides up the dust from the floor In this swirl I'm uncertain, I might swerve into circles And be lost in luminescence, a cold glow I can't hold I know it won't hold A light that's never lasting But it's kept to my chest in the palm of my hand

It is building up deep within her fragile body like a heaving monsoon forming over the dry, cracked, heavy heat of an African savannah; an unforgiving and all-consuming storm desperately willing to drown out its less than fleeting welcome. Flickering with ceaseless coils of skin-searing energy like a grey-faced fugitive's adrenaline stricken heartbeat, it is not a bringer of life, but a threat to it—and even the most reckless are hardwired to take flight in the face of such a colossal and uncompromising foe.           Beyond these white-washed walls, the world would have her believe that she is brave, a lioness, an exception confronted

Moths flurry like snow around a flickering streetlamp in the middle of nowhere.

Splash of the swirling Swell of symphony senses Colors collected Harmony howls Prints pressed pure in fresh snowfall Washed clean with the wind Ink of the instant And reflective restoring Of a mistral mind Conquering countries An artistry elegant A knight on his ride May your wings, worn from Battle, be bathed in echoes Of eternity Simply a sister Of sorts in the sine wave sounds A song that surrounds Angelic answer Unexpected, undeserved A salve to be sane Spots in the spoken And silent situations Into abysses Forge a fair fire Digging deeply underground In sharpening shapes Weathering wintry And worthy wistful wiles Count them cold

The sea laps the shore like the brim of a glass, A delicate duet; let's suspend the sun from Pastel pins, to prevent and prevail upon night - For once I would like to be light. And we'll string some stars in a circlet, to dangle From the height of the heavens, Like the crown to a queen; It might leave a luminous sheen. You held out a seashell In the palm of your hand; The sound that resounded Calls out in command... I'm weak to the waters that wash across sand, A crab scuttling over the surf; I clench and I cling, subscribe to the sting That scatters me out in the meadow - You press me unprinted, Etched without ink. But I'm addicted to ech

I succumb to the sun and awake to a touch From the fingers that tingle my mind each morning; I revolve around words that I'm scared to accept, Typed out neatly across a shimmering surface. Heartbeats litter a field of bright fire, Blooming alive without wither; When the words have poured and dripped so sweet, I let myself recede to sleep. A quarter of the day is killed soft in my dreams, Until I'm up to await yet again. Unresolved rage is channeled out in a flood That sweeps the undeserving in its tide; I might as well be the moon sometimes. I need to keep an eye on the cat. Blood blooms swifter than a glistening blur, Brought in the heat

Someday, they shall tug at me with fraying forays Into the worst, unpallatable pitfalls of abominable anxiety, for which I ache and do not sleep It creeps upon me, and can never be shaken off for as long as I live They usually do it with Precision And to great effect Precision fathers boisterous greed, growing greedier with stride A predator, it prowls along the puddles, polluted and poisoned with folly And while Precision consumes blood, it sucks in the soul Eyes like a tornado, tugging at me from the gaping hole in my neck Acute cunning is its carrier, its benefactor My nemesis, and the fall of me The clock mocks me, twirling in a dark