Meat sack

 

Sometimes the world

can feel too big 

or just a little too small,

even your own street

can feel too much,

a vast canyon of distrust,

or a dead end with sheer brick wall

scrawled in graffiti slurs, 

eyes at every perching point.

Fingers ready to assume,

eyes to judge, lips to smear,

and towns can be chasms

of red rust and fear.

 

You watch the shadows intently,

Seeing them move in the flickering

memory of moonlight, a spectre

shaped from stories.

The way it warps at every

blink of the eye.

And inside you feel

your soul

slowly give up

the ghost

and

 

die.

 

And as you walk on.

A meat sack

controlled by a ghost,

you just watch as the days grow old.

Autumn falls on young soul,

leaves so much older

once the cold gets hold.

And the memories that once rained,

Now only come in trickles,

paranoid freckles of time.

 

And that which once tickled your heart,

now just scribbles on the walls,

an RIP,

to the love that you held inside.

 

And you sigh, under a street sign.

A destination underlined.

You believed you had

one of those once upon a time.

But now your map has been torn, the compasses,

only spin around, and the stars are blinking out.

 

But then a voice whispers.

in a delicate breeze. Something beautiful

a word of hope in a world deceased.

 

And your diseased

heart

once again

beats

in the distance.

 

And you rush to scrabble through the dirt,

ripping up old stories, worn hopes and faded shirts.

That no longer fit your bones. You dig, faster, faster,

nails shredded, blood stained and red.

fingers sink into something warm.

The beating heart

wanting to come home.

Feed

 

I can feel the darkness.

The cold tickle on my skin,

pinprick of guilt, before

the itch to feed sinks

its teeth in

deep.

 

I hear

hot

blood

surging.

 

That primal urge in

my gut

is screaming.

 

Echoing.

 

Feed...

 

The darkness is

inching

over every pore,

like frog-marching

insects

searching every inch

for a

 

feast.

 

In my skin suit

I'm itching,

my heart skipping beats.

My humanity

Stripping…

 

Fading…

 

Away.

 

Gone.

 

Hope slayed.

 

The flesh feels

flayed from the bone,

the chill within, the moan

from lips of stone.

 

I hear blood.

 

Dripping

 

I hear the dreams of the sleeping

echoing a call of home.

 

My mouth salivating

at the meal awaiting.

 

As my mind clouds over,

 

inside I cry.

 

A passenger now.

 

Please don't let him drive.

Sunbeams in the heartstrings

 

Have you ever had

that sort of

kaleidoscope view,

a moment, where

the walls of reality

shift an inch or two,

and all seems

both clear and unclear.

Like glasses with

one lens smeared

and the other crystal clean.

Diamond eyes seen in twilight ripples.

 

One moment your heart is full of fear.

The next...

Everything just disappears,

and it’s like the best kind of dream.

 

Where two souls

connect instantly, over a

stardust sprinkled

coffee shop table.

Telling stories of memories

that feel like futures,

hands held in a melody of chemistry,

a monumental synchronicity,

a cosmological anomaly.

It’s like you've seen them

somewhere... Another memory...

Faded and unclear.

But it is stuck tightly in the folds

of your heart,

just beating a rhythm.

Trying to get out.

 

The view is foggy,

but everything feels fuzzy,

fully inviting you in,

startlingly full of hope.

A safety rope in a heavy gale.

Like a mug of cocoa after a storm,

you embrace the warmth,

and you let the thoughts sail.

 

And in a different plane

you’ve walked together, holding

sunbeams in your heartstrings.

You don’t know how you know this,

but you just know.

It’s like a shared dream that

blows in through the bedroom window.

A dream

where nothing bad can entertain.

 

And logic be damned you scream internally,

I’ll walk this pathway, because

I’ve walked it elsewhere,

and it splinters this reality.

 

When you look at it,

the pieces are fragmental,

but beautiful,

shards of memory

that feel

both real and untrue.

So, you just accept it

into your life, this weird view.

 

And it starts to

scramble your emotions,

in the most positive ways, like eggs

perfectly cooked,

with some added piquancy.

Like two shadows on a beach,

sharing the view, galaxies apart,

but pulling closer  every second

like the tides rolling in.

 

You just feel right, 

like this is something

altogether out of this life,

it is a cosmic glide

back to earth

and whilst you slow dive

you may as well enjoy

the way the air feels

so brisk, free

and right. Because

in the most abstract way,

it all feels like home.