On the Edge of Faith

tireless nights
on the edge of faith,
plummeting through pages
of a novel;
a torn one that
should have ended long ago
with scribbles of sharp tongue
often smearing their way
across and within lines
shaking through the mind
and in the vein
as if desperately adding
more to a story
that was never more
than a vain whisper

Knocked Off Balance

blinking lights
centre knocked over
shedding skin
zephyr enhanced
glass deceiving
cease settlement
circular close
misplaced vector
hypnotic
sieving
off balance
misplaced
wasted
believe not
foresee the warning signs
livid expulsion
to cream the devout
vague in memory
shift, recreate
shift,
destroy.

Life’s been too difficult lately.
-K

Forest

The forest was calling your name
whispering
in stricken syllables,
each letter
with a brave echo to it
fearlessly reverberating
off and through
walls and marble
silver and rubble
as if all of them
were no longer resoundingly different;
that in your entangled hitherto
of disaster, beauty and wonder
in a voice that would pull
the most comfortable all asunder
whether dazzling or dull
the wicked into flame
all would be dust around you
they would now only be same.

Inspired by the song Forest by Amberhill. 

Link to the track: https://open.spotify.com/album/5OLDQcR7FHgRa9fvmNCMXC

Whisper

a seething whisper; drifting with petals

brandished with lilac, passionately

heeding continuum through and through

as steadfast, sanely, quiet sorrows

will collapse into the winter

for this

is the only way, the single path

to tread ceaselessly

to turn the petals on our part

to blood in our hearts

Runaways

the wood is barely empty

it sings with a certain
crescendo; one that highs
and lows
and all the goes that
go in between, around
and about
with trickling drops
of tainted stops
and dissolved tears
and shallow sweat
sauntering through
the grooves and
heels that beat to
a lopsided rhythm,
shots at the night
in a parallel hysteria
to be and to ignite;
in tracks and
paths under a notion;

that we’re more than just runaways

Stratosphere

At the searing edge of the stratosphere
Seeing everything for its worth
In its boredom and endless and screaming lure
With serendipity at the touch of those who lost

The chance
For the white
To feel the burn
The watch
Of the eagle
Swoon’s turning tide
With reckons beckoning
Five for dying

It’s all fair
I promise
It’s all part of our plan
I promise
Desecration is how we salivate
For the unknown

Easy on the blaze, sweetie
We’re all losers here
We only differ
In how long we think we’re winning

Raptures

This is the voice that bites
I don’t need your superficial anti catharsis
Don’t spin your veils through my goddamned sphere
Stay away from my parchment skin

Am I not bleeding enough?
That you screech and exhale and halt the slippery slope of snakes from sliding through me
That you reflect a shadow of a doubled design that will only destroy the downed turquoise elixir
That’s pretty enough to enchant
And then deadly enough to maim
To maim every need of yours from my sorry sorry state
And wreck it over and over through and through

But maybe I want it
I want this voice to drive me fucking insane
To make my demons salivate and light their eyes with all the realms of my blackened raptures
I’m your victim

Impossible

your head’s tilted
to one side; you tired,
darling?
look up
let your
moonlit eyes coincide with
its reflection
in the sky; and in a bizarre
intrusion,
watch the rain, as it
wafts and soothes and drains
and
pours; let one tiny droplet
reach your skin
for every million
that fall
and let it learn of
your wonder; and then
let it find itself
with an eternity
of more
in a torrential halo, drifting and
floating; dancing in the disbelief
of having laid touch
on a being
they initially deemed
impossible

Incantations

half love

half prayer

throbbing incantations

for the ritual

of severing

and freeing

from all

from one

from none

half curse

that too

for a little bit of darkness

would do no harm

for a dash of the devil

would add a little charm

for eternity’s grasp

with a lie smouldering the sun

would devour the deafening dusk

as my threads come undone