fucking clouds

There are beggars wandering outside the walls
of a massive stone labyrinth, begging for a spot
of polished, gleaming steel, something to gain them
entrance into the high stone walls
everyone wants a chance to lose themselves
within the confines of cold and old and unfeeling
everyone is pleading for an opportunity
to fall to the pits at the edge of reason and
die in some lonely alcove carved from the most
uncaring of materials.

I am, in retrospect, getting a little bit impatient with this whole process. But I had that feeling, twisting in the wind in the hollows of my guts, that it wasn't supposed to be this way. I was told, I suppose, in the ways this lovely little universe is best at, that things would change quickly, as they have a habit of doing. I know what I need right now, what would be better than anything else, and that girl simply didn't have it. She was, is, simply a manifestation of my escapist side, a creature seemingly composed entirely of my more immature outbursts of expression and desire and thought. I'm sick of searching, but it feels right now like anyplace I look will only generate more negative results.

I need time, time to calm down, stop whining about what can't be affected, and figure this shit out.

raining outside

Its raining outside a cold cascade to shock the senses into vibrant clarity
You drift like a wraith through the sheets that hang endless from the skies
every colour viewed by countless lenses shattering on the pavement
baptism in grey filtered by deified fingers and cloudy globes like glass
pain falls through the cracks gathering in puddles and gutters and alleys
saturation of purity bursting veins running with black sludge and heavy sighs
You double over as it rushes out your mouth in a struggling torrent
spilling into every corner merging with the shadows lining your sight
everything blurs and drifts as the last of it escapes you in a trickle
darkened landscapes bleed into a haze hands find cold pavement fast and hard
sunlight feels you out slow and careful and quiet
now the day begins anew

movement in the dawn

she sleeps beside me
a shell that holds
barely containing
all of the beauty
one could ever hope to experience
expressed in the motion
of a shifting slightly to the left.