The Lighthouse Door

My senses are filled with the cool biting kiss of the oceans sea salt mist.
The rock upon which I have taken my stand holds true to its word,
I will support you.
Planted, my feet hold firm to the rocks rigid face.
The wind comes piercing through my skin with its granular knives .
I begin to bleed out the suffering of my past.
Now the gusting ocean air has stayed true to its word,
I will cleanse you.
My eyes open to a light beam as it passes my face.
Circling clockwise it searches for those who have become lost.
I inch forward, lurching with each step as I am pulled from the cliff.
The light house calls me and has stayed true to its word,
I will guide you.
I plunge into the ice cold water and it wraps around my soul.
Struggling to breathe my lungs begin to cave in.
Arms weak, they barely emerge from the oceans surface.
Fighting the battle I thank the sea for staying true to its word,
I will transform you.
I lift my self out from the icy tomb, only just escaping my own death.
To find you standing at the door to the lighthouse.
Drenched in salt water and bleeding through my pores,
I have not enough strength to stand on my own.
You grab me and hold me and have stayed true to your word,
I will catch you.

Memories and Perception

Can you remember that day?

When the roses grew noses and smelled you

They were jealous of your aroma.
Your fragrance that you bought off a shelf
And sprayed yourself like a definition.
So turn with me in your dictionary
To page 804 and read the first word:
“Illusion”. Noun. A false belief.
I cover myself with clothes of deception.
Get a better perception of this sheep in wolf’s clothing.
Come closer. Close enough to catch me.
Walk with me through these woods
Where the trees have knees
So they can bend over
Put their leaves on the ground
And rest themselves.
And we can walk straight up their backs,
And when they rise again we can see for miles on end,
See the earth for what it truly is: Flat.
Like a pancake it is flat.
It has an edge.
There is an end to this world,
And when you get there you will know it ‘cause
Like the bottom of a skillet, there is only black.
Remember that day,
When you fooled the flowers to think you smelled like an angel?
Remember it and breath it in.
‘Cause it never happened.

Dyssomnia

Tomorrow I will wake up
And I will breath in the air of a brand new day
That smells like a song I have not heard--yet.
But I know the beat.
I see people as they walk-no-dance down the street
Bobbing their heads to the rhythm of the song.
It controls them,
Moves them,
Takes them from the long rigid strand of reality,
And breaks open a world of smooth lines.
For them, they have been defined,
But not me.
Tonight I will not sleep,
And I will close my eyes and see my suicide.
This song that I can’t get out of my brain--yet.
It’s beat always changes.
It cannot be captured or tamed, but is re-arranged.
Nodding my head back and forth to the sound,
It controls me,
Drowns me,
Brings me to the bottom of a deep deep ocean,
A world designed by the darkness
That drives me insane.
Tomorrow I will wake up,
And Tonight I will not sleep.