An Unlife
Out of a trance.
Transported,
into another time frame,
another second of grace
beyond our space
of a lifetime.
Rebuked and
without a trace,
vanished,
into an unknown
place.
Not a soul can
find.
Without that grind,
we cease to realize
all the goodness that ensues.
The perfect momentum of time.
We understand
that life will go on
and we will be ok.
Nothing by empty words
follow that race.
Yet we see this
fault
and by no judgement of our
own,
we open.
Into secret dimensions
of overwhelming creativity,
passionate beings of
lustful art.
Decaying facades
dripping at our feet.
The world finally
sees us.
Nothing can deny
what we have become.
Spirits of trancendential worship
surround us.
Protecting our frail
bodies.
Time quickens,
delaying a sensational aftertaste
of naivity.
All at once,
but slowly,
trickling,
warm honey
oozing,
sickeningly sweet.
Then it is gone.
Again.
A shot is heard,
and it rebounds.
Echoing within deep caverns
of malicious thoughts.
Regret.
Coarsely wrapping her fingers
around my throat.
She chokes me with
writhing tentacles,
squeezing every emotion from
my body.
Nothing by black.
Still suffocating,
my wait has begun,
for that spark of
life that will light
my darkness.
Waiting.
Always in hope for a glimpse
of energy, a dash of
color, but nothing will
serve my ashen hearth.
He is hungry.
So much so that he
can only consume.
This pounding serves
as justice. From whom?
I do not know.
Blind and ruined.
I feel the storm
lift.
Caked beneath mud,
blood pulses through my veins.
Shocked into existence,
it rushes through my body,
the warmth spreads to my toes.
Life.
In all of its glory
EXISTS.
For the outlaws who run
and gallop off in the sunset.
For the magicians who cannot
teach their craft.
For monsters in the night.
For fairies that shy away.
Life is for the untouchables.
Life craves youth.
To live,
he says, quietly but clear,
would be an awfully
great adventure,
then his spirit burst,
charged with electricity,
fueled by life.
By now the stars are out.
Gazing forlornly at a distant
mountain.
Glistening with snow,
she quivers, shaken by eternal
blasts of agony.
The stars shed soft tears for
the she-mountain.
Just as the moon arises to
greet his lover, a stillness among
the flora envelopes the valley.
Not a creature stirs.
Then his chalky breath settles
upon the earth.
Tendrils of smoky
exhalation pollutes the air.
She wails,
crying, her lover has come.
His asymmetrical face,
beautifully imperfections appear before her.
Long gone is her lust.
The man on the moon
satiates the
she-mountains thirsts.
prolonged by summer's
serendipitus sunlight.
She longed for the icy
grip of his night
light. To be seen and
fulfilled.
The memory has drifted.
Images of days gone
by.
Untouchable.