Lemon drops in a sizzling cauldron of cough syrup

Nasal decongestants poured over a hot sundae of lopsided daisy-chains

Cracked pepper looming on the horizon mistaken for a murder of crows

We will never know which substance caused the sparkling morning dew to look the way it did that morning

All we know is: the dime bags are all empty now

This flowery cascade of other-worldly disintegration will ...

Crawling through the tidings of an ill omen, I scry a better landscape

Haunted by trials of my own imagination

I plod hither and thither

Seeking a glimmering light within the cages of my soul

I divine a trembling glow far off

Or rather nearer and clearer than before

I swear off chemical resolutions

But don’t doubt that I will stumble again

“I don’t regret the poison that set me free”

B...

The last tomb on the final lane of roses and dirt read, “I Asked for It.”

We will never know what John Sworthsby asked for, but he was certain he had gotten it, perhaps in a fatal dose.

I was reminded of a time when I felt similarly about different things. Perhaps things completely unrelated to tombstones and asking.

I once was a sailor who ate a lot of spinach. This was before cartoons,...

I travelled to Georgia to see if I could learn to split wires

They said I needed to learn the old school uppercut

Just to get the gears working

The sun was blazing into the cauldron of my mind

So I waited for the moon

She whispered sweet secrets about sacred filament

I took a bus to Montana

To make a dollar and see the sights

The man in black twisted my dreams

So I cracked under the starry ...

There was a man who awoke one morning with no pain. No ticking, hidden agitation that so often plagues the human mind.

He arose from his bed and walked to the window. The flowers outside shimmered with an effervescent light and wore a gossamer bloom.

He noticed the absence of fighting faces inside of his mind—the lack of frayed notions competing for a piece of the pie.

He walked to the kitchen ...

Frayed threads beguiled by a siren’s song ignite a crackling flame

I think she wants me dead

I can see the lights coming

I can feel the heat

The Embers of Industry

I wanted to leave it be,

but the songs around me just wouldn’t end

Seraphic sirens stargazing into my mind

They sing haunted hymns that lure me to utter madness

When the dust clears,

everyone will be gone

A final stop at Badlan...

I don’t want to stick out like a weed in a field of wildflowers

But it is only me that I have ever truly known

My shortcomings glisten vibrantly compared to the momentary frustration felt toward others

I cannot carry anyone else to the grave except myself

But it wasn’t only pain that was guaranteed at birth

Forgotten serenity can be like a jumpscare on hallowed nights where the veil is to...

“I suppose you know what happens next. I lie and tell you I’m busy this weekend in hopes of not looking desperate.”

“That’s right. What day should I plan on being busy myself?”

“All of them. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

“Yes. I hope I’m forgotten. And I hope we part ways permanently.”

“Come to think of it—how did we meet?”

“We’re standing in line at a coffee shop.”

“That’s dreadful. I...

Grim riddles lurk in the recesses of a gnarled and bent wave of darkness

The mental nectar was a phantom

Or perhaps a truth gleaned by the oversight of a mind veiled in the ecstasy of synthetic liberation

Who will ever know if they were truly there on those nights

I care not

I only seek the shared and communal moment of health that is beheld by real people

Send word to the ghosts that I...

A pale dawn cracks open behind the eyes of a saint

We can only hope his faith will last the night

Tethering coils bring streams of mercury and paint

While seething thoughts going backwards cascade into the original light

A forgotten sentiment now permeates a once dismal cavern within

Like a memory from the future once laden with a mental nectar forgotten since ancient times

And now someth...