A Wild Rose

forest-dusted tower of a stem stretching
endless polished arms towards the silver heavens,
folds of virile redness
an arching rose, most compelling of all and
adorned with carmine lust,
but adorned first in thorns, a scarred perfection,
adorned in what will always betray
the precious rose that longs to be beautiful
and label it wild.

Arcane

happiness, the feeling escapes this yellowed body,
drags along joy and bliss and ecstacy with it;
i know it, because i see the remains stamped into the rusty dirt
i see the crumbles like crusts of bread fed to green ducks in a park,
green ducks in the azure-like ripples of an oval mirror.

but i see the vanishing trendils of loneliness too,
and sadness and hurt and fear;
and in its place, a cold stony nothing,
a vast emptiness that is more chaining, murderous, than any feeling, desirous or not, i used to know:
a human devoid of everything
that gives this world all authority to call it "man," call it "woman," call it "human being;"
a black wasteland of human shell, of nothingness,
as black as the cold, stone feathers of the ravens.

after that nothing
and after there is nothing left to believe in
i find i still believe in something:
crawling towards it, away from it, irrelevant,
(despite how)
each nothing has wrecked each view of this life.

and even though each time i can never see the world the same
there is always something to believe in when there is nothing.

Thick

vibrance, vibrant, human being, living being
flashes of color dripping wetly overhead
flashes, moments, ah reaching, pulling,
is there such thing as a grasp
floating, floating, invisible evaporation
grey clouds lingering, thickly suspended above
grey, dreary, grey street
grey and stale, grey dismal bell jar
jar of fireflies gone out in smoke
brightly flashing, blinding, so real, so real, surreal
human, human, living, being, human being
human being devoid in greyish mists
mystically encrusted mists, fantasy air
breathe, air-filled lungs, pumping, life
vibrant life stained with grey condensation