chiaroscuro

two broken people do not make a whole nor does a whole person make a broken person whole what is this yearning, this cry for an other what is this inexorable demand for your perfect half it's something sublime and attainable ethereal and earthly, perfect in its imperfection let the night be your past time and your sunlight be my moonlight equity but not equality wholeness but not completion a pearl above great price or is it just so, before the swine? well i say fuck the system take it back i want to cut it off pluck it from my skull roll it into the chasm i hate it and i can tell you do too let's hate it together and die in a blaze of fiery white hopelessness and not of their pretty white lace and their bloody flowers. The bells do not toll for me; they toll for thee. 

what is feral but free what is passion but fire what is dead but unmoving what is freedom but death what is loneliness but aloneness what is peace but stillness what is love but splitting what is maturing but aging what is life but endlessness is it more to continue than to end?

first i dreamed of huge grassy fields and a far off castle cradled in the arm of the mountain and we leaped to travel and there were many of us dressed in royal and pastel and yet we never reached the castle then i dreamed of a river of light silvery green and cool blue and touches of pure white it flowed above a cobblestone city as we watched from cherry red double-decked buses as the giant clock tower chimed an unforgiving midnight while soldiers marched to an unheard melody that only they can hear and then i dreamed of an underground laboratory with chambers of stone and glass and metal and at the heart of this cold and analyzing place was the remnants of a great black dragon and they were pumping its blood to the far reaches of the earth and so even in death the dragon was still stretching its wings afterwards i dreamed of a hidden lake filled with paper birds of all shapes and colors bobbing merrily in an endless dance "won't you make a wish?...

The dams in my chest are threatening to burst I hate this fluorescent It might as well be cursed No pretty words can relieve the tension I feel Wishing there was something I could do Wishing for reprieve Wishing for a ray of hope and a private way to grieve.

If I melt, would it be so bad? To collapse and ooze In a puddle of limbs and face? In the delirious heat There's something to be said About wanting to de-exist Even if You have never felt more aware Of your own sweltering form Are you being daring? They ask No, I say I'm just very hot And I mean heat-hot I know the sun is our sustainer But today I peer and sneer   Saying "Would it kill you To lift your flaming foot off the gas pedal just a SMIDGEN??!!"

Sometimes we sit in the tiny corner cafe The one with soft lights draped over heavy oaken beams in the ceiling We drink from earthenware mugs and wipe froth from our lips Moonbeams leak from above, pale and quiet, casting shadows that play at our feet If there is such a thing as a witching hour, it would be now The golden dragon sleeps, smoke pluming upwards like a sinner's offering His tail is curled around town square His heavy snores make the rafters tremble In the morning we have work to do Shepherds to their flocks Smiths to their forges Weavers to their looms Watchmen to their posts Merchants to their shops But for now we rest, sitting in a corner cafe where the moon settles and the golden dragon sleeps.

ebony scarlet weeping amber body shaking we speak the communal language look into a eyeless space hear the void singing back sweep and step a cutthroat dance grasp the neck seize the collar maybe it's time to dance we play a lovers' grief cries of pain stifled mutes are on their bridges the terror of raw emotion take flight on translucent wings and yet we end in twisted triumph sloughing through a wilderness of wildness weeping with smiles and silver plunged in our breasts love gives and takes sometimes one gives too much a harsh climax leaving two intertwined hearts mangled in the dust but love demands to be heard and so we play on an aching beauty, aching soul for playing a foreign song has never been so tragic