osculation

The sun swept rivals
thick draft bouquet
oval diaries welt away
rampant lark decay protest
stagnant hours burn to bless.

The winter noose
afflict new night
strangle lust amidst moonlight
the shadows hung in lurid veil
strangers sifted white exhale.

The pulse of stars
congealing love
the halo's snapping necks above
macabre eyes still lying clear
the chalk was marked to disappear.

Crucify the ego

I rather dislike the idea of writing in a direct nature, whereas i would state my thoughts and experiences of the past moments, then wittingly self critique them to make myself look as though i have all ready conquered any grip they had over me.

I also, however, am starting to tire of the ambient descriptive flood of semi poetic run on sentences that don't offer any relative insight whatsoever.
I'm beginning to face the reality that greatness is quite the crafty white rabbit indeed. There are no short cuts, no cunning devices to catch it whilst you sit and drink lemonade. You must run, and chase and run some more. Until finally that rabbit is tired enough that you can grasp your greedy little hands around it, and fill yourself with the pride you toiled so diligently for.

I am also, however feeling allot more centered and at peace with myself. That is to say, i am not relying on outside sources, whether it be people, objects, drugs, whatever, to satisfy my desires. I am not allowing insecurity's, conflicts, or other 's actions to influence my mood. While, at least this is what I'm attempting, i feel relatively confidant at this point, but we all know there are highs and lows, so I am in no way prematurely boasting of success. Its strange how new environments and situations tend to be quite the catalysts when it comes to way of thought. I suppose at times they're effects could be negative, but i think allot of the time, they have a very proactive effect on ones self, if one can overcome the initial terror they ensue.

I feel as though the road that lies ahead of me is serrated in darkness and shrouded in uncertainty. I am nervous at this point because i have invested so much of myself into something and i know there is no going back. The time has come to chase the formidable rabbit till my lungs cave and muscles ache. The fear that seems to resonate is of course, that of failure. This doubt and lack of confidence could very well consume me. I must let the ego go, and live in the present, and do as i must do. My life has shifted quite drastically in the past few weeks and I don't believe an inner realization could have come at a better time.

I'll Thank the ravens.

The sun met the moon.

The sky stung with a rose blush laying gusts of dehydration as it beamed. Alley ways lurked with seduction. Remnants of the fleeting years lay nested in the corners of pavement frozen in neglect. One could hardly notice those peeking eyes that stabbed from the corner of a window where the curtain hung partially lifted. Those peering eyes stalked me as i passed through the street below. A spell of curiosity had consumed me and i glanced back to see those eyes, still fixated on me.

I felt a strong violent urge gag its way to my blood as my muscles tensed. My pulse curdled as i clutched my fists so tightly that my nails began to peirce the palms of my hands. I had to lift this curse. I would no longer be burdened. I would now eclipse life or die myself, lonely and with the heart of a failed man.

Softly, The air huffed and i was lifted back down. The anger subsided and my breaths lengthened. I was choking on vapor at this point, it being dense like tar, my lungs heaved as i exhaled. I needed sleep to pacify this inhumanity before i was wholy consumed, before death thickened the air even more then allready so.

Shudders cracked at my spine. My neck twitched as i shot my arms out manically. The blood tore through my veins, boiling my sanity as I prepared. I spun abruptly and turned back towards the hellish mannor. I caved the lock in and stormed up two flights of stairs till i faced a door adorned with one maroon number hanging tightly to the rotting wood. A snarl curled its way onto my face as i stoped for one brief moment, before entering room number seven.