The walls of this room feel like they are creeping in –

Silently hoping I will suffocate.

And then those shushing voices begin to crawl out -

Where I keep them beneath a sutured heart. 

Writhing up my spine and into my mind - ripping up the seams as they go along - popping the zipper open link by link, my cold innards spill out like cellulite - disgusting myself with inability to control it - I have come undone -

What they tell me is unspeakable.

And since they are inside me - like termites whittle away the foundations of my sanity – maggots boiling out of every orifice -keep me from hearing seeing speaking- devour the rotten meat - I cannot escape their torments -

Forced to hear lectures on subjects that don’t exist.

My only consolation would be that revolver and single bullet. Looking around this room - turning drawers and boxes inside out - 

The joke goes awry –

The bullet and revolver do not exist, either. There will be no pleasurable scent of smoke, no scurry of roaches over open eyes, one curious antennae fluttering against the still moist cornea. No stain flung on white walls for the artistic roommate to see; Very Pollock – she’d say.

If only the walls really would collapse down upon me, crushing together everything inside, compact the garbage to be tossed -

THEN –

I could hear the sweet sound of nothing -

I thought an explanation may be in order about these self studies since I actually have a few people reading this page now. There are 8 poems in total, all relating to who I am and the major events that formed my person up until now. Here in my 24th almost 25th year of living I have chronicled in poem format my adventures from an abusive early childhood, to meeting my best friend Devin, battling depression, drug use, and eventually culminating in finally finishing that BA in English I struggled so hard for until December 2008. If there's one thing I've learned putting together all of these poems, it's developing my own sense of poetic voice and style, which by it's nature is always changing and growing. However, these 8 poems, in order,  mark the core of a book of poetry I am working on and someday will attempt to get published.

Selfishly, all about me, I continue to write my journey.

But please feel free to comment and give any concrit.

Being Sky Clad for the First Time

Earth, Air, Fire, Water

The chant echoes into the night.

Our bonfire whips into a frenzy as we dance and yell

Faster and faster we circle, drawing up the energies all around us

Filling our bodies with the life of all the elements

Until it spills forth from every pore and we stop

 Raising our hands to the sky we perform the conclusion of our ritual

As we will it. So mote it be!

And we collapse onto the grass in wild laughter.

Delighting in our homage to her

The full moon drinks up left over energy escaping our overflowing bodies

We lie naked before her and each other

For once,

Unashamed by whom and what we are.

Devin slides across the soft ground to hold my hand

Our breath still synchronized

And heartbeats still drumming out the ritual’s rhythm

Finally, knowing what it means to be one

While the moon watches over us,

We drift asleep in that small forest clearing.

The only protection needed is the blanket of summer heat

Drawn up around us.

A Plea to Falkor the Luck Dragon

Like the Childlike Empress, I have fallen ill

Parts of my rich Fantasia are winking out

A land once lush and dense with imagining

Replaced with darkness unknown

Unseen – I travel within to find an answer.

But all the while I am being chased

Big black beast – thrives – follows me through

The G’mork – messenger for The Nothing

 Helping to eat away the world – with sweet words

Wolf concealed by sheep’s skin

Convinces me there is no hope

Conspires to stop me before I find a cure.

In The Swamps of Sadness I cannot get any farther

I only have to believe in myself

The power of the swamp rendered useless

But the hero Atreyu and his horse Artax are both missing

Their loss is mine

I have no one to carry me out

 No friend to see me through

And not even the ancient turtle Morla can give me wisdom.

The Auryn slips from around my neck – plunging beneath the silky black waters

And though I search frantically

 I am unable to retrieve the will to go on

My inner Fantasia slowly succumbs to the decay – sleep is restless and without dreams

Without them I will be lost

And I begin to sink beneath the Swamps of Sadness.

Looking into the night sky I pray to see the slow swim of white lightning

Undulating ever lower

He will come to save me just like he did for Atreyu in adventures past

At the last second will whisk me into the air

 Far from the G’Mork’s reach

Take me to a place where I might heal.

But I haven’t seen him yet

And I know - The Nothing approaches.

Pilot Episode

Paging Doctor House! Paging Doctor House!

Gregory House, you have better things to be doing: watching, listening, and saving lives

Of people you don’t even care about

I’m in need of a specialist - I’ve added my name to your clinic duties.

If only for the autopsy.

I’ve heard a rumor that you like puzzles

Pieces fit together just so or not at all.

And there is your problem, Dr. House

There’s no redemption to being healthy one day and a cripple the next

No improvisation that you are anything but a miserable man

But at least there is dignity in that

Better to die as what you are than as something other people mistake you for.

Pass me some Vicodin - I want to be stoned, numb, and absolutely brilliant

I did a lot of the messy work - used the scalpel to remove everything within

Spilling the jigsaw chunks of me onto your lab table

Even sorted them into nice piles to help you get the picture

Or wait - I think that one goes over there - and maybe this one couldn’t possibly be…

Trauma like that requires a crash cart - But it seems I’ve made due with a band-aid.

Maybe you could figure me out?

Start along the borders and move inside.

Savor the effort to working your way into the center – Find the problem

Pop that pain killer dry and give me the diagnosis Greg!