I Call It Home

     Tiny ripples of desire,
     Flutter through the lace,
     That edges my conscious dream,
     Unexpected surges,
     Swell in the depths,
     Of my soul’s darkest shadow,
     Such cravings alone,
     Punish future joy,
     In this psychological tempest.


Sanctum silence steals the breath
From the dying day
While settling sunlit motes
Remind me of death itself
Stirring deep sullen torment
With oars of discontent
Passing fear of days long lost
Regrets not so easy now to disown

Former faith in broken loves
Shapes sharp anticipation
Of hatred yet to come
And another lover buried within
Child’s grinding paranoia
Honing edges of mental steel
Wrought in defence
Wielded in misplaced assault

Juxtaposed judiciary
In my mirror dormant lies
Self imposed containment
Through selfish dying eyes
Viewing daily destitution
Results of misadventure
And prosperous memoirs
As the mêlée de jour.



“In the world, darkness follows me, hiding out, in places I can’t see.” – Stevie Blaze, Lillian Axe

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