Drain Me

Narrow is the only way to go

Everyone’s muse 

But I don’t find it amusing 

A muse to everyone else

A thoughtless vapour my soul couldn’t catch 

But I have feelings I do

And sometimes I think I do

I think too much for someone 

Who is beautiful.  

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Siren Songs

Almost all are creatures of dust,

Yet he emerged from the mist.

Who knew I’d find him

In the shadow of the haze

Flung ashore from

Primordial waters,

My knight clad in desire

Disarmed by a rose

On wounded knee

To bow his head and cling to me.

Arms placed tightly around my waist

Held for the sake of stifling sorrows

Wisteria dreams, our hope entwined.

Maybe one day if life permits

I’ll bear a son,

Name him Ambrose

To remind us that love is eternal.

Hunter Bailey

Distant wind to pass through me again. To stand every hair at the nape of my neck. Familiar spirit to leave me again. Temporary visits that teach me pain and how to renew my mind to restoration, Libations for the wounded heart. Pulmonary pulsations beating down my Defenses, spilled ink at the hands of the Hunter’s fatal bow made me weak. I consecrate his blood from my crown to my soles. I will live for you until I die again my forever friend.

Wifi

I’ve got a love hate relationship with this little device in my hand. Fear of being stranded in this social media landscape. People quick to assume that they know merely based on what they see. As if a quick scroll through this infinite sea of squares could ever define me. Cause honestly that ain’t you and that ain’t me. At least not entirely. Just fragments of what I am, and what I’d like to appear to be, sprinkled with glimpses of what a future me could come to be. And amidst all these personas one thing rings true: They ain’t me and I ain’t them, but you are me, and I am you. I’m a reflection of your perception. A manifestation of your projections. Outside yet still within the realms of your conventions. Funny how you can be both creator and invention… I feel good today. Last night I was thinking about home. How simpler the island life is, how I spend less time on my phone. Cause when I wake up at 6 am, and the sunrise hits through the blinds, and the palm trees are swaying across the azure coloured sky, external validation is the last thing on my mind. And that’s beautiful. When I’m present that’s my authentic self. When I choose to show up in an analogue presence opposed to only a digital one, true integration occurs. A balance of two worlds. Simultaneous simulations, moments like the here and now. I find temporary salvation.

Great Inception

Thinking of the solar flare that brought me Here.

Out of viscous walls where I once cocooned

A heavenly host waiting to exhale

To finally place anxiety in exile.

Maybe I’m reminiscent of the voyage,

Reminded of my first home

When my stomach is in knots.

Tongue tied tubes

Swearing oath to silence

Until I offer the fruit of my lips.

Forward to where it all began.

Sol

Premature celebrations for victories not yet won,

I remember those days in the sun

when even our worst sins could be

pardoned.

Perhaps we all must face the rain

before we’re braced with light again

To a stillness born of retrospect.

So envelop me in the dead of night

To lie in the arc below your neck.

Things do lurk in the dark,

and things do indeed fall apart

allowing us the chance to mend.

Tell me the difference between love & madness again?

Or the Moon in light of her Sun?

Don’t Fear the Reaper

There’s the house burning in the sky.

The Nightrider’s on my back

and in the front seat getting me by.

I talk my way out of a death decree defined,

You learn how to barter when your life is on the line.

When the houses burning flames escaped

the firmaments hollow eye,

I looked around the shadows creek,

knew it was the dying time.

But my gift of gab is my saving grace

so I dropped it on the dime,

In that moment she was just like me

My Nightrider and I.

Looked at her from the passenger

My demon in disguise

I know that it was just a dream

But I could nearly cry…

Wilhelm Scream

I see stars

Galaxies and constellations

With each flutter

The curtains of your eyes

Reveal and conceal

I find what’s real

In the heart of an iris

I risk it all to watch you bloom

A million lifetimes

In the blink of an eye

Acoustic session on loop

A muffled fader

To remind me of what I never knew

A memory of you

Though I haven’t met you yet

Straight to the heart and through the chest

You missed me

Somehow I knew.

New You

Fear of ambiguity

Lost in the maze of the

Passing minute hand.

Answers don’t fall out the sky

They lay buried deep within the sand.

I wish I could read your mind

Your face, unclear, trails on in

My rear view.

Every shifting glance you transform

Before my eyes,

I wish I really knew you.

Who After Dark

Who after dark

Can confidently profess content?

Truthfully declare you were

Fulfilled and ever present.

Or are you left feeling depleted?

Devoured by the ether

Taking cover under covers

Only place you could rest

Where your sun sets

In retrospect,

I must confess —

The body wasn’t built for this conquest.

Poured into a bottomless cup

Love sank to the ocean floor and

Never came up

What do you do it for?

Trickster energy is Lustful

A whore keeping score.

Real Love is sustained

The latter merely maintained

Until the well runs dry

Pleasure as a sedative

Is just the speck in your eye.

But we come back for more,

Lust is trickster energy

A whore keeping score.

Do You Believe In Second Chances?

You don’t like being controlled.

I don’t like being lonely   

Even when I’m not alone.

Desires for intimacy

But your hands too shaky to hold

Not trying to force you to fit the mould,

You know I struggle with control.

I looked inward to find the source of my inhibitions

That floated up to the surface  to a synagogue  of witnesses.

A sea of faces, and they all have your eyes,

When there’s nowhere to run or hide 

You gotta enter the chamber

Slay the dragon, kill the Pride.

Disarmed you with the truth

And a conversation you weren’t ready for

Corrupted soil bore the fruit of the land you consumed 

Now you’re dazed and confused

Wondering why your mental strings are out of tune. 

It’s a parasitic cycle we live in 

Acting like we don’t care,

Closed mouths don’t get fed

Pleading the fifth gets you nowhere.

Miscommunication patented the seed

For the roots of deception

Descent into the land where entropy reigns supreme.  

Energy of entitlement got you all fucked up 

it seems.

I want to understand

First you need to throw me a bone.

These virtual realities of failed systems 

Could crumble at the foot of our

Ignited soles.

When your vision meets my minds eye 

What a sight to behold.

We could get a taste of how it feels to be whole 

To see today’s genesis 

In light of the old. 

Reflections

9:37 pm. I’m alone

The call has just ended

With unresolved silence

From my side of the dial

Tone deaf and dumb

An uncertainty lingers

In the air from her

‘Goodbye, I love you, speak soon.’

Naturally I deal with these

Uncomfortable moments

Where I’m left with nothing

But self reflection and a

Dead battery the only way

I know how.

Cherry red lips

And a swivel of gloss

Stains the rim.

No drop will be left to

It’s lonesome tonight

There’s a Red Sea inside of me

Waiting to be parted

I dissolve into despondency

Inebriated therapy .

There are mistakes that I’ve made,

Risks that’s I’ve taken,

Sins I still seek atonement for,

And decisions I refuse to face

All screaming in

Harmonious discord

Why did I let it get this far?

If a sixth sense exists, and

A woman’s intuition is God

Then I have denounced both,

My own personal Judas.

Didn’t listen to my heart

Did what I was expected

Paralysed by parental pressure

When it was time to speak my truth

My backbone bent

Not strong enough to withstand

The commodity of my youth.

So they all laughed .

Laughs turned to horror

Horror turned scowls of disgust

Disgust to confusion

They must’ve thought me delirious.

When the jokes not so funny anymore,

‘Oh, she’s serious?’

Voices sink like quicksand.

People really look like places

When you’re lost.

A man can look like a home

When you think you have none .

Hollow inside

I allowed many to take up residence

Not even dead presidents

Could pay off the debts they raised

Imagine me, Almost 23.

And I thought I’d ruined my life

Thought I spoke up too late

Ran when the timing wasn’t quite right

A trail of breadcrumbs left

Still waiting on the mice

To take it all away,

Conceal my misguided steps

I was waiting for days, weeks ,

Months, a year later

And still left there standing

Still hoping to salvage my self before expiry

Eyes cast to the heavens thinking

Man, God must be tired of me.

Gave me so many exit plans

I stood dumbfounded at every door

Looking for ways out

Drawing circles on the floor

When momma hang up the phone

I didn’t know what to say anymore

Didn’t know my future

Didn’t know what I was doing

I let him change my name

Left to ruin

As if it made me any more of a woman

Signed my independence away

Blood stained calligraphy.

They say a man who finds a wife

Finds a beautiful thing,

But I wasn’t ready

So his blessing became my curse

Final chapter written in cursive

Open Endings still uncertain.

I can never really explain

Just how much it hurt,

Still I managed to claw my way

Through the dirt.

Sometimes the pain comes back to visit

Like an old time friend

Reminding me, Never. Never again.

If life was a lucid dream

I would’ve woken way sooner

Changed the narrative

Traveled the nine circles of hell

And bought back my soul

…Just 22 years old.

I’d tell her don’t slow down

It’s only just begun.

The Walk

I haven’t just yet.

But I’ve figured it out. And amidst all my worry and doubt a sense of relief lies buried beneath the rubble. Relief in the inevitable or what I deem to be decided. So much could be solved if I simply speak. If I articulated what I felt instead of waiting for words to fall into my lap. I feel the shift. The change in energy, and the looming threat of separation like a candle in the wind. I know it’s a matter of my own doing. I want you to speak, but who am I to demand expectation. The lingering thoughts in your mind, the content of your heart, all your senses and sensibilities, are yours to share, not mind to demand. Besides, I want you to want to. To reveal, confide and confess on your own accord. Because you feel safe with me. Because you find consolation in our minds interweaved. A knot in the thread is the only thing that seals. Let me be transparent, I’ll stop making excuses. I know my diversion can be worse than hubris. Sometimes I shy away from conversation, afraid of losing the illusion of control. Control of my fears, desires, secrets. Control of my philosophy, interests, taboos. I say it’s because I don’t want them to consume you. In part, that is quite true. Really, I fear that you’ll contain me. Whether you want to or not. There are depths behind your eyes that I can’t quite reach, but I feel them as if I’m slowly drifting into the deep. And with every glance in my direction that current is felt. I can tell you’re not like everyone else. So I hide behind base level vanities to shield my fragility. Deep conversations breed vulnerability. I know you want to go beyond the surface, ironically I want the same. My countenance may say otherwise, but really it’s all a foolish game. There’s much more to this, it’s worth the try. If it means I must lay aside my pride, then I’ll throw down my armour and look you in the eyes. No distractions, aversions of glance. I’m ready to talk if you’d still like to hear. Let’s go for a walk, you can lend me your ear.

An Instant

They say if you go looking

Be prepared for what you may find.

Disclosure to Ignorance is as Sight to the Blind.

Be prepared, you may just despise what’s on the other side

Selfish curiosity turned slave to momentary pride.

Many know that melancholy can be oddly pleasurable.

Emotional extremities euphoria made immeasurable

Tethering on the edge of intrigue and it’s addictive

My curiosity finds it’s way back rather vindictive.

Disrupted hypothalamus, now how do I trust

I have a habit of prying my eyes open even when they’re not shut.

Extending myself, tearing through thresholds to see if new ones emerge.

The masochist in me says submit to every urge.

Usually I resist but in my moments of weakness

I’m left looking at the monster I’ve willed into existence

The thoughts go everywhere. Fugitives I’ll never find

Such an ugly use of an otherwise beautiful mind.

Call it brutal imagination. I still wonder why we do this.

In the ebb and flow of life

Some things remain superfluous

All I can do is wake up, make a change

See if I feel a difference

I’ve outgrown the myth of the Path of Least Resistance.

The sleep of reason doesn’t care either way,

So I soldier on in the dawn of a new day.

Colour Theory

he speaks in colours

and he goes to my head.

tender yet brute

his touch paints me red

leaves my skin burgundy,

true premier cru,

a man so gentle

somehow so cruel.

when I’m waiting by the phone

his silence stains shades of blue.

and I fade into grey

the saddest hue,

if only he knew,

if only he knew.

I long for his embrace

like the perfect brew

warm brown arms

to keep me grounded

firmly in place

entangled at the root.

I give you my eyes

to travel through,

a sunset haze to gaze into

for you I’ll be an orange moon.

let down your walls

trust and believe,

here in my room you’ll

find your peace.

just lay your head upon

my chest,

fields of green

where you may rest.

Thank You

If the unendurable is truly the beginning curve of joy, perhaps my salvation is just around the bend.

If the edge of sadness descends into the pit of a new dawn

Does my former self die to be reborn again ?

I’d like to shed my skin,

Reveal the vessel beneath this weathered

Flesh

As skin reveals bone

Surpassing my idea of self.

Avatars are deceiving

And many I have deceived.

Nothing here is good, nothing here is clean.

So patiently I wait to be remade again

Perhaps my salvation is just around the bend.

Pandora Speaks

 

So she turned to him, and with a slight grin upon her lips she told him her truth. The whole truth and nothing but. One has never witnessed such honesty, spilling out of her mouth like water from the Chalice Well; it engulfed him from every corner. She could not contain it. This was her time to be heard, and I must remind you how rare it is in this life for a woman to be heard.

“Woman like me can never love and be loved in return. It’s always one or the other as our role permits. These men do not love me. I know I am a commodity , and the day I’m not desired I fear the walls of Jericho have been struck down. I was pure and good once . But the passion of the brute has dug it’s dirt ridden heels into my body, too many times for its mark to fade. I’ve given my passion time and time again for nothing in return. Nothing substantial. No permanency. Just a brief moment of feeling wanted and evading the curse that is loneliness . I feel so lonely after, and a little less complete. A little less whole . A little less me. I do not love these men. They would never take me home to their mothers because I’m tainted to them. Not worth a family or a household. Yet women like me are the ones they yearn for when they lie next to their wives at night. Oh the things they say! “You’re the only woman that can satisfy me.” If only they knew what it was to be satisfied. You see there’s these men. But then there are the others. The poor earnest souls. The tender cavaliers who dare to take a chance on tortured women such as I . Who choose to look past the snicker and whisper of the town. Who defend our honour against a world that says we have none. And, if they’re really foolish, dare to propose. To take to the alter one they wouldn’t allow through the church doors. These men are far too kind and therefore too good to be loved. I want to love them . I really do! But I would never allow myself to get so comfortable. He thinks he can handle what is completely irrational. I know it will become too much for him. You can’t possibly have these feelings reciprocated from a woman whose perception of love, has been completely distorted. He’ll be frustrated every time he looks into my eyes, broken little stained glass mirrors, and wonder why I won’t allow him to love me. And I just might love him, I just might do. Alas, I’m incapable of showing it. Throw me around, do your bidding, let the rage of impetuous lust erupt then retreat back into its corner. It’s all I’ve come to know and all I can allow . Anything else is unfamiliar— and far too scary . Remember, I too was once pure and good. I’ve forgotten how to dream. It is precisely because of this women like me can never be loved. I’m content living a life confined to brief intimacies and fleeting moments of inclusion. I hope you understand. I pray you understand.”

Concrete Songs of Melancholy

These streets are as wild as

The natives heart.

We  watch the city

Change like the fleeting hour

The morning smell of

Coffee and cigarettes

Complements the businessman’s scowl

Felt from a mile away.

 

Do you know how it feels

To be constantly lost in

A sea of faces?

A part of the culture

Yet invisible to Man.

Lonely in this

Mosaic of life.

 

Until you find a rose creeping out of the concrete.

 

 

 

Focus on the heart.

You have creative control over your experience. Illusionary perceived realities seen through distorted optics will paint you an image of lack and deficit. May you be the lender and not the borrower. Through the misty hollows of your troubled mind, let the seed of hope enter the ravens hand and take flight. I pondered on the mind’s capabilities. The capacity to fragment into alters of self in a sophisticated manner. Not through accidental means, or nefarious control, or defence mode induced trauma; but full autonomous control in which subconscious programming aligned with conscious realisation and intention, could produce ability nothing short of supernatural. Fragmentation brought back into full integration. Mankind in an of itself, the ultimate machine. A vessel self-programming, self-starting, and therefore if mishandled, self-destructing. Is this impossible or is this our true nature unbeknownst to us? Are elements of this already in display. Is it a supreme facet of ‘Christ-consciousness’ or perhaps even beyond (true God-body). Focus on the heart.

Hermetic Principle II: The Principle of Correspondence

‘As above, so below; As within, so without.’

The Hermetic Principle of Correspondence teaches that there is divine harmony and correlation between all planes of existence. The physical plane, mental plane, and spiritual plane are all intrinsically connected. This world is multidimensional. Whatever is done on the micro level is also done at the macro level. All is reflected, all is mirrored. In anything lies everything. The lenses in which we perceive our outer world is a reflection of our inner world. The thoughts and images we create in our conscious mind, often manifest themselves subconsciously into our external world. All which we perceive as lovely; beauty, joy, light, is also reflected within. To control your inner world, you have to try not to control the outside world. Instead, you have to start controlling your inner world if you want to control your outer world. This ties in perfectly with the Principle of Mentalism, as all begins in The Mind. Ruminate on how your inner world is the place where you have almost absolute power; the closest semblance of ‘control’ that we can possess. Still, we acknowledge that there are planes and phenomena, characteristics of the cosmos, that are way beyond our knowing and level of comprehension, but by observing the patterns that do exist in our dimension we can infer what may exist in higher and lower ones. Pay attention to patterns and sharpen your intuitive nature.

(From my series on Hermeticism, originally posted March 11, 2021 on my instagram page instagram.com/slayrrxmantic )

Above The Clouds

A mental stream that I allow to run free

No hold no breaks

Thoughts drift like tectonic plates

Words move and shake

I cause eye sores and

Natural catastrophe

With ideologies

Words of Lennon

Echo my mind

Bu how can I just let it be

To be

To exist

To float into the abyss

Above the clouds.

To strike and not miss

No greater pleasure than this

To peel back my layers

Shedding Sin

Clasped hands for my prayers

To the God who dwells within

Down on my knees

I am all of these

And then some

Thats why some flock

And why some run

The cloth that I

Cut myself from

Is a murderous tune

They writhe and they run to ruin

Subduing this energy truly is no fun

I fear I may consume every one

Something exists inside of me

Thats’s larger than life

Beyond the scope of society

Beyond the realm of what we touch, smell and, see

Can’t help but wonder

Can there truly exist a place for me?

The American Dream

The crippling fear of success

Is its own mental duress.

The imminent fear of success

With every expectation you surpass,

Has really got the best of you,

And I know the feeling too.

The thoughts come in three’s

And varying degrees.

Before you know it here comes the borderline,

I sleep on my journal to catch the nick of time.

I’ve got a passion for life

But I won’t be nickled and dimed

For a dream thats not really mine.

Romantic Poets: Shelley and Keats