The Hunt for SelfThe Hunt for Self
my soul hunts for something
in this jumbled forest
of lost memories
and old smiles.
is it the animal in me?
a totem in my ancient brain?
is my real name unspeakable?
there's a nostalgia i can taste.
living in a dream, i picture
myself standing proud
in the songs of old
and in smells of dead years.
am i the forest-dweller?
the wolf-dog that breathed in me
as i ran free on home's ground
were there was solace in the wind?
my soul screams for something.
i wish i could reach for it,
but i don't know where to grasp.
my identity lies beyond somewhere.
is there a point of source
where the timeless wolf was born?
do i have a home beyond homes?
the nostalgia will remain forever.
living in an illusion, i breathe
a sweet, light, primal air.
prehistoric is the galloping feeling
roaring like a train in my chest.
am i the midnight howling?
the flying, soaring sound
of life dripping from the stars?
will the wolf within carry me home?
my soul sings
The VoiceThe Voice
the quiet voice is the one that screams
deep within bones, buried in dreams.
deadly things gather in a head so alive.
i stumble as my steps backward arrive.
the silent smile is the one that cries
tears of longing, replenished supplies.
trivial words are exchanged between lips.
somehow i'm bruised by the empty it grips.
the damned feeling is the one that beams
hurdling higher up over extremes.
i'm wanting to embrace all that we lost:
taste the burned-out fumes of our old exhaust.
the hopeful thought is the one that dies.
i'm tired of swallowing poisonous lies
fed to me by my beast of the psyche.
the pressure to drown is raw and it's spiky.
the dormant voice is the one that schemes
plotting its takeover, assembling regimes.
i stand ashamed in the light of your face
long after our smiles have dissolved into space.
I Am A PhantomI Am A Phantom
i am a phantom, an apparition.
i'm exhausted from not living
enough. not breathing enough.
the cold flows in again: i choke.
you've been gone for ten million
days and i feel the cracking again
of the depressions i bring forth:
and i eat the sadness like candy.
i'm killed by all the love i'm fed.
that sick part of me wants to just
lie in agony for my great losses.
i saw every single one disappear.
i am a phantom: dry and quiet.
and i beg winter's gloom to cradle
me with its heavy, murderous hands.
i will become the damnation i crave.
you've been pixels on screens,
and you've been an ancient picture
in a frame that hides now, face down
under the anvil of my bed: lingering.
i'm dying here. i want to die here.
the beast in my head pats my back
and tells me that i'm content with it:
the soft buzz of silence; heavy eyes.
i am a phantom. nothing is enough.
i am never satisfied. i am never alive.
i don't understand this all-too-familiar