Ciéra

wallup.netGuarding the dark abyss

on hands and knees

praying I don’t forget

which way I meant to go

today

to cover up

the fact that I’m always

going down

to the bottom of the well

where the first dark star

wept.

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Genesis

Ever since I was old enough to think twice
I’ve been failing to put myself back together
Perhaps they are right
We come from the Stars
And are meant to be scattered as such
Across that ominous dark forever
Wondering
How many light years
Until we can begin again

Dandelion

Letter to Lost Souls- (Those who have not yet given theirs away and therefore appear lost to those who have),

Tend to the dirt of misgivings. Risk the persecution of dominants and denigrates for the splendid maintenance of your compassion. Cherish your soft and changing flesh in this pixelated landscape of depravity ~ Empties offing themselves with 3bits of vacuous sleek. Trading skin for safety.

Keep your flesh alive. Tend soil with bare feet and tears. Attract shame with your dragonfly belly. When they forget their heart and reach to strike you, blow them a gentle dandelion wish. Defeat them with your stillness as their churning parts futilely shear into shrapnel. Your innocence is unbreakable.

Tend to your sparking cells. Distract them with your shimmering tears. An oceanic vessel of grief swells within you as you watch them suck light.

~ Sand grinds through delicate pink ducts,
sore and infected from forced consumption of visions obese with cruelty.

This tiny aperture of compassion
~ made to feel its delicate portal suffocate time
-now turned tyrant-
abscessed and obsessed with the pillaging of hope,
shoving its swollen harm into you.

Empty yourself of this, day by day. Tend soil with bare feet and tears.

Your compassion is their weakness. They crave the sweetness of your heart, seething with empathy. Euphoric on your essence they become deaf to the spit and split of their own atoms – whipping out a final, exasperated clinch on their pathos. Your cries blaze victorious against their blood and curdle. A city is built upon broken heart bones. Structures bound with the ash of a fire burned out.

You won’t get me. I won’t ever let you. You tempt me with this false and impossible plea to save you, but you’re committed. Heart and beat turned metal and code. At the final pinnacle of my liberation you’ve distracted me. My perseverance gives way to your warmth for I have been so cold. Words of endearment smell of methane and I am tricked by this slow and deliberate churning of human to machine. We reach hands through sharp unmovable ribs, find embrace and breathe. How could we let this happen again? What is this overwhelming obsession to annihilate human love and bury innocence so deep into a pit of shame we are assured no resurrection?

We hold a flame in the dark – our unwavering Phoenix. This is not our chosen game but it is yours and we will play. We will win. Laugh as you pull twine from parrot dolls. We spin silk. Worms – breathing, kneading soil.

I dig at my own tenderness. Cry out this shame. I see the sun through the dirt of my premature grave. I resurrect precise stalks of green and water and bloom a yellow flower. I turn my petals to summer snow and scream out a wish, as you protest ~ yourself.

Riptide

There’s a tidal wave coming for you,
silently brewing drag deep underneath your cool composure.
Don’t fear, your best moments are to come:
Fluorescent bleached shock cushioned by a softness so heavy,
it compels you to the ocean floor where your moment of creation lies in a heap of eroded treasure.
Collapse into centripetal bliss
as you dive, eyes open and stinging
into a proverbial riptide of growth,
spun off by the soul’s cold war between
maintenance and transcendence.
A ravenous dragon, devouring
every remaining, fragile connection between
human and cruelty.
Come now
Be kind
Devour yourself into yourself
until there is nothing left but a raw reaching for
the greatest love you have never had the courage to sustain.

Illogical Flight

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Delirium slumber

between

no space of breath

or scream

to lift the weight of other’s burdens

i feel

space

void

and reach.

 its a heavyweight disaster zone, complete with catalog and invitation

sleek all sides

yell

stay

comfortable

I suffocate under the weight.

for a pinhole i search grow to expand into nothingness vast

to you i yield                                                                                                                                                 bottom down                                                                                                                                             into this surrender

beckon i to myself

scream

enough and loud

go tiny space get through

blasting

faster and faster

too fast                                                                  -break now Illogical Flight

Beautiful Nothing

 

There is a temptation, as my grip on this reality slips greatly, to hold on.  to hold on to that which i have never believed for fear of vacancy.  a netless fall from the perceived path.  how long will i hold on, how long will i try to make it work in a broken field.  perhaps not much longer now.  i feel all ties to identities of consciousness, packed into bodies – release.  i feel all connection to strain release.  i feel all tension relax and all direction vanish.  all i know is – there is more.  there is more and i release and relax myself into that place.  i release all impressions of what this would be like.  i release all impressions of my past and future.  i release my belief and agreements with the “laws” of this world.  i recognize the expanse and here i breathe deeply, freely, open my heart to the mystery and welcome the unknown, that which i seek.  4:11

Edges

razor thin.

the ocean.

noise,

in the middle of silence.

like light

taking all of the dark.

you speak 

in the middle of my silence

and i cannot hear 

the ocean

inside my head.

i cannot feel

the cut,

nor guide precision.

this is exacting,

important,

crucial.

as time crumbles 

under scrutiny

i follow

the falling of apartness,

trace the echo

of god’s first sound

back to approximate

abyss.

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