SOMETHING BROKEN

The light from the florescent tube flickers on
as he tries to clean the caked blood from his temple.
The whiskey numbs the pain as he tries to focus the blurred figure in the dirty mirror staring back at him.
The dirt and filth blends perfectly with his perfect disaster.

''Get the fuck away from me!'',the voice echoes in his mind as he removes his blood soaked shirt,
throwing it into the discolored water  swimming in the sink with his will to live.
The light goes off
with a screeching mechanical fault leaving him in  darkness.

He knows something is broken,
even as he yells to himself and laughs hysterically in the darkness,
The lone source of light bursts back to life again,
blood streaming from his head and onto his bony frame.

The music from outside drowns out his screams as he smears the blood across his face,
he laughs hysterically,again looking at the face in the mirror.
He knows there is nothing of him  there,
the him he knew was gone,just as the flickering light,he switched in and out of himself.

The whiskey in his veins keeps him warm,
at least warm enough to not care about where he is.
There is no awareness now,
No reason to be accountable for putting all the pieces together.

Something cold,
Something damp and worthless craters his soul.
He sees nothing but what he lost in  a mad dash to find himself,
The body that hid the turmoil now wasting away like discarded moving parts.

Its dark again,he feels the void encompassing his being,
The dirty room  becoming his  paradise as night and day come and go with a flicker.
He screams in his heaven as his soul claimers for pain,
for anything,for a chance to reach out and put him together again.


Kyalo.

CRAWLING THROUGH THE CREVICE

I hit the wall with my clenched fist,
Blood spurting from my butchered knuckles,
The wall stares back,cold and unrelenting,
Taking the abuse,animated violent hate emanating from human fragility and emotional incontinence.

The sting of pain and the smell of fresh blood,
Labored breath forced through gritted teeth. 
The wall stares back at the self destructing union of cells and rage.
Staring at my immortal foe,i bang my head quelling voices of beings i will never see.

It feels good,
The pain,
The ringing in my ears.
The trembling of my legs and thumping of my beating heart.

The night comes into focus,
Every bleating cricket looking for grub and
Mosquitoes wailing in a feeding frenzy around my hands,
Mother Gaia herself whispers life and death to all her children.

She calls to me,
In her own way
She delights in my resolve to join her
As her beckoning caller the moon fills the sky with reckless abandon.

I stand there basking in his borrowed light
Leaning to one side as he chases his own will to be seen
Oblivious to his inevitable demise,he takes what he can brightening dead craters and valleys of dead soil.

The moment passes,he has bigger fish to fry as the sun leads him on.
Crawling through the darkness,i reach the wall again,
Hands mangled,i make feeble fists believing myself to still have a chance,
A chance to get through,to see whats on the other side of me.

Kyalo.

ODE TO NUMBNESS

The dimming light of all
cascades over the midday sun
as all the living things revel in it.

The heat makes them dance,
one to another,loving and dying in the hands of fate.
They live fiery lives,
always,as they take to the sky.

In risk of life and limb,
on unknown roads taken,
urged on by the solitary darkness of genius and hate,
they live,they thrive.

On the outer rings of infinite possibilities,
the outlier riffraff of cold dead souls,
with darkened spirits where the light doesn't  clear the skies,
look on as the numbness takes them.

Floating in the abyss of nothingness,
they skate by with the current ,
cosmic weeds embalming their wretched selves
as color leaves their eyes,
they look down in single file and walk into darkness. 

                                                                                   kyalo.

PLUTO.

Hiding in myself as i find reasons to stay there,
as i speak to myself,
worrying about nothing as life turns me over a fire,
the spit roast that is human fragility.

I create dead space there too,
quiet darkness where i hide all the ugly things.
The shadows cast by insecurities,
the lies reinforced by prideful stupidity.

I sit in my space,
My own little nightmare that eats me,
I feed this little disease of mine
as it isolates my light with its darkened shroud.

I build a maze too,in there.
like tartarus,
like a coffin slowly filling with dirt.
It gets small,stifling,i claw for life,I scream like the enemies of the gods.

Its my space still,
I created this world of horrors and darkness,
rivers of molten larva flowing
Like a young planet still taking form,
I work still,trying to get the light to shine through to me.

                                                                                        kyalo.

THEY POLISH ME.

After the years added on,
from nursery bed
to institutionalized slavery,
they polish me.

I have donned different shapes,
some of obedience,
love and hate.
I have worn them well.

I have worked on the lie
as my eccentricities were filed down
or added on.
As they beat my malleable spirit to submission.

The speech patterns,
the queens language,
the ill fitting clothes,stifling
Fashions borrowed from hollow crowds.

I am molded,
broken,soldiered,
put through the crucible of replication.
A once blank canvas torn and mended over and over again.

They polish me still,
Painted red colors with blackish hues,
a banner man,a mascot.
Dancing to the beat of their drums.

                                                                            kyalo.

KISS ME AGAIN.

Holding me like you own me,
like our very souls met in a past life,
I look into your eyes
searching for a reason to hate you.

Tracing my scars you smile to yourself,
you look at them,
you look at me.
There is nothing there for you baby.

There is only past fights,
past breakups and make ups.
I stand here next to you naked,
blind to everything,even the pain of losing you.

Don't read me,
There is nothing there to see,
No epiphany,not even a page turned for me.
close your eyes,kiss me again.

kyalo.

THE MARCH

Marching on into unknown territory
I try to comfort my troubled soul
by singing a homeland song.

The journey is specific and trodden alone,
The path chose,chosen unsure,
Foes despise and fears arise
But still,the march is on.

Like a blind man lost in a maze of thorns,
Only in the march abreast and headstrong
A slip or fall can end it all
we shuffle together timidly holding on.

The march neither friendly nor kind,
Damp clouds and gloomy skies,
Only the spec of light in your eyes
And the will in your heart.
Helps you trod along.

                                                  kyalo.

WE GREW UP.

There was the uncertainty,
the huge cloud looming over young impressionable souls as we learned to walk,
as we spoke for the first time to ask for more,
more food,more life and more love.

We grew up,
we came up curved by the knife of life,
we were shaped into the blocks of hardened granite,
the kind of hardness that dims your soul.
But we grew up.

Watching the world try to find itself,
we skate in the outlying corners of has been's,
of those who flew too close to the sun or didn't fly at all.
We lived in those holes where the light is limited and the nights,always cold.

When they said life was for all of us,we laughed,
we didn't know ,
We didn't know that life chose us too.
We didn't know about the sisters of fate or the father of destinies charm.

We grew up still,
Hard and soft.
Weak and strong.
Our stomachs growled,the elements never calmed,we had to.

kyalo.

THE BUTCHER’S THIN DOG

The days are spent in the shadows,
away from the daylight customers who hate flies,
who sneer at their very own inadequate children as they act themselves.
The thin dog knows to stay away as the pretenders pretend.

The daylight takes away the people with the flashy clothes,
the wayward guffaws and the empty wallets
as pretenders whisper their pleas to the butcher as they hold their children's greasy hands.
The thin dog salivates as the bones are wrapped up in neat piles.

Evening and night,the dog appears tail wagging,bones protruding,
He licks the drunks rough hands,
he is patted by the swindlers with the silver rings,
they know him,even as they throw half eaten bones to him.

They smile together,
Laugh in the darkness and smoke,
as the butcher listens to their escapades.
The flies dance in the air as goat heads crack and stew is cooked with peppers.

The thin butchers dog dances under their heavy feet,
table shaking as they fight and arm wrestle.
The dog still wags it's tail in the melee,
He knows his master gets his due and always leaves him be where he belongs.


                                                                                                            kyalo.

IN MY HEAD.

I live there sometimes,
when the days drag on,
when the nights are long and the spark of light calls
I sit there,i listen to the call

She calls me,the founder,
the genius of light that starts it all.
I sit there,she working her magic with my flawed thought.
I sit there and listen.

She speaks to me,she urges me to settle down,
she urges me to calm myself.
She knows i am lacking,
she knows i don't stand,i fall.

But yet there she is,
With my life in her hands.
She lays it out to me.
The idea,there she is,it makes sense now.

                                                    kyalo.