Lost Indepenence

There is little known beyond these eyes
That stare so deeply into you,
Projecting my thoughts into the wrong frame,
Making everything unstable.
The wobbling of the rotations throws me off;
And I leap into the ideas of grandeur.
You stare, stare, unable to respond
To foreign ideas put into your mouth,
As you chew this newly formed cud.
Unable to dispel what isn’t yours, what isn’t mine,
Nascent cognition forced into being by our proximity.
We can’t push it out of our minds;
Once unleashed, it ricochets between us.
The wounds created will fester or heal,
Fate possessed by the entry angle, the withdraw.
Until we can no longer stand independently.

Essential Death

I will make a beautiful corpse one day

As the pink in my cheek, finally fades away.

And the cellulite drips, drips from my bones

While the flames lick the stretch marks,

Made from making my body a home.

The laugh lines will dissolve, along with my teeth,

No longer there to greet a stranger on the street.

My copper hair will dull and singe, right on the spot,

No wind to feather the strands to a knot.

The anxiety and memories will all meld to one,

And sift through a grate as they are finally undone.

What is left will be the essence of me, or is this a fallacy?

Will culture have found a way to bite through my bones?

Trickle into my marrow and delve further below?

The particles that I breathe sucked far into my soul,

Clogging and infecting until we are all but drones.

If even there is left a sliver of my soul,

Then a beautiful corpse I shall make one day.