I
Rising, rising
whether within a porcelain tub,
stream,
or fighting against
the crashing waves;
Water is all the same
unforgiving,
and without mercy
as it climbs above my nose
and is a thief to the oxygen
within my lungs.
II
As a dragon is
the smoke fills my lungs
takes place of the oxygen within my veins
liquid fire percolating through the pores of my skin
heat unimaginable
engulfs my body,
and turns even my soul
to flame.
III
And once existing
becomes more painful
than the simple
intake of oxygen
and once the swords and spears
become too much for your scarred body
to bear
you realize
life is wasted on the living
so why be living,
when you could be dead?
IV
The simple realization
that life is not eternal
is when your bones begin to creak
and your joints initiate their rusting
as one day, soon perhaps
sleep will come,
and never flee.
V
The story of revenge
an addiction,
or simply a soul filled with hate
is when the gun is aimed to kill
the dagger resting at the heart
or the hands like ropes
wrapped around the throat,
as it is said,
hurt people hurt people
Thus,
hate is simply,
a never-ending cycle.
VI
Blindsided
the physics of
metallic impact
cannot give you the equation
of the flash of light,
memories of the past
or even
what lies beyond
death’s dark door
when glass shatters,
as surviving hearts do the same.
VII
Survival of the fittest
in its purest form
There is no team
There is no “we”
There is only bullets in the dirt
or in the skull of the man beside you
not only are there bullets
screaming past your ears
but there are mines
there are bombs
There is
no hope
of survival.
VIII
When your body destroys you
from the inside out
as if an evil resides inside you
You wonder as
clumps of your hair
wash down the shower drain
and all the pumps hook into your skin
Is this the life I was meant to live?
IX
You\'ve never felt
more alive
when every hair is standing on end
and every cell is exploding with energy
Who knew
energy could be paralyzing
as the puissance subsides
and your veins are left
stagnant.
X
The lack of oxygen:
Enough to bring
even a hero to his knees
It’s what our bodies teem with
and what cascades down
to our very fingertips
Without it,
even the strongest
meet disaster.
XI
Aconite
as my throat begins to burn
there is an agony beneath my skin
which I cannot reach
integument flayed,
My limbs become flaccid
sycope, sycope,
They say you float in and out
of consciousness
but this feels more like
being slammed between
the states of awake
and not.
XII
With sunken eyes
and a rapid heartbeat;
They say our bodies are sixty percent water
but my percentage is sinking,
Sinking,
Sinking,
Sadness:
An emotion I can no longer express
for even tears
would be water wasted.
XIII
After the shivering has ceased
memories take wing
soaring from my mind
out into the frigid cyclone
which is pressing me against
this frozen ground;
Just before
the end draws near
I smile at its warmth
and welcome the conclusion
to this life,
as well as the beginning
of another.