Filling Up

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The mind has piled up an endless array,

Of thoughts, beliefs, contemplations.

The heart refuses the notions,

Reversing the role, often in motion.


The mind, as wild.

Wanders in lands of fears and fights.

Opens the gates of grounds forgotten.

Jumps through the darkness, throttles.


The heart admonishes, screams perpetually,

Dreads the forthcoming penalties.

The battle grows beyond sunset,

Killing heartbeats and peace with every concept.

Hands now riddled with a red maze,

Solved only with battle’s decline.


But who’s giving up?

Ask the heart and the brain,

Realization daunted,

Filling up the carcass,

Mistaken for the living.


Faces Of The Living


Many faces of living.

Living dead, living on piercing edges.

Edges undefined, mirror shards and lover’s fingers alike.

Entrapped underneath

A demon’s little hut, is my face.

The face you see but know nothing of.

Every minute, pulling of a role.

Roles, undecided, uncalled for.

Evil and monstrous, they grow, by the minute.

It’s hard, she knows, I know.

To frame them into my frame.

A broken vase, holds dull flowers.

Colors are bright. Vivid. Sharp.

Eyes hurt, bleed and cry but shy.

Scratching the lids, breathing midst fits.