Soften The Sorrow.

Blind my eyes
So my shadow won't scare me

Sever my hands
So I can never hold onto the past

Deafen my ears
So I may hear silence eternal

Sew my lips
For they shall utter no more

Tales of abandoned truth.

Wrap my lungs in clouds of smoke
So the air I exhale chokes

Carve my flesh with the quill
So my pores bleed empty

Pluck my heart with the blade
So the beat inevitably slows

And pickle my mind
For it shall soften the sorrow

Of my everlasting final thought.

© 2008 Michaela James.

'The Price Of Life.'

Born without choice

ironic
the unknown fear
hidden
the depth of life

reality seldom realised

walking the dead.

Each green mile
subconsciously
eaten

youth

day
by
month
by
year.

I cry one billion tears
unknown to my consciousness

as the clock beckons with it's etched face,
each finger glides

wags
never weary

guiding our way to darkness.

I need to take the slow path
as each line appears

never fade,
they crawl across mankind

as the quick path beckons
with demons of excess

the price of life?

Death.

© 2008 Michaela James.

'Myself & I.'

'Myself & I.'

You toss and

turn

crumpled

unlike a blank page,

creases permanent.

Can you hear me?

the taunts that wake you.

Can you see me?

the shadows that lash your bed.

Can you feel me?

the footsteps you imagine

real.

I am hidden within the mind's riddle

darker than night,

reaching each corner,

grasping at your purgatory

licking the flames of

sympathy's hand held empathy-

the child-like figure

peering thro' the frosted window

pleading for

the deep sleep-

until then

I'll circle your being

devour your life,

drown your dreams.

© 2008 Michaela James.

'Life's Litter.'

Life's litter strewn
across the bedside table,
cornered by the photograph
ripped in two

haunted beauty
smiled

defaced.

Distant melodies
fed
my lobes as
the needle throbbed

blue veins empty

tears to be born
never came,
the moment crushed

cracked like a jigsaw
the final piece gone.

Thro' the eyes of my inner child
I saw fear
skit across the landscape

borrowed

bludgeoned

burnt

mirrored within my own self worth.

Innocence lost each night,
dreams cradled
blatantly sold

the promise of freedom
born from rage

soiled

and I can save my world,

the inevitable
consequence of delusion.

I am what I am,
a dead man waking

in time for the ultimate score.

© 2008 Michaela James.

I Remember You.

A distant face,
once pretty

now
ill-defined,
drowned
in self remorse.

I remember you

misinformed and
misaligned,

manic
you bled me dry.

A childless mother of convenience
or should I say dilapidated?

I could mock you,
snigger in the back room

or

hold my helping hand
high.

The moment of fondness buried
ten years before

still scored across my eyeline
as the tears forged roots.

I travel back,
recollections lucid,
haunting every move

till now,

I see the hate

haggard and
hidden
like a photograph
torn,

the band of gold slung across the room

melted,

forged myself into the iron fist,

I raged against
the lasting memoir,

could have punished you deeper

the hot blade of my tongue
through your bleating mind,

lashing at your lilac poison
perfumed,

choking

as I recall your words

‘I will love you,

always.’

© 2008 Michaela James.

Blind.

‘Blind.’

Motion of mind played night and day,
echoed reason

the calamity of desperados
tricked in on the ill wind

hallowed be thy prayer,
devoured in the instant
divine rights etched linen.

My lord and master chained to the thigh
lapped at innocence,
sin wrought with pleasure

each word hung with every groan
misplaced

tortured be thy prayer,
unheard yet ridiculed
each thought swept in a flood of babble.

Truth taken,
twisted like the apple tree,
forbidden speech and

written words wane

within time

blood on every hand held

each corner turned

blind.
© 2007 Michaela James.

'Morphine.'

Down the dark dire road

mechanical, morose

the exit

the only end

intricate droplets

throbbed slow

delirium

as happiness hung.

My ivory tower

withered

manhood stripped

sober sensuality

septic

the only tear

one final fear perpetual.

Languished

on the merry-go-round,

high

life surreal.

I laid with the surge

laughed with the past

wired my wretched wonderland

three days

four nights

refused the restless

reality,
the internal inferno

swallowed

my infinite being

pounded my paternal pride

drew me to the abyss

as I peered

over the periphery.

Michaela James.