Mercy's Calamities

The beauty of first light How long have I been here Hidden, suffocating, isolated,ahedonia possessing every part of me. Time only matters when you count the ticks of destiny echoing behind you, like it's the only sound in vast empty space filled with all your vanished dreams. It didn't happen all at once...just a thought that slipped quickly enough through my mind I barely caught it'd stream, But it made me smile inside, so quietly...it was a passing flicker of light inside of my hollow being. It happened again, and it's pleasure and warmth scared me... Dare I trust this feeling...is this me awakening... has my soul begun to breathe. Holy hands and heavens mercy...have you come to my pleas, I whisper intimate words, to the stars and they stir a hope in me... Hold it and it then is real,  Don't let the darkness fool you You're infinite existence cannot be extinguished by even the most heinous mortal travesty.  I'm bleeding hope from within the dee...

On the edges of my life, I see normalcy humming it's cathartic Melody People walk by and I smell the fulfillment of their lives...it is the most viscerally satisfying fragrance one could hope to inhale Every day that I wake up,I'm never certain Even should the world around me be calm That I will be facing a day with enough strengh where my heart has the courage to sift through My memories of pretending to be a part of the Golden mean, my moments of true personal triumphs known to only me , and so many reminders of how I'm supposed to be. And come up with a motivational game plan to survive this isolation on the periphery of life. Could I just suppose to be just like this and work on the kinetics of my heaving of mind and heart before my soul evaporates to a veneer of some weird sort of human condition I cannot even begin to imagine. As Time passes there is a terror that is seeping in around my mind, darkening the hope light in my heart, changing the opaci...

They Still Whisper About the Stains I've sullied the sidewalks, I've bloodied and muddied the walls; They still whisper at their doors. Dark is the stain of the madness and mud of early spring.....  I can tell you I felt it change me, intangibly a loss interminably...with the weight of sorrow . I have begun to imagine that I may be able to heal; begun to remember my life before it was roused out of a slumber that was a innocent,  ingratitious,assumption of security,home,and sanity..... They still remember those days though; the stories the screaming- The stories of imagination from the Islands of isolation and other Places.   Cold hearts, sharp tongues.... that seem caught on kindness to my face - Leave a mysterious shroud of vacancy...  No place to live,  No heartfelt desire to spend time with me. Fear,or stigma..... The stain will color their walls and floors.  Understanding and Vulnerability have undertoes to the deep A soul can be fragile when confronte...