Key of E Minor

Enter the Maestro
Long silence and little chatter
Shiny little black shoes
From where I sit
Clacking animatedly
Excited anticipation
Thus begins.

Rusting cello strings
Played in the lower key of E Minor
Pounding but softly on the frets
As a window amidst rain
Can only feel
Agony of the heart
Echoing off engineered walls
Settling to silence
Little flutter.

Hover one moment
About the lower E Minor chord,
Wait for no other beast
At the breast of emancipation
For it shall be only
Figures you’ve called out;
Mighty turmoil
Dripped from thy chin
Upon ancient grains of wood
So cherished between fingers
Resonated into hearts
Of forgotten sadness.

Silence.
No more can movement
Break the spell of horror.
Deathly pale voids;
Look back, unrecognizing
Distracted
Caught in a forever key of E Minor
That remains as sustain
Lost to the world.

Un-Spelled (day 2106)

I walked through the darkness
To sing me my sadness
I had won me, I had won me
I had won me once more

I felt creeping horror
To be my maiden I could never scorn
I had won me, I had won me
I had won me once more

I know from your smile
To leave every letter un-spelled
I had won me, I had won me
I had won me once more

I will be leaving my roses here
To dry so delicate my heart
I had won me, I had won me
I had won me once more

Sweet Nothings (day 1746)

I can’t take,
No. More.
I don’t want to take
Bitter trivialities
Into Madness
Cloaking an angelic voice
Like fog that rolls
About my brain
Before I’ve uncovered
Melancholy feelings
Resting just below
Its surface,
Reeling in abysmal horror
As toxins begin
To take to my veins
And surround my insight
With sweet nothings.

Sad Letters at Long Lasts Door (day 1023)

Did my letters long convince your soul
That all was lost amongst our hearts?
Pleasure drained upon the floor
And my eyes sore, my eyes are sore.

Balance shifted which throws me off.
What once was art is burning hearts
To leave me scarred, aghast; true horror.
And my eyes sore, my eyes are sore.

Like laughter in wicked eyes of crows,
It shelters me not, my sorrow cloak.
And fill my heart with dust and sand
And my eyes sore, my eyes are sore.

To wake again my soul at long last,
To deliver my forgiveness upon deaths door.
You were never mine, but I cared evermore.
And my eyes sore, my eyes are sore.

Istanbul - 23082012 (6 of 135)

She’s Cheeky (day 754)

She’s cheeky
She tells me to stop
That poetry is dead
ALL POETS MUST DIE
She yells in caps lock

I lament and dig
Into the bowels
Of my horror
Of my rhythmical
Regurgitating madness
To give reason
For my exploration

These darkened spaces
These sappy ballads
My arching expressions
Into confusions womb

Like battle scars
Pocking my being;
Unsettling patrons
Horrifying relations

Yet I try
I push out my heart
Bleed it upon death
Illuminated pixels
Spare tablets
Leftover envelopes
And just push play