Man In The Radiator

  Sentimentality and Scabs  For the past week to ten days, or however long it has actually been, I have tried to sit down and dedicate time to writing. To work on something new, or to continue an old, long-forgotten and neglected project, of which there are several that haunt me every single day. However, exhaustion, numbness, and an existential tiredness beyond description have taken hold of me and dragged me down deep into the shadows of inability, uncreativity, and an astounding sense of defeat. This is typical and is bound to happen from time to time, it is the product of a brain born with insufficient chemicals that wildly oscillate moods and perspectives back and forth without warning, and beyond control. Additionally, as I progress further down my prescription path of antidepressants, antipsychotics, and whatever else they might be giving me after growing numb to everything else - my palm filling up with tablets of increasing sizes, capsules rattling with little eager...

  Devoured  Tell me That you hear it too, The infernal clicking and shifting  Of our cosmic gears Movement of broken, time-seeping limbs  Crucified on the circulating primordial clock Counting down, And snuffing out the light left  Dazzling through our veins, Marking the glorious and overdue end To this failed age of man.  Is it just me?  Feeling the shadowed caress  Bony, creaking fingers emerging from nothingness Digging into our shared exit wounds  Closing in on our rope-burned necks. Life is leaving you, I feel it  Screaming its way to me Through every night Summoning some form of mutual cataclysm While my head slips off your spine, Your eyes liquefy in my sockets  As our tied-together tongues coil and snap  Into shrapnel,  And your kisses painfully depart  The bloodied canyons  Dismantling the landscape of my wrists, I know you can feel it too,  Sorrow has our house.  - Now in the shining hollownes...