the game of the imagination

I would transform your cold arrogance; let it crumple the mountain of loneliness into streams of laughter moving along a string quartet with love engraved on the violin playing in a battle field soaking with freedom that retrieves humanity’s lost shadows; i would unearth your heart and let it dance against the moonlight, an interplay of confessions reverberating: a pendulum swing.

crossing paths

i’m reminded of the silence that once spoke peripherally through our slight, subtle glances: glances always drawn like a child peering through a window, unnoticed, cautious, fearful, hiding behind the receding light. this is all pure as honey. from this i create a story that stirs the heart, sends my mind to pulsate with the thought of proximity and silk.
the glances propel a shackled memory: one tied to an open interpretation-- an open corridor where two figures sway endlessly, like lost shadows moving and colliding like a split self seeking to reunite, reassemble an imagined notion.
but, what is invoked is never confirmed.
it is in that brief flash that i lose myself.

beyond me

From the coffin-like basement, my imagination rises above the pale off-white walls, black rain and dying grey clouds and enters your mind. I keep going, brushing against history, intruding, walking past fallen statues and half-ripped pages, until I reach your soul—an enclosed path. In my thoughts you are saying a prayer and I the object of your prayer. Sweet, saccharine, comforting. The way you utter my name, slowly the letters dancing between your lips before they flow, putting me at peace. A smile. I chart your pronunciation and it seems so familiar, alive, eternal. Pause.

No sunlight. Your voice begins to scatter, break, split— a rupture. Backfire. Wildfire. Now you’re speaking a different language, spitting discordant words, acidic letters down my imagination—a blank void develops and memories rush in. I can’t control your speech; it slithers in different directions, eventually the weight of your tongue insurmountable against my desires, my naivety, my hopes. All false. This is real. Irrevocable. With the mask withdrawn, you begin cursing me, your words soaking every inch of my flesh. This performance leaves me scattered. I’m back in my basement with my imagination on fire, my body pale, my eyes darkening, my soul dying. It burns.