swallowedinpieces

I could see a ribcage in the clouds strange bones protruding from pale white ethereal flesh Nights breath shallow isolated gasps of swirling moisture gods blood curdling in the lungs of cirrus I gaze on her organs of stone as her celestial body succumbs to sleep to a morning clear and dreamless

“Is it Over?” ‘I feel like I have been a disappointment.’ What am I doing here? I do not know if that answer is inside of me. My strength is broken by all the light(s) outside— Please! Where did the sacred shadow go? You seem to hear me say that it gets better… But I know—it seems I know you do not hear me ask, ‘Was it ever different? Or is it over?’ And ‘What am I doing here?’ The way of lanterns has led me astray— But no-one left as I tried to say how much it hurts When I think of what they took from me. I fled before the malice of the light, And the sins I should have left bleeding under The glow that rested in your eyes Were too precious for me to call on you for mercy. I see you seem to know—I see I could never let you go— Because in the dark, I still can see you And I hold on to the beauty of your shadow. They are still alive as I live, and breathe in vain— I wonder if their minds have strayed to my condition, As I try to let myself exhale in a way that can be heard, ‘I

“Decay” I am—this soul—let go— I am—inside—and cold— —I am— Someone…please do not tell! You know how it pains me to cry, When you see where I cannot escape: (there is no escape) A rubber cell—I cannot let you in… The dreams here are too close to eternity… No-one is here to stay…I am afraid… While my bones begin to fade— In my dream—you were so beautiful, As together, we prepared our graves. We swore to water the flowers there Until time wilted, until time withered away, And we were beyond the reaches of decay— Stand by my eyes. The whispers will remain, Though no one hears—no one stays to hear. Still, I have to try to help them die with me. In my dream, it is quiet where you are beautiful. And your voice never bled inside of my tears… I would never let your voice disappear with me… But can I hold it…until we are beyond ourselves? Until we are beyond decay? © 2023 Marten Hoyle

This is the mountain you cannot climb This is the wall you cannot pass Chains you cannot break Prison you’ll never escape The skies too high to reach ocean awfully deep cracks in the ground for little old you to trip over roads less and never travelled leading you to nowhere sorry to be negative but positivity is possibly in short supply Here’s my suggestion blast the summit and barrier don’t get caught learn to swim watch where you step stop simply watching the clouds Chance a corners turn what have you got to lose by trying? What did you want me to be your professional career carrier throughout everything?

When the guns begin to produce lacryma bullets I think its pretty clear what message that’s trying to send That’s a thirsty flower you detected hungry for some use, that might fit right within the garden of your greater scheme of things I’ve noticed alot of sobbing shots lately some are even screaming they know, they’ve detected destiny new recruits happy tears they’ll drink to your aim come to your aid This weapon does not wish to make war it straight up refuses bawlings on the battlefields drips before the non-existent God no-one needs to fight for you tip the safety give bullet sack the peaceful kiss of pacifism the gun front dries up you float back into restraint save deaths dotings for when you’re on the chamber squad and the rows are crystal clear under the crimson quadrant keep the rooms of application only only then must we fire….

The story of me is the story of you, Lost, confused, not knowing what to do, Abandoned, broken, hopeless, The world has driven us insane. We search for solutions in the night, We cry out, but there's no answer in sight. It feels like a maze, With no way out and no end to our rage. Dreaming of a better life, but our dreams turn into nightmares, The world has made them change, Leaving us with nothing but our own dismay. We are broken and lost, Wondering what to do, We have been left alone in the dark, Trying to find our best way through. A path to take us back to something that we struggle to remember and fail to understand. In the depths of the mind where our thoughts run wild, Insanity creeps up upon, us like a lost little child. It twists and turns, like a mountain stream, Leaving rational thought behind, with a mind that never feels at ease. The voices we hear, whisper and shout, Telling us stories, to quiet our doubt. The scent of the air, is sweet and yet sour, A

“Read it Through Me” Why am I so tired of my heart? I keep dreaming with eyes open— Dreaming to wake up without fear You will look at me someday to tell me They have watched my thoughts…. I can’t tell you how it’s quiet, Around the bruises eating me Underneath the skin I never show you— I am too tired to break this shell of silence, I fear you will hate what you see As much as I do, when I peel it from myself. There in the dark where you will find me— I will try to keep you safe from what the light shows. Then, maybe, I can dream with eyes closed… And no one will be listening to everything I’m thinking, Thinking all alone… Are you hollow and do you know What my mind looks like—is it really so loud That you hear me when I’m crying? Or are you never there to listen, Until you enter my field of delusion? Please don’t say you read it through me. Please don’t say you read it through me… I have tried to hide for so long… Please don’t say that when I die… I will wake up and find I am

I snaked around the aquatic pool halls with the culinary corners as shallow guests attended to watch the most radical of things at times I play and I play the scenes the world needs to see but they are lost in an ocean of disconnect and dissent The images don’t reach nor mean anything to them and so they are ghosts divorced from action, revolution haunters with the action of inaction the un-reaching hand the film continues but no-one bar I is left watching ultimately they saw nothing cutoff into themselves or is that maybe, perhaps I? Clinging to what just isn't the… …any longer?

Frequent as frustrating is the fury that exists inside of us the blowbacks of aggression that dwarfs us after we suddenly express it I watch the graveyard runners of sweat drenched, heart pumping terror made so small by the titanic, sky high structures and that of the muscular statues Father tells me of the neo-fascists facial hair gene pool games I still see them made speed across the greens of tombs corner New era Ustase moustaches All American Chetnik chairmen of the board The the water God rocky faces have far more on them playing drinking games on the river styx y’know? Blind mice running under the eyes of the pristinely carved Who's the man now?