Wicked

Waring witches doing that dark magic that they know so well,
eating my heart out, they fight my brain for control.
I can taste it.
That devil work teases me back home to my holy flesh,
my subtle ways of rabbit hole hopping.

My god, is there an escape?
I feel old and without a pattern to follow.
My path is non-existent.

I feel pulled and prodded
fitted into crawl spaces,
closed closets,
the furnace room in the basement,
the rafters of the attic
are stained with my blood and your tears.

My monsters are screaming,
howling for a change in the wicked weather,
a fucking break from the normative.

Can I stop the dying?
The angels disagree,
the verdict is still left out
by the trashcan on a Thursday morning,
forgotten.

- Megan

Mind Control Barbie

Luckily I found an escape

from mind control Barbie

though it left me with scars

that I don’t quite remember.

Hair stands on end

as the strings attached

to our shoulders force us

to move along with the empire building machines.

Sticks and bricks taken to the slaughterhouse,

we must revolt from our formal intentions,

use our intuitions to tear our minds from the chaos reigning.

I spoke out in loudness and defining consequences,

we wake up and find ourselves

tied to the furniture:

our part to drone on for the interior decoration

of the mansion on the hill.

Darkness made our shadows come alive with feeling,

they may have Stockholm syndrome

but they are just festering

somewhere deep within

to strike out,

to stand and be counted

for the revolution of the insane and prophetic.

Buyers and sellers of human parts,

the consignment shop conspiracies

give us a reason to resist

the trickle down fashion-made mannequins

in their tight suits and tight minds:

ever willing us to buy and consume, buy and consume

until death’s door opens to let us in.

The profit came to life and stared you in the eye.

Restless angel,

come live in my wonderland

and we shall strike down upon the earth

a new meeting of insightful minds and human interests.

Masked Ball beyond the mirror: the mad house performed

The mad house performed for tonight is an insanity masked ball with full plumage and feathers falling slowly from the rafters: dead doves screech aching to the chessboard floor though, through the deep transistor dancing, no one notices. We are all glimmer and gold, reckoning to each other in a waltz made for magic lanterns and forest forgetting. The masses dance to the tune of the puppet king sitting on the throne at the forefront of the room: masked suffocated doll in its own dollhouse that we wreck back to every night for we didn’t seem to have another option.

I know there is always a choice if you are aware of the spoon fed to your lips and you stand and walk out of the front door into the dark-if you can run faster than a whisper. Though we retch of vanity, our costs for devotion seems lower on the totem pole in the middle of the room than seemed worthy of our talents.

Etchings of unborn languages and tribes of mystics that have fell to co-option and death to the heretic: we burn at the stake for the wings of the leviathan are ever growing and wrapping us close to their sides. The Judas Complex came drifting through the ballroom like a cold chill from an open window set to face the stormy sea that brought us here on waves of tribulation and apathy.

The mad hatter stands in shadow and watches these religious rites performed through disease and disguise: nothing is as it seems in the halls of the mountain kings. I never wake fully from the strings and serenades of the amercian dream of pop pulp and fruit shavings left on the kitchen counter and forlorn. Hatter wails the call of the drinking dawn: arise and wake to the fullest extent of your being. We, caged without bars in our “pleasant little dream and fancy” we are told over and over through the deep voices of the fear of a nation. All is false and fair in the ride of the carnal and carnivale.

Spring forth with reckless passion and dissonance, you lionesse of sex magic and complex cognition. Once your mouth open and letting the bats fly out of your tongue and the ecstasy flows unfulfilled through your mainstream- there is no turning back for the wondering innately insane.

I relish at the art of manliness and mayhem and murdering epitaphs that resort us to one function of the Capital and heads of state. The heavens are burning and I can feel the ash on my skin as I watch the passion stifled and the masses end up sucking on a rat’s tail thinking it was sugar cane. When will we learn, my company of counterfeits, that pain of one is pain of all.

My antics and rhetorical statements seemed unaltered by the alters set up around this room of clowns
staring. I twitch to the idea of control of the monster inside me- tamed and tortured defeat, I may rest for a moment though my eyes sink in deeper unto themselves with every staggered breath. Words fall and fail to complete me, to explain the bloody horse chains that keep our heads down to the floor, our 
forseen purpose to step one sole ahead of another and leeching our souls out to the stock market. We thus so distracted by pain that we forget to look behind us and witness the man holding our reigns, teething on our energies. Nuance and nausea woke me with a gasp and shutter. Revolt. Spit fire. Regain consciousness and awaken. 

new poem: forget/ Rated R

Do you ever feel like you’ve seen things so horrible,

that you will do almost anything to forget these things.

I just want to forget,

I don’t care the cost,

the dollar,

the alcohol,

the girls and boys,

the styles and schemes,

the songs,

all is worth

the ability to forget.

There were spills and perfumes,

I don’t know,

I can’t remember,

dreams are so real,

like you could reach out

and touch them, you, me.

I suffer when you don’t hear me,

I can’t get that beat out of my head,

so much lost for the price of getting

one person’s attention.

Commit to asylums if you must,

but there must be a better way

out of this mess.

I just can’t seem to remember

the way out of here,

this hole, this tunnel,

this rock and roll hideaway.

I call to the gods of the west,

the hierophants of our remembrance,

the fathers of ghosts and shadows,

must stand and rise and dance into the light,

another time to help us,

once again.

I know I write so much lately,

instead of saying the words out loud,

to you,

but I have become shy and loyal

to the older version of yourself,

that faint glimmer in the mirror,

of a past life,

of brilliance.

Call to the goddesses of the North,

High East,

You are needed to calm the waters,

give us our patience and our strength,

Mary with her Jesus,

watching him give in again.

I sprang awake,

at the thought of war,

oh lord, it is too soon,

we are tired,

Great God,

but God insists to keep on,

though we are weary.

Call to the gods and goddesses

of the Southern plane,

Our native brethren,

call to our energies,

together bring out,

the New Age,

Aquarius is the leader now,

support will be needed for prophets,

changers and shakers,

bring us some ark angels to guide our

strange and weary way.

Prepare say Elijah,

it is the time of legends foretold,

We are coming,

these beacons of the light,

these demonized originals,

we shall rain,

in some hoards and dark nights are ahead.

It is the Mark of the Beast

that growls in the dark unknown,

let us light fire to his dungeons,

and raise him up to see in his eye,

We are here for only a little longer,

maybe.

I am being told from all corners,

we are out of time and fantasy

still distracts us from our

ultimate task.

I call out in the night,

Sanctuary, Sanctuary!

Hollow hallow be the able

to look our savior in the eye,

we will join together,

see through the fog and reach

the labyrinth,

the journey ends and begins

and ends and begins again.

I call to the moon,

we are here,

spirits in red and velvet purple,

we are colors

of the rainbow,

delight and delicate,

each of us to the other,

we are all together mourning

and celebrating a new sun to rise.

Horrible things to see,

to experience,

I hurt,

like screams from inside,

I am taped up,

trapped and sunk,

eyes to dark to see anymore.

I was “other-ed” to seek out,

some med or new style.

Cathedrals are bloody

and hallucinate

bleeding Maries,

Jesus hanged on his cross,

and welcoming in a new era.

Even to write this,

to print these words to the page,

I hear my demons scream

from inside the closet,

they are hungry,

and want out to play.

I am weak

from remembering so much,

so many events,

circus like acts,

man-made icons,

all Hollywood stars

and contracts with

the government.

Let us pray for safety,

for ourbrains,

our beating hearts

fluttering in the breezes of Neptune.

We swam in dank,

dark waters.

Covered bat,

sleeping pills,

skipping around in time,

haunted by visions,

afraid of the dark

and of being all alone in the world.

We are not as such.

We are fierce

Viking-horned

women that face

the trials of hegemony

head on.

Ice cream hostages,

painted and starving patrons of the arts.

In winter time

we are ahh yes,

just the players

in the game of chess.