Synmor

You can't protect me, no, not me Not now, not ever, not from this day. Not from the torrent of steel and fury, Not from the angry tears we bury, Not from myself, not from the rage, You can't protect what you can't change. You can't protect me from me, from you, Not from a future, not from a truth. See the unfolding, the death of the sun, The unwithering hatred that's only begun. See clouds in the window, like ravens of steel, Like concrete and ice, like the things that I feel. "Take flight!" scream the voices of reason and need, "Take flight from the horror that's started to breed!" I stare at the sun and it make my eyes bl

I seem to have lost my words. If anyone's seen them, let me know if you could. Maybe I should post a reward. They've always had a tendency to stray here and there, but this time they seem to have gone feral for good. Is feral good? Are they happier out there, just flitting from mind to mind on their own? Are they seeking for expression in the silence that they roam? Did the wilds give them fangs and a hunger? Do they jumble their letters and create words unknown and yet unspoken by man? I wonder if they linger occasionally to rest in the warmth of a daydream. If they beg at the doors of poets and scribes, to be taken in and groomed to perf

30 AUG 15 Fido died under the porch and I'm no longer sure where we stand. Were we cruel to not have the heart to take his last days in the sun? While the light was golden and the days were warm, we still felt the undertones of his pain. Until he was gone. I heard him shuffling under the back porch, soft whimpers of decay, and I asked you to help me kill him. You said he was already dead, but I know you heard him too. Wish that you'd been stronger, or my voice louder, or the stench of slow decay less putrid. - On the death of us.

February 23, 2014 At the time, it never occurred to me that he had rabies. I feel like an idiot now, I should have realized it, knew all the symptoms, had spent more than enough time with animals, but that day I was blind. It was summer or early fall and late evening just outside New Braunfels, Texas. I had already finished cleaning Robbie's house, a tiny A-frame with a loft at the outskirts of town along Hunter road. He was sitting on his porch and I was standing among the long coarse grass in his "yard" and as usual we were discussing whatever topics happened to range by at the moment while we each had a Mojito. Robbie told me this story

June 6, 2012 Linda got cancer while I was working for her. Tumors in her head, liver, stomach, bladder...the disease was everywhere. Well, everywhere except in her chest, which was why the yearly mammograms missed it, every year. They only found it because she hit her head and went in for a scan. Three months. That's what they said. God, you have twelve weeks to live, what do you do? Linda just laughed. "Imagine!" she said to me in that beautiful English lilt, "I can do anything now! I can go rob a bank with a sawed-off shotgun right now, and what are they going to do? Arrest me?! I'll be dead before I get to trial!" I laughed with her, re

Threats. You seem to have forgotten what I do with them. Perhaps I am slow to react to contact, slow to build over to a rolling boil. Maybe I lulled you to complacency with my patiently drawn observations of your stomping all over my playground. So you mowed through my little world with crew-serve fire. .50 CAL rounds through my rosebushes and graveyards. You slammed open the door and barged all over my house with your muddy boots. The lights flipped on, windows were thrown ajar and loudly you exclaimed your ideas about how to change the décor. I was in a bit of a shock at first. I warned you. "Turn off the lights. They'll see you."

27 July, 2011 23:58 I was scrolling through my text messages tonight, and at the very bottom of my list, from August 2010, was the last text he ever sent me. It said "I'll call you right back." It was at the bottom of the list because it was about to expire. And I just couldn't bear to let it vanish. He wrote that. He touched the keys that formed those letters. He sent that message only to me, with his intent. It was the only thing I still have. So I wrote him back just now... "Ok, I'll be here." It puts the message back at the top of the list. It looks recent, like I just got it a minute ago. So I can still look at it sometimes and feel

I burned my heart for all to see, Black, it barely beats in me. Iron bands and cords of steel Draw blood 'till nothing else I feel. When the pain grows slowly numb This suffering will set me free, I'll know that I have finally won, For none can hurt me, worse than me.

All this Time, these Years, the Words fell broken, stuttered and dry; Sans the Depth to touch my Grief, draped unspoken in coils awry Through my Heart; the Evening where the Moon fell from my Sky.

I burned my heart for all to see, Black, it barely beats in me. Iron bands and cords of steel Draw blood 'till nothing else I feel. When the pain grows slowly numb This suffering will set me free, I'll know that I have finally won, For none can hurt me, worse than me.

All this Time, these Years, the Words fell broken, stuttered and dry; Sans the Depth to touch my Grief, draped unspoken in coils awry Through my Heart; the Evening where the Moon fell from my Sky.

I seem to have lost my words. If anyone's seen them, let me know if you could. Maybe I should post a reward. They've always had a tendency to stray here and there, but this time they seem to have gone feral for good. Is feral good? Are they happier out there, just flitting from mind to mind on their own? Are they seeking for expression in the silence that they roam? Did the wilds give them fangs and a hunger? Do they jumble their letters and create words unknown and yet unspoken by man? I wonder if they linger occasionally to rest in the warmth of a daydream. If they beg at the doors of poets and scribes, to be taken in and groomed to perf

Give me a collar, give me a chain, Grant me a purpose, and even a name. I beg of your hand my daily bread, A drop for my thirst and maybe a bed. I bow my head to your folly and whim, I never question the motives within. I'll fight for your praise, I'll lay down my life, Only to please you, to settle your strife. Beat me, starve me, do as you please, No matter the cost, to you I will crawl. My life in your hands, from morning's first light, The rage and the pain, and the cold lonely night. I bear you my children. For them, I would kill. Just utter the word and they are left to your will. I crouch in my cage and shiver in the dark, They cry ou