Jill Terry's Open Salon Blog

Absinthe Wishes and Lithium Dreams

Fri, 20 Feb 2009 21:02:24 -0500

He wanders aimlessly through worlds of destruction; mist colored mountains, too blinded to see. A victim of self-induced misfortune, an inflicter of pain. Endless. Eternal. Walking through the flames, wearing the scars like badges of honor; baptisms of fire consecrated in vain.

Infinite lifetimes spent. Second-hand knowledge attained. Wasted on this tortured mind; soul hollowed eons ago. A teacher to some perhaps, but no man of genius as once she believed. Prostituting his suffering for personal gain; unwilling to succumb to sanity's necessity.

Eager to believe his revelations; as if he, a mere mortal, born with transcendent faculties; innate knowledge awarded by God. A favored soul having lived a longer time. Acquired more. Progressed further. Ordained and reincarnated at the desire of God; to aide the progress of mankind; or at the very least, the twin of her flame; to continue the journey, on the path by her side.

A monster disguised as her own personal savior; a wanton demon, this King of the Damned. Driven now by the voice in his head, whispering night and day; pushing him further, closer to the edge. “Burn the pages, take your bow; sweet surrender in dawns early hour."

Fare thee well; to you, Dark Prince; on your voyage, your final affair. Role fulfilled, as it was written; take heed in the knowing; until we meet again...

Gripping numbness

Sun, 25 Jan 2009 17:01:58 -0500

I remember those winters well; when the world turns a negative shade of grey, the suns vibrance diminishes to a bright, blinding white and the cold wraps around and holds you hostage. Seemingly surrounded by death at best; as depression settles deep within the confines of my soul; futile attempts, searching for a way out; hindered by storms of snow and ice; madness wrapping around, crippling my mind; inaudible screams driving me blind.

A distant, frigid memory; as I bask in the embrace of the warm southern sun; my soul awash in each colorful sunrise; hope-filled rays reflecting ocean waves; coloring my world, stimulating imagination; restoring my muse, from the brink back to life.

I revel in this sanctity; ever aware of those distant dreams and frost-bitten memories; the gripping numbness beneath the moon of madness; and that looming presence that brought me to this sanity…

Image: lostknightkg

The Hyena

Sun, 25 Jan 2009 13:01:41 -0500

It wasn’t his
Voice
Finally found
After fifty years
Of living
Dead

It was his
Imitation skills
Finely tuned
Honed
Down pat

Poetry, prose
Letters and
Madness
No original
Thought
Merely mimicking
Bukowski’s style

The scruples
Morals
By which he
Lives his
Life
Memorized passages
Dog-eared
Pages

Following
A script
Assuming a
Personal role
Worse than
Any
Fictional whore

Tinkering with
Lives
Pissing on
Souls
Watching emotionless
Counting the
Score

Take it off
The shelf
Read it once
More
Soulless bastard
Thinks he’s
Hank Chinaski

Winter morn

Sun, 18 Jan 2009 14:01:54 -0500

Can’t breathe
Ice crystals burning
Hitting the warmth of inflated lungs

Hollow Soul

Thu, 8 Jan 2009 09:01:18 -0500

Like a tree
Solid strong
Broad and stocky
Hollow at the
Core
Rotten inside

Peering leering
Paranoid searching
Driven by
Ego
Googling his own
Name

Empty of
Feeling
Driven by
Madness
Writing his
Life
In poetry and
Prose

Found on pages
Endless pages
Dostoevsky
Bukowski
Kerouac
Neitzsche

Incapable of
Grasping
All forms of
Reality
Stories already
Told

A life of
Emulation
Lost in theirs
Unconscious of
Time
Forever living
The lie