Balanced on the Knife-Edge of Sanity

All works ŠALK, all rights reserved

Suffocating Life

Her eye hovers above
The torrential waves,
Far from her clashing energy,
Recording for her memory
If any sliver survives
And chances to wonder
What she was
Before torn asunder.

She observs all objectively,
Impersonally noting the progress,
Of the unprecedented battle,
Presenting the total
Morbid scene without digress,
Not for pleasure,
But as the worst
Of her torture.

The ocean of being wrings her body
Into tortuous shapes, shrieks
Of boundless pain inflicted by her aimless zeal
Wrack her soul.
Bereft of the victim she seeks
Everything turns in,
Tearing and shredding
Over and again.

The sea churns mercilessly
Lashing out at all of herself,
Crushing her wall of silence
With untempered violence,
Oblivious to the state of her health,
Unbidden screams torn from
The writhing depths
Of her divided sum.

She clutches the knives of salvation,
Lacking the strength to loose her bonds.
Rivers of tears rinse the slashes of frustration
Decorating her form in prostration
Before her impotence. Tainted saltwater ponds
Grow restless,
Bearing her away,
Angry and helpless.

Ribbons of blood tie knots
Of rage that stream down in fountains
And hails of self-directed darts,
Accurately impaling her vital parts.
Under the tidal mountains
Breath is stolen,
Suffocating life
In her own flow of crimson.

Dangling strips and tatters
Gyrate in the storm's infinite fury,
Relentlessly driving her on
Over the cliff into the coming dawn
Of searing flames, licking her injuries
With stinging, rasping
Tongues, for her last
Sentience grasping.

In the throes of madness
And self-immolation she is tossed about;
Broad chains once fast to anchors
Are now threads, frayed and severed.
Stifled cries for aid go unheard without
The barriers imposed
To keep destruction
Within her closed.

The hurricane of passion
Pounds against the shore of her mind,
Ravenously eating away the last
Of her defenses, fast
Compromising the little left to find,
Stripping her bare,
Exposing to the elements
She so tenuously there.

Crucified on a cross of her bones,
She, the sole subject of her own inquisition,
A self-made, merciless executioner,
Alone has the fathomless power
To unmake her unwanted position.
She pours ageless wrath
Into this contrived war
Between her whole and half.

In exhausted determination
She hurls the last of her arsenal
At her heart, much pierced and twice broken.
Too weak now to withstand this acute poison
She forges on, well past senile,
For she must be spent
Rather than harm
An innocent.

She reclaims her life by spilling
It out to the last vibrant drop,
Depriving her persecutors of her service,
Starving their unsated lust.
Freedom will always be beyond hope,
But when last thoughts cease
She will finally
Have peace.
--~}@{~--


A Toast To...

One                     final                    sHaKe, 



and i pop, a

stifled      explosion

                f  o   a    m     i      n       g



The giggles, 



              they

keep                    coming



              like

champagne bubbles



Laughter keeps

                            rising up, 



                                          pushing





                                                        out



The cork--

i can't get it back in; 

i keep spilling

                                          out



Out



Oh god, i'm empty; 

i don't have   

                            any   

                                      left

--~}@{~--


He Had to Take That, Too

Numb on the sofa
The day after the night before,
Knife still resting on the coffee table
Not so out of place,
I guess.
It'll have to be there awhile
Since he broke in the door.
He might come back,
And I wouldn't want to be caught off-guard
Like last night.
Only a knife and a phone in my hand
When the door splintered,
Good things to have,
I guess;
A knife to aim at his throat
And a phone to call 911.
Looking at him
With cold, steady eyes,
Smelling his alcohol stench
In my house,
Seeing his crack-withdrawal jitters
That broke my door,
Wanting to bury the blade in his vein
So I wouldn't have to fear,
So he couldn't take again.

I think He left just in time to save himself.
I crept from my bedroom
In only a shirt
And a phone
And a knife.
Late fall cold pouring in the broken door,
Adrenaline pumping me into shock
Until time to put the knife away
So the cops could come in.
They didn't even look for him,
Just took the report.

Now I sit here, trembling
Because the phone just rang.
It told me he's staying three blocks away,
And I can't shut the door.
--~}@{~--


3rd Time's the Charm

panic grips her soul like a vise
hysteria runs in chills down a spine
frozen in fear
breathing stops as mind races

"Help, please!
god, won't anyone help!"

I was there for you

realization floods
vast solitude trickles into glazed eyes
resignation becomes a chain about a
spirit slipping underwater
hand still raised in supplication

last screams bubbling up
crushing pressure an indifferent embrace
strangling care from her
for the last time
--~}@{~--


October Afternoon

she stares into the fishtanks, unseeing,
disbelieving
what she knows she must be feeling;
her heaving sobs and wracking breaths
cut the silence,
nursing hysteria's giggles and frantic laughs.
the incessant metronome of the rumbling,
bubbling
away, a featureless timekeeper sounding her trembling.
quavering voice pleading 'cross distance to Lover,
love to another,
Whose refuge is an unsure cover,
only enough to capture her mind,
her spirit bind
from the demon's prodding, an exploitable weakness trying to find.
the evil's claws in a flash unsheathe,
a web it weaves,
snare of pain criss-cross her soul impossible to leave;
Lover shouts to fight it off
prevent more loss
of herself, but she's faded, fragile, skin of so-thin glass
buffeted by the bubbling surging pressure, cracked by razor's grip,
Love's lips
tearing within, glass-sliver skin flaking, heart breaking, a rip
pulled from three sides, demon enemy, Love defender,
self, inconstant lender
of sanity, none at hand a likely mender
of her soul, slow-slipping from her huddled form,
a raging storm
centered on her papasan nest, surrounded by the swarm
of bubbling, dull rolling syncopation that's caught
her thoughts.
her spirit is teased back by this other haven brought.
smooth and low, her Lover's voice unmistaken
has overtaken
the demon for now, the pain of sensation
slow-fading, leaving exhaustion, His soothing
tones moving
carefully through her pieces as the bubbling
rocks her into oblivion's curative embrace,
His face
the last image in her eyes before the bubbles trace
closed their net, shutting on distraction a buffered door
so her sore
soul can mend; relaxation releases the phone soundlessly to the floor.
--~}@{~--


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