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flightfallen before the dream
like some deep well in the abyss
scraping rainbow sludge from the bones

staggering from the graveyard
lilting to one direction
transfixed upon your hypnosis

rising from these ashes
ruptured flesh dances to the outskirts
this wingspan inflates

beating
beaten
heartbeat
flutter

I am the angel of death
no mercy for you.

unicycleThe jester wheels about
on his lovely unicycle
telling jokes
putting on a happy face.

He wants to cheer your ills.

Tragedy; there is rust in the gears,
the turn of the wheel grates
in your ears
the banter scrapes your mind
like an iron nail
scratching across a slate.

The jester was out in the rain,
but he's still trying.
Anything to make you smile,
forget about your troubles for a while.

As he lies prone upon the
parquet,
covered in the drapery
of a net of tomato rot,
no one sees beneath the pulp.

The injury is far worse
than a twisted leg that
will not be meeting
a decorated pedal for some span.
Somewhere betwee

Soul MateRushing in with masks at the ready,
different versions of ourselves,
reality leaking out at the seams

Somehow in the sea of plastic faces
you found me and I saw you
this burning desire to tear apart the guise
to be next to you and with you
and know you
I just found my soul mate.

Somewhere we overlapped too much,
the realness threatened to splinter this finely crafted wrap.

And now my soul mate has vanished.

In truth it had to be that way,
somewhere in the bustle of the world, you are out there,
but we no longer know each other.
I cover my face once again with harlequin skin;
you roar in the other direction, mascot once more.

whyDearest,

Day to day as we move through our lives, encountering strangers, and business people, shopkeepers, men and women in bars, the person next to you at the parade. Shuffling on, these people see you, they hear you, they smell you, they're allowed to touch you. They taste what you taste. But they don't matter. They are immaterial. They mean very little to you, and pass as phantoms. Mere puppets on a revolving stage, gossamer marionettes.

They never truly hear you. Their ears may receive the sounds of your vocal chords, but they do not listen. They lay their hands on you and feel nothing but fabric and the flesh of your hands. Their ca

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Submitted: June 22, 2011
Image Size: 598 KB
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fellby *CATtheMinion

©2011-2013 *CATtheMinion

06/22/11 drawn in gimp.
just some imagery I finalized from thoughts that have been floating around in my head for a few days. this is sortof a quick sketch only spent an hour or so on it.

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Mood: Joy

~The-Schattig-Roxcie Jun 28, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

Very creative

awesome work

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*CATtheMinion Jun 28, 2011

thanks

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~UncleGuts Jun 23, 2011 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

Awesome!

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*CATtheMinion Jun 23, 2011

thx man!

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=jg06 Jun 22, 2011 General Artist

I really appreciate this

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*CATtheMinion Jun 22, 2011

thanks, glad you can relate

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=jg06 Jun 22, 2011 General Artist

Yeah it's how I feel about being Catholic or raised Catholic

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*CATtheMinion Jun 22, 2011

my mom is a recovering catholic

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=jg06 Jun 22, 2011 General Artist

I retired. Too gay

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*CATtheMinion Jun 22, 2011

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