Misshaped Stones

He could see and hear the chilly mountain stream rolling along beside him. He looks left to see a dwarfish animal frightened by his presence,  scurry away to safety. The ground beneath his feet is not steady and his footsteps are tender because of it. The cool air teases his warmth flesh and sunlight brightens past his shadow.

The smell of pine is mature in the air current and the is reminded of a Christmas tree, and the delight that comes with it. He gathers some small misshaped Stones and watches as they splash into the cold clear water. His proffer is deep and his lungs fill with uninfected coolness, he is content.

The solitude makes his focus stronger, he is able to purview his life in a much clearer sense without all the clouds and doubt. His soul feels scant now empty of the lament and untune that haunts him daily.

-Johnny V

Misled Sheep

Lunacy is winning the conflict ripping away at my brain and unreceptive flesh. Leaving me trapped in an indulgent prison with an open door. I try to quiet the voices but their laughter drowns out my plea. Gentleness shall not lie in me this illustrious night, and my sole companions fear and self loathing remain. God does not give grace to vain and tortured men such as I. Instead he leaves me to my own inadequate enduringness to fight monsters as of yet unknown.

The almighty does not see me as the helpless and misled Sheep in need of a Shepard, but as the revolting and sin leveled goat best served by the butcher's blade. So he turns to me his backbone, granting me no vision of his ordained face. I beg for mercy from his affectionate and wise soul, but grant it he will not. To my knees I do fall pulling at my cutis and praying the vocalization will cease.  But I am to be unprotected alone with my tormentor, veins unconcealed to his every whim.

-Johnny V.

Slumber

The sun, long ago unseeable behind the distant horizon, dark had crept past his inhabit. Even the fresh candle upon his mantle does little to cease the blindness. But he takes no joy in his pending quietus, she will not allow him to traverse the river of slumber. His cold and passionless demon shall cloud his mind, leaving it to search for lucidity which will never belong to his spirit. He will lay sleepless letting his mentation and fears argue with his necessity.

He stares from dark frowning eyes to an upper surface he had put long ago to memory, hoping this nightfalls moon's shadows will be unique. But like his ancestors' bones kept in their dusty urns they shall remain unrevised. So each twilight he is left in a crib that refuses its sole utility, and with teeth that cannot spit. Knowing that when the darkest and most violent hour arrives he shall be forced to greet it with wide and unfastened eyes.

-Johnny V.

Waiting

My mind turns weary and is in a state of mist, she draws at my heart with false strings tied to delicate and lovely fingers. She sees my scars and giggles, for she knows so many hold her mark. She takes pride in her mightiness over my necessity. I turn to flee, but with one beguiling express, she freezes my escape. I must meet her needs, and obey her every wish.

I am saddled with only a frosty silence, since her vanity requires no response. She takes custody of my helpless gaze with eyes as dark and beautiful as pools of blue blood. I am evermore her's to command. What fallacies she carries in her heart I know not. Instead she lays me down to wait upon a newly made bed of nails. I welcome the pain as I await for her next tender bidding.

-Johnny V