rhiannon fisher Poems

pigmentation creeps quietly away, afraid to catch the white ghost chills of past decisions. i am a breeding ground of self-annihilation; of self-disrespect; self-hatred. murderous thoughts penetrate this once laughing mind; a backbone crushed to dust and dispersed among the breeze...at least this would carry me from this depressed glow.
i flow in and out of days aiming no where; finding that i have sold myself short, and in doing so, extended my days to foreverful pity. too social to sit alone; too picky to be a friend to many. too distraught to care any longer.

i feed myself sporatic euphoria, only to find myself chewing impatiently on the poisonous stem without a self-preserving thought.
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tragedy topple-down starch innocence.
ambiguous thorn prickly soft touch drift to daze.
time versus space big-bang blank continuum.
intangible focus descent cramped vigil coiled betwixt mediocre saturated dawn to bated dusk.
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unsure what's happened to my head lately. words seem an utter bore; more contemptuous than ambiguously engaging in pseudo-life. my soul's grown bored and i have nothing left to spit; a dry throat tragedy...perhaps strep?

disabled allibies; sanctified loneliness; a shrine to the homeliest has-beens. i'm feeling the weight of my place upon the system; a minute part in the grand scheme of traffic jams, bike paths and malignant tumors. the fault lines run amock through spinal chords, pulsating, ripping torrents through the chorus of this organed venue.
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fools drooling over a partially enlightened mind; wanting that which will never be taken nor subdued. they want to tame the wild, but in doing so they lose the beauty they fell in love with; leaving nature sulking in hesitance, but merely for a moment prior to unloading vines, weeds, hurricanes, tsunamis, tornadoes, mudslides, avalanches, drought, disease, starvation.

an enigma; a schizophrenic playground for your eyes’ delight. a surreal memory etched on swingsets, and as the wind catches you see its silhouette sliding back and forth with the rising and settling breeze.
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longing
longing
longing for
the creator's next midrift uprise to entice the yellow belly buzzards to eat their prosthetic faces off annorexic bodies.
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but, truthfully, we are never without home, in the larger scheme of things. and, perhaps the definition of home changes within each indefinitive moment; within the consciousness of our own dilemmas, our own surroundings, our own individual definition cloaked behind each word.

i erupt in the light of day, tuning slowly through each complete home freebase station. i fold to good graces, a sucker for elegant words; beautiful familiarity seeps like sludge through distraut corneas. it bores me. this city is my wreckage...idle hands. infancy to clarency; womb to tomb, i covet my Mother's intense idolatry. born into belligerence, i seek the life most loath because of distrophied diagnoses.
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what would you think if i could memorize the placement of every freckle on your pale skin, or recite, in detail, every thought you wish me to swallow?

i happen to be
disquieted by the apprehensive conclusion that you may not be a figment of my schizophrenic imagination, and the incantation of us is merely an adolescent fantasy, curiously etched into neurotically hopeful brainwaves
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poison consumption endless press prevail
collossal stoic ambivalence shooed to sprout through vandals' blockade
pavement: lift then separate
left to agitate
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the context in which you play yourself
unfold in conquest of your remnants
you demean your own heartbeat
a shy eye delusional freedom
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