Blue  

  

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But Me

I’m writing you
a piece of history
from this balcony
where I can see
all below me

it’s all planned out
like a battle map
so why even try
I know I can fly
I know I will touch the ground

I know I will scorch
the earth
carving your initials
in my skin
no one can pronounce your name

but me

but, to me, it is all the same

it is your blame
I crave
you’re concave
and I am perplexed
falling from apex

I am a cylinder
and you are
multi-facted
bones braced
and you are so abrasive

adhesive
you hold my heart
together when I stop
time and count my
blessings

but me

but, to me, it’s all the same

Dead Fingerprints

Torment fills the
creases of my
haggard face as
raised hairs erect
themselves in defense
of an unknown stranger

who has no face,
no skin to speak of,
just dried bones
that clack together
like brittle wind chimes
whispering a tuneless dirge

My limbs shake furiously
from my splintering
four-post,
taunted by the
invisible oblivion
waiting outside the
chamber door

I am tainted
by the fingerprints
of dead gods

There is a window here,
but I did not open it —
an exit,
but I did not take it

With eyes closed,
eternally fastened
to the penumbra
of the lantern’s
shadow,
I fall helplessly
into my self

Death is borne
into me

© Christopher Rupley and Steve Shultz 2015

(This is another collaboration with the talented Christopher. He’s really opened my eyes to the art of collaborative writing. Be sure to check out more of his awesome work here).

Dark Red

Is your blood dark red
or light red?

I am feeling my best
when mine is dark red

Are your bones
brittle or strong?

Does your needle
hurt or does it heal?

Does your skin
bruise or does it sparkle?

I am at my best
when mine is dark red

Brazenly Anew

It is
never enough
until it is too much –
want more, until passed out on floor.
No more

And your
eyes cradle such
contemptuousness, paired
only with the hypocrisy
you stow

Adrift,
sleep comes to wash away the day;
mistakes make paint for dreams,
coloring in
regrets

Only
then can I rid myself of the
crimson hue and crooked
brush strokes you draw
me with

Because when I’m freed
from your contrasted palette
my mind is at ease,

Now I find myself
staring at this blank canvas,
creating anew

© Steve Shultz and Christopher Rupley

Blackened Cape

This rabbit hole is never deep enough
white doves, they hide inside a blackened cape
she reminds me it is ok to stop
this rabbit hole is never deep enough
conceal your cards but I still call your bluff
lead the chase but you can never escape
this rabbit hole is never deep enough
white doves, they hide inside a blackened cape