Empty Beds


I miss the human warmth,

in all of these connections.

A soul laying weight besides,

un-tethered in its cryptic glory.

the feel of a gentle cheek,

on the hurting trembling chin.

A wave of flowing hair,

caressing the fingertips of sin.

When exactly did I stumble this far beyond?

Seeking warmth in an ocean of glacial spawn.

Where exactly does my rest belong?

Searching aethers for the ever-gone.

All Souls


All souls taste death.

But death comes before life itself.

We reap together in sorrow,

each soul in its agony.

Writhing away in the pain,

the unending pledge of misery.

All souls light up in courage,

the boys get beaten,

the girls get raped.

We are never truly let go,

a hellish existence constricting

every sentence of the story,

ending with periodic failure.

We can slither together,

huddle up in the warmth,

but the cold is ever lasting,

it picks us off one by one.

All souls cower at the hands of fear

where lust wears emotion

and we are conquered by the journeyed few.

they end our dreamless love

in a fathomed experienced blow.

All souls taste death,

but all souls live through death.



Life, was a mirthless tremor of agony,

filled with hopes left only to despair,

a sour glooming destiny.

Anger was all that wept

from the eyes in tear-less tyranny.

Love, was a fruitful ambition.

With no remorse,

and a reach-less goal,

countered only with hail and dusk

to end with fruitless remedy.

Osiris Rose

PUBLISHED by catsmob.com

Petals of the crescent

lay bloom a heartless glow.

Shivers through the lone-some,

red tips to light the soul.

Each heavy with the sorrow,

burning inward with its grim.

Osiris smiles upon thee

in a hollow shaken whim.

The Cases of Life

this is a response to a daily prompt here


Black leather covering, etched in silver sides, filled with paper, legal documents and a hint of vodka. The first suitcase I ever came across was my father’s. Only saw it a few times though, the same can be said of its owner.

Large, brown, torn up and stitched together with patchy holes filled with memories and love. A perfect storage for the day, a comfy bed and blanket for the night. The suitcase we lived out of in a spark of homelessness.

Pink, linen edges, sparkly glittering overlay with, layered with stickers and pictures. My travel companion, a little piece of satisfaction as I headed off to college.

Stripes, red and blue with purple shades, stringy sides and a patchy blend. A portion for all your hip new needs and a laptop side for the business package. My shelter in the bustling life of youthful employment.

Wooden, jet black, a comfy soft interior, fit for a life well lived. The final suitcase I acquired. A coffin with its own storage desire.

The Rites of May


The rites of May

bring the tides of envious change.

When lovers seek another’s gaze,

hearts crumble in dismay.

The hands of ease

tremble in the glee of yester-yields.

The harvests come, the shadows undone.

Plead forth the righteous words.

May your sorrow end,

May the justice come.

Plead forth your right of love.

May the sorrows end,

may the heart-falls come.