Author: Aren Goodwin

And so, my cure becomes your curiosity. Caught up catapulting questions, wrought by moss and animosity. Always aimed at my ankles, with quite cautious velocity. You all too often know best, though the worry's awfully lost on me. See, lawful thoughts like these, I've tossed aloft for ten years. Though they've only slowed the oil,… Continue reading Lawful Thoughts →

I've been tested. But, I stress to you, believe! That in chasing a chance at manhood, I clenched, and couldn't breathe. I felt every bit as free, as your average dad believes a bottom bitch should be. Or... So it went, in my maple tree. And what kind of waste of space am I, to… Continue reading Testy →

Wake up. Waste my good face with a buried brow, and ask, "Who the fuck paints like that?" The memory has melted to the floor. But, I've just a couple fragments left, of flying human hands. A shattered recollection, far from the future I had planned. You must understand, each moment makes the most of… Continue reading Painted Poorly →

I'm at a loss, for feeling optimistic. With the awful odds, I either dropped or missed it. The feeling that fair weather's warranted, and I could someday come unpeeled as oranges. So I stood by myself, before a bored crowd. Without the wealth, to sing the score loud. For, I'm more or less abhorrent now.… Continue reading An Unpeeled Feeling →

Sitting up. Smiling, even. Blessed with eyesight by the blindest heathens, who's shadows shrank my spiteful demons. You see, I used my mask as a matchstick, so any castings of the past were lit. Then, I turned to the hungry hounds, those bent on spreading their own dread around. I blew a kiss, and believe… Continue reading Something to Smile →

Bulletproof, shouldn't be, the necessary bare minimum. Yet, now, with every word I cease to breathe, for fear of spewing solar flares, and cinnamon. And, each time I let the pests back in again, they poke, prod, and paw print o'er the last of my innocence. Their thoughts as soldiers sent. So I revived, bulletproof,… Continue reading Bullet Bruised →

I found my soul in parts at the heart of it, and tried hard to harness any art to fit. My best bits embarked, departed and cystic. To make sense of my darkness, and impart some mischief. But I'm a ways away from harmful. Just too enraged, an unsafely guarded armful. Swinging blades, and snarling… Continue reading A Guarded Armful →

It's madness, what she had to brave. To collapse in greener pastures, past paths too many had to pave. Tolls, and toil, and tenebrous trouble, for just a second's graze. Now she knows the sound of laughter, but can't crack a smile to wrap her words. Her face intact, but past reacting first. Just know… Continue reading Past Reacting →

At least there's heart in my artistry. For, it seems my pumping part has departed me. Still, they say, "How sad could she be, when the words seem to leave, her lips like a lion's roar?" You see, there's this behind her iron door. A resounding downbeat, deep inside the house. More than a mere… Continue reading Behind Her Iron Door →

Whether my head has grown heavier, or my knees weaker, I don't know. But these days my own strength, won't allow a stone's throw. Or a stroll through the sweeter times. When I easy breathed, less feeble minded. Led down darker tunnels, now free though blinded. By the sunlight stretching, shining certain. Across eyes recast,… Continue reading Past Deserving Curtains. →