Micah Park Biffle

A Psychosis Love  A psychosis of the heart, feeling what is not there. Seeing what is more but illusions of ghostly figures. A past that has been torn from the chapters like poison in the flesh. Blending the abstract to feel of reality. Though beautiful in thought, art is but the savvy of the heart; and the mind enriches such abstractions. Mixing with the intent to stay in the familiar, though pain may follow. A gorgeous crescendo only to bleed out unto the soul and flood it with no hope of breath. Not even an ark can save one from such a destructible pair. Leading one to be sheep, in their own acceptance of their naive choice. Hurdles of misery are so simple, as one knows the outcome for each. So they race to each only to fall; never taking up practice to leap. For fear of what lies to the other side is more frightful than the repetition of a mangled heart. So they become but a heart of the catatonic; rigid in suffering. They stare idle into what they know they...

A Whiskey Love  The whiskey settles upon her lips. She clears the resting residue with her tongue. Placing her glass down she raises her eyes to the pink horizon as a tears falls from her eye. A wallowing pain of memories hack at her beating heart. A small pick strikes away with each sip of whiskey. She forces an aching smile upon her face. Places her hand around her glass and takes another sip. But the whiskey is not enough, the pain still cries out with a heavy presence. She lowers her eyes from the sky and looks to the whiskey that sits in her hand. She examines it with curiosity in hopes it will suffocate the misery that saturates her heart; at least for a brief moment. But nothing suffices for comfort. So she places the glass down, another tear falls. She tries to articulate the pain that strangles her. But she shutters in agony and reaches into the right pocket of her jacket that is draped on her chair. From it she pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a small pink l...

 A Romance of The Broken  I love you, Those three words, a massacre did they bring. My heart strung in agony for the world to see. To watch me bleed with boiling agony that not even I could contain. And with no sympathy, you packed your instrument of love, never to play by my side again.  I became an abandoned piano in the dust of your empty heart. And your lips turned sour with the mere thought of my yearning for your soul. A distant hand did you become as you vanished the recesses of my mind. Still, I gave you a place in my heart, though yours was a chamber of murder for mine.  I could not leave what I prayed would spark a new. That in the hour of midnight you would call to me. Not for the longing of an ear. But for the blooming desire of love, for something beyond what had been planted.  But with each passing night, I became but a mere poet of lonely stanzas. Not even the rays of the sun brought me hope. I grew dreary in the confines ...