Micah Park Biffle

   My Execution of Love Do as you wish, this heart is a traveler of darkness. Scars have found home upon my heart like termites to rotting foundation. Day by day my heart slowly crumbles, it is nothing without you. Without us.   I am catatonic to love. Frozen in the position of melancholy. A possession of dark clouds have gathered in my mind. I wear a cloak of obsession, an obsession to drown this catastrophic wound.   My floors are covered in lust as I pounce from lips to lips. Seducing the hearts as bleak as mine. But no matter the sedation, I can hear you, feel you. My eyes are green, envious of your ease to cope; to find another.   I have shriveled to bone, to dust. Place me in your hand and I will be blown to the faintest wind. Wild images of darkness shade my thoughts. But if I had the chance to tell you of these, would you even care or would you do as you did when you left?   Walking in blankness as if nothing had meaning. It hurt, our...

Ascending Memories  We ascended with our feet upon the ground. Gathering up our thoughts like broken sticks, placing them in our bags to tell of later. We were silent as we climbed, hand in hand, silence at heart. Wearing red to signify the blood of our fallen hearts.  Our eyes reflected of the dark, as the rain poured with misery as we coated our hearts black. Ivory keys of woeful tunes played as we tried to piece ourselves together. We ascended higher and higher, but the terrain only became worse.  Vines bared thorns as roses of translucent petals hung like fingers of relaxed limbs. A few times our flesh came torn by the prick of thorns. The roses took to our blood, and what was once translucent became red.  Once our altitude was beyond the view of earth, the clouds became thick. Dense like the waters of the ocean. The beat of our blackened hearts grew louder through the density of these dreary clouds. We clasped our hands together, as not to lose one ...

Two Heart Between The Moon and Sun This was not what was to be, I thought surely the moon spoke clearly. That the stars were aligned in the birth of our hearts. But now I see, as tears come to be. That we shall no longer breathe, neck to neck. But rather, between the spaces of our broken hearts. Where the sun never meets the moon and dreams never meet reality. We shall be but ghosts in our memories of either. We will sleep with empty arms, feeling the air become brisk in midnight's breath. Already so lonely, and only a night apart. I feel your heart, as if it is mine. Pale are my lips as we have not kissed. I see the lonesome eyes of grief settle upon my hips. Replacing what would be, our moment of bliss.  I cry, oh I cry, but quickly replace my tears with whiskey sips. Staring at the empty side, at which you used to rest. Our music idle in the background of my mind. I replay our dances, our laughs, as if they are but something that just went amiss; waiting for the...

Unopened Letters  He struck up a match and lit the candle that sat upon his desk. Upon the candles embrace of the flame he blew out the match and watched the smoke fade. His face shifted in the dancing light, one might say it skewed the truth. He then looked around his small cottage and began to check the doors and windows; ensuring they are sealed shut. His walk is slightly subdued by his lame leg. Injured from an harrowing event; but he dares speak of it. He prefers the ever echoing silence of the memory. Never giving more than a glimpse to others to ignore his disabled leg. After checking his very limited perimeter he walks over to his fire place. He leans over a small pile of logs as he adjusts his leg to adhere to his desired posture. He then grabs a log in one hand and chucks it into the middle of the fire place. He then reaches for another and another, he then alters their position. Allowing them to be more feasible to the igniting of flames. Once the logs are s...

A Family Situation  His mom rushes out the door, new born in arms. Only ten years old and his father sees no reason to stay. Too young, he understands nothing of the dreadful scene that bleeds before him. His mother pleading as the young child's father rushes off in his old rusted ford. The tires screech, the moms falls to her knees crying upon the grass. Holding tightly the newly born child, it too cries in the tragedy of the moment. Woken from its slumber with no internal ability to ask why. Neither the new born nor the young boy knows the reason. The young boy feels only a sense to hide, fear curdles at his throat. But he does not cry, for he is too frightened to feel the grasp of sadness. He stands behind a tall plant that is just a few feet from the window that looks over the front yard. Peering with fearful eyes his upper lip slightly quivers as he sees his mom broken. He has no words to describe what he feels but his heart feels strange. He is pulled to come out ...

A Murderous Wanderer  Your trifled need to be callous upon each heart you seek is sickening. One such as you, could even wear exhausted the wood of a white oak with the rotting of your touch. Your collection of the damned is far from acceptance of pity. It is false approval to your petulance to play hearts. Stringing them like teeth to be worn as a necklace; showing of warriors mementos. You act as if you hail no ill will in the kissing of lips, that in the mystery of your heart, is kindness. But I see the darkness that copulates with your rituals, your soul. You blend well in a crowd of broken. Plucking the helpless, you stalk in warnings of ides of march. Curating or pogrom of hearts. Mass graves you create, yet you smile; watching as souls weep. Burying them beneath the soils you tend. Growing roses from the aching, the helpless, but roses of black. Burnt from the misery of hell at which you find your nourishment. Your cloak of romance, you perform well. Your crook...

An Unfortunate Love Do I begin at the start, or at the end? Where do I begin my dear? This is far from where I thought we would be. Strung out on the misery of missing hearts. Coiled in the cold colors of the Arctic, gorgeous, but untouchable. A mere reflection of what could have been. Distant memories fall like rain, flowing to the nearest river. Only to find their way to the ocean and blend to the others. Where do I start? My heart is no longer what it is, I hold it in my hand; it beats no more. The blood, dry, petrified upon my flesh. Murder I think, was this me? Am I the executioner of our hearts?  I do not know, for your lips are no longer mine to taste. Your voice, no longer mine to hear. But I beg with quivering teeth and a body as stiff as death, tell me where I led you wrong? Was it the constant shifting of my emotions? I know I am no saint in the handling of my mind. Or was it the absence of my affection? I know, I shiver in the act of tenderness, it fr...

The Cover Up And A king  In a fit of rage he strikes him down; clashing him with his golden cup. His eyes lathered in deep fury, his flesh poised in the pulse of adrenaline praised anger. His jaw clenched so tight, a headache rises. But is quickly masked by his fumigating mania.  And there he stands, silent in temper, grasping his golden cup in a clasp of death. And now, at his feet lies his king. And with his body surging in violence, he wastes no time and in haste he drops his cup and begins to drag the body. Slightly heavier than he, he struggles to first gain momentum to carry the murdered body of his king. But upon gaining foot, he pulls the body up the few steps that lay before the throne, and places his dead king upon it. And in his now panicked hysteria as adrenaline has dissipated. He does his best to make the king look as if he has passed out from too many wines. But the kings body begins to turn pale, so he places the kings garments to cover his hands ...

Darling, Love Again Darling cry no more, for he deserves no tears of yours. Though agony may have found place in your heart, the wonders of love still await you. A man of loyalty, of constant faith awaits your hand. Be still, be patient, but while you wait. Become consumed in your existence. Find where you belong within, search no storms outside of yourself. Cry if you must, but cry to grow, swing in the branches of life. Be gentle to your soul, but become not the most agreeable in the room. Be steady in the awaking of your heart. For many waves shall wish to drown you, be not worried for shore. For much food swims beneath you, be skillful in the survival of your desires. Cease not the reaching of your goals and settle in fear of the spinning hands. There is no wrong in wishing for love, for living for what binds us. For what creates a growing earth. And though upon your journey, your streets may be empty. Hugged in barren trees and a somber haze, carry on. For there is mag...

A Dependence  You watched me, pleased with your affects. You brought only misery to the void of my heart. Displacing my thoughts in the hands of suffering. I became your puppet, strung out on your command like an abused child beneath the voice of its father. You concluded with no reason. Abandoned I became even further, you clambered in with precise madness. Growing chaos with each seething tooth at which bled me. You found pleasure in my own forsaken wings. Drowned me in your purest from you did. Battered I became, left with no will, left with no reason to transpire. But to be your empty devotee,  I ached for you.  Gladly, I tarnished my soul to burrow withing your existence. A womb is what I felt, but a false one were you. Teething at my broken heart, you knew, in my insecure and decrepit state, I could be owned. I could be yours till nothing was left but my complete inane desolation. And in the delight of such an accomplishment, you shall find another. ...