Micah Park Biffle

Self Medicating   She hears the shrills of her mind cry with seething agony. The world feels of lonely burdens and recluse feelings. Leaving her numb to the expectation of self. Her skin pulls taught at each moment of breath.  A ceiling of falling emotions cloud her heart. Her eyes pale to the moonlight. She is quiet in her words but loud in her head. She walks with a smile upon her face as she knows it is fake. Popping pills to feel okay. Listening to music to drown out the pain but nothing keeps her in frame.  She buckles the moment she is home from work. Her house in shambles from neglect as faces of sadness seep from the walls. Tears fall, but no relief is given as her pillow is her only companion to console.  She knows her heart is bitter in the lonesome wails of her past. But so bruised, so scarred, she is held by rigid fear. Her own family she has distanced as the pain is only thing she knows. Her face, in a perpetual drama of shame, of gui...

A Morning  A small boat upon the open waves. Settling clouds atop the mountain crest, a thin fog hugs the earth. Brisk winds hold the shores. Foot prints taken by receding seas. A breath of fresh air fills the lungs of lonely souls. Caffeinated steps proceed the waking morning. Melodic tunes play softly in busy halls. Trees waver to the cool wind. Swaying with no agency to be. Quiet tears fall from broken hearts, sheets hold the lonesome. An empty glass stained in lips of red. Sour aroma lingers from the mouth.  Rain tumbles with urgency to flood what begs to hold. Washing away dusted cheeks; hesitation to step out grasps the flesh. Eyes interpret the morning view. Hazed in a daze of last nights time. Lethargic tones whisper among the head. Clouds cover the blue, rejecting the season to be new. Gloom disperses the sun, leaving minds numb in hope with empty rhythm. The carrying of pollen leaving septum's to run. Insects victim to the spectrum of predator tongu...

Why Does This Heart Beat?  How does this work, my heart? Why does it hold its rhythm though I do not dance? Does it not see the agony that hangs from it? Does it no see the shrill of misery that flows from the spit of my tongue? Its lush beats keep these ragged bones shivering. Though they shiver in fear they find reason to build. To stay attached to the fibers that hold it together. I walk with these bones and I hear them murmur in the cracks of my joints. I hear them, the creaking, the screaming, the bitter exhaustion of wanting rest. But still I move, as does my heart. But why drag this withering body through the fields of the ripe? I tend poorly to my own flesh, my own soul. Why does this heart bleed so, breathing in, exhaling the platelets of my body? Does it know what I do not? Is there a song I have yet to compose, a poem I have yet to spill, or a heart I have yet to break? This strange thing beneath this rugged chest. It beats, it holds rhythm and song; all ...

The Madness of A Needle and Thread Needle and thread, needle and thread. He takes the needle stitching pieces like madness. Suiting his desire to be a shadow of himself. His lack of esteem has driven him to the far woods past the Willow Ravine. Where no dare to step, for evil sleeps among the rotting trees. His eyes as pitch as the darkness that dwells in the woods. He speaks among himself as if he is not alone. His home is but a vacant shelter made of stone; the former residence to the one whom was never known. Its now brittle architecture stands like crooked spoiled teeth. Eroding with each passing wind.  His heart anxious, pulsating like a symphony of wild violins, strumming as if disaster hangs at his neck. His skin, a pasty ivory, for sun no longer settles upon his flesh. He paces his mind with horrific tendencies as he strings himself a desperate shell of his departed self. His grotesque need to tether the limbs of what he is not; only voids his appetite t...

The Hollow Horrors Of Melancholy  I close my eyes in rest. But I am no fool to what shall find me in my slumber. For my viscous melancholy has the say in my dreams. It has suffocated the colors that once flourished in the springs of my dreams.  It has coiled its leather body around the serene. Strangling the geysers of my imagination and I run dry of design as I seek to be clean. This demon, be it the spreading of the deranged, of my decaying brain. It flairs its wings and parades it fangs with each sleepless night at the strike of twelve thirteen.  Its eyes, darker than any hue of ink you have ever seen. Its breath like the heat of candle held to close to flesh. Its screeches as if it too, has become the victim of the horrific. Of the wicked workings of sadness and the obscene.  I would find no surprise to see that which haunts me. Is but another running from their horrors, but they have drowned to the cursed ravine. Now they haunt others for the ...

A Soul Which Forsakes Vision  I spin in infliction upon my barren stretch of the smitten lands that once held life with strength. But I have become beaten, my breath no longer an apron to catch the stains of my soul. I have begun the end of the beginning, I have been bitten. The vampire phantom of the broken has come for my salvation. Its palate distinguished for this exact occasion, surely my crimson blood shall be forgiven.  Blood thirsty have I become in my wake of passive caution in the ingestion of toxins. Slay me of my burdens, strain me of tension, bring me addiction to the poisoning of my vision. Leave me blackened as one would be in the annihilation of the sun. Allow me the appeasement of death from the inhalation of the deceased. As if caught in disease of the maddened. Strip me of my muscles of the mental and bring madness to my beacon. I am now up for auction, the highest bidder take my canon. Fire me from your tongue and let me do your bidd...

We Are Beyond Our Flesh  Its as if I am but an extension to my actions. That what I choose and what I do, are truly not mine. I have felt the darkest dark's, and the brightest brightest. I have wallowed in the silence of the damned and laughed among the angels. And in all these strange wanderings, I have come to see that I am not me. That I am not the skin upon my flesh nor the bones that keep me upright. I am more than the eyes that sit inside my head like beads. I am more than the fingers that plunge into the creation of writing. There is much I cannot explain, nor do I wish to. But I feel as if every moment I am awake. There is a force that wishes to pull me. That wishes to see me design, mend, and be. I have dreamt the most vile visions and dreamt of the most beautiful views. But in these dreams I feel as if they are not truly me. That it is not the nerves that spark the thoughts, the visions. But that they are creation beyond my control, beyond what I see. For too ...

Follow me on  Twitter A Thankful Sacrifice Voices gather throughout this home, as a fire is lit, and music plays softly as children dive rigorously  into their imagination. Smells christen the air as they waltz across the sense of pleasurable memories that bring no burden.  The music delicately coats the home like the rising color of crimson along the morning horizon. All is certain in this moment as all have this day in common. No one is forgotten, no go hungry in this is this day that glistens.  Cheerful spirits lift this home from any friction and all become gladdened. The weather frosts the grounds but in here, among the fire, that plays with a hot hand of a chemical heathen. None are opposed or notice the cold. As they drink and laugh among the sweet scent of lemon.  The elders gather the children and begin to tell tales of the magical huntsman. The one that saves the princess from an evil legion. And finds himself against a tho...

A Blissful Rhyme To Leave You In Control Of Your Mind  Listen to the silence, the cool crisp sounds that scurry through the quiet realm of an idle mind. Listen deep, listen well. Find within, the scattering of thoughts and focus upon that which whispers to you with audacious lips. Listen to whats speaks with strong but graceful tones. Listen to what lifts the shrouding chaos from the soul. Cut off from the mundane, the plain, the constant badgering of lives everyday things. For you deserve a moment and forever, to keep your mind in place with peaceful grace. Let yourself slide into bliss, let this take you from the strains of the lame and feel yourself glide like a cloud across the sky. Bury the unwanted scavengers that call out with vicious teeth. Leave them to their own doings and nefarious beliefs. Let them bleed from you like water from earth.  Find no place for the ill to set sail upon your thoughts in this moment. Calm your seas with a kiss of bri...

A Dark Path and Three Drunk Fools  Down the narrow path lies a red light, a light that flickers and shines only at night. With a carved sign that's says "no trespassing or you will die." No feet of the villagers near by, have ever dared to peer to the other side. For there is too much fear and imagination to stride.   They talk of those whom may have died upon being crucified and left to dry. To hang damnified for the horrible things they did with villagers to be sacrificed. Even stories of an ugly man who was ostracized for his looks and left to die. To be recluse and sing his tunes. Some say if you listen close enough, you can her him play the organ, with a man name Hyde.  Some speak of a child whom's spirit floats about that of the other-side, who died on a carnival ride. Though this path is hidden on a mountain side, near a village few have seen with a naked eye. This path resides world wide. Though these stories have little evidence to be cla...

Could there ever be a me and you?  If there could be, it would be magnificent. It would be something to behold upon the world, we would be bold. Bold in our hearts for each other, bold in our adventures of happiness and tragedy, bold in our actions for each other. We would rise like sparks from the heavens and never fade. Always giving light when the world seems to implode with misery. Leaving trails of brightly grown roses composed with streams of sublime grace. Creating a maze of stars within our kiss, losing all sense of time and existence. Feeling only our lips, our love, and the rhythm of our hearts. Feeling perfect harmony as our souls collide like thunderous skies as we bring life to love. Giving birth to something intangible. Something that turns the coldest days into the warmest moments. We would be something grand. We would be something so grandiose an orchestra would render our souls. Our days would be filled with laughter that would stretch our smiles so ...

This Is Just A Rhyme There comes a time when wine becomes more thought after than last night. When its flavor becomes prey to the savoring of tongues. In relishing its fine presence that leaves the pallet feeling divine. Like the embracing of mountain tops dusted in the roots of alpine. But baselines of instrumental times, leaves the mind out right in a beautiful cry. Like waves against the coastline, the perfect symphony can leave one in a sense of blissful decline. Finding an animalistic incline. Rejecting the congested swine that divides and hides inside. Separating the soul from the mind. We align with that which we find to follow our line. Our line that presses us in grapevine. We entwine our minds with values and thoughts that complete our headline. But we live on deadlines, finding paper to pen, but let us not pretend. As though we live with a paycheck in mind, that we don't wish to be dead. Striving to reach the top but living in a madness of a bullpen. Competing wi...