What once was
The way we thought that it did.
Become aware of how it has been,
And how it shall be again.
So when my mind
Concurs to you who
Loves to lie beneath my skin.
My truth divides
Truth and denial
At war within.
What is it that makes me bleed profusely?
I search for this plank in my eye... sawdust?
Like the grains of sand and gravel, subtly,
We then subconsciously blink to adjust,
Avoiding an unfortunate sully.
Blood had spewed everywhere as if a splash!
Blinded and beneath waves of sultriness,
Boiling and cauterizing subtle wounds,
This juxtaposition of subtle pain.
Pain has always been subtle, always has.
Like the way your glasses broke into shards.
I have always known these fragments of glass.
Never blood, sand, gravel, sawdust, a plank.
But your subtle beautiful concussion.
You think you're special
Special, you are, my dear
Look in the mirror,
You're one in a million
You have two eyes, a nose
Oh, and a mouth too
That spits venomous fire
Onto every soul that disregards
The beauty of your mind
The logic they cannot find
In your thoughts and your speech
But, oh, how you mind
Everything that makes sense to you, is beautiful
And all that fails to, non-sensical
Of course, you're one in a million
A copy-paste of a different kind
Searching for words to fill this gaping void,
Try as I may, It's just all too absurd!
As I try to rhyme and think of a word,
I just can't ignore getting played and toyed!
These feelings of bliss and joyous despair,
I just can't get you out of my head's care!
I stare at the screen, sitting on my chair.
With thoughts as blurred as my moistened glasses,
With you in my head, I just wear and tear!
As I walk back and forth in disrepair.
I sit back down, I wouldn't even dare...
This writer's block I often experienced,
Is as maddening as your invasion,
Of my madcap heart's reckless imprudence!
A lot of people don't want to read poems about Violence.
A lot of people don't want to read poems about Hate.
A lot of people don't want to come to grips with their own Sexuality.
A lot of people are In Denial about Global Warming.
A lot of people live in an Unreal World.
Blame it on a family feud,
Or the funeral of a man you knew.
Blame it on your strange childhood,
Or the lack of proper food.
Blame it on the wind outside,
Or how you need to feel alive.
Blame it on your last girlfriend,
Or your mother's email thread.
Blame it on the lack of sleep,
Or the booze you drank last week.
Blame it on the guys at work,
Or the girls who look and smirk.
Blame it on the industry,
Or the drugs you're offered free.
Blame it on the clothes you wear,
Or the balding of your hair.
Blame it on your wasted youth,
Or the constant search for truth.
Blame it on the way she sees,
Or how she shouts when angry.
Remember when you sense the blame,
Defend the honour of your name.
An action caused by outside force,
Should now form your discourse.
Words that flow so easily,
'Never, love, not me.'
I have a secret
So dreadfully true
It has to do with me
But it sort of effects you too
Diagnosed I was
With a sickness none can see
Im mentally deranged
I see things no one else can see
Stars can't really talk back
Didn't know that to be true
And death is not a skeletal man
Telling me when my souls' due
I've known for a while now
But it just now sort of sunk in
My reality is fabricated from dreams
This disease is the largest of my sin
Im no longer in denial, and reality is running me over like a truck.
always holding the world on my back
and day by day it continues to stack
til I collapse
and hold no more
I close the door
on what once was
coming in towards newer stuff
but help me yield I’ve had enough
I’m pushing off and losing ground
yet still the answer has not been found
so I surround
my heart with comfort
so I don’t hurt
and feel the pain
I keep rationalizing to keep me sane
lying to myself
I should be crying to myself
but I’m oblivious to all else
and I’m pretending that’s not so
but truth’s shining through and already I know
Do not fall for these sweet illusions,
They're just a symptom of your confusion --
The hazy smog of your mind's pollution.
Believing it is not the solution.
Nobody knows the real you.
No one can ever see.
And all those who try to reveal you
Will surely fail -- undoubtedly.
They love the you they think they know,
Adore the one you're not.
They're grasping mere mirages though,
You'll never be the one they want!
And though he makes you want to sing,
Please do not be fooled --
For if he did know everything,
His "passion" would be cooled.