Wake me up
Shake me awake
This is just a dream
Everything you're saying is fake.

Pour water on me
Please just open my eyes
I've got to get away from this
Each and every one of you are filled with lies.

I'll awaken soon
It's just a long dream
Smack me if you have to
Nothing we know is as it seems.

Constantly holding on
Who's to be my strong hero
To zap my heart awake into reality
Dropped from cloud nine to ground zero.

The magic we had, has suddenly become an uncommon visitor to our lives. A tired stranger, who's sick of being around.
He has left, and has taken many things with him. He took the spark we had at first away. That spark which never seemed to leave your shining soul.
Feels like I'm lost in this ocean of despair. And every time you speak to me the waves carry me trying to get to solid ground. I can't make it to the ground, because I can't reach it alone.
It all ended in a blink of an eye.
One time I was holding your hand, and the next one I was holding our memories which slipped my mind and flew across the air where they got lost in the valley of hopeless dreams.
And the worst part is I don't even know what I did wrong. The road suddenly took a turn without me even seeing it. That sudden turn threw me away and I bounced many times breaking my thoughts and bleeding loneliness. Many scars were left by your kisses and your sweet words. Those words which now squeeze my heart and crack my ear

So,

I'm trying to
Understand you
Even though
I don't really
Want to
Smooth tricks
All the mental
Ticks
And tocks
Of the brain

Your penchant
For spending
Time alone
And also not
Deep in thought
Guzzling on
The distinguished
Stigma
Of holding
All the
Cosmic grudges

Finding depth
In cantankerous
Plot twists
Keep on adding them
To your
"Son of a bitch" list
Just see
What you'll get
Keep having
Your fits

Each one
Of your
Personalities
Will double
And you'll
No longer know
Which one caused
You the trouble
You'll fall
When you wake up
And ill-starred
Unaware
Blundering
Through the dark
It's sad to say

You'll forget
Who you are

1. 
   What a small weight for the most important gas,
   that is keeping us alive.
   I was 16 when I realized that my mom
   had forever been my biggest supporter.
   I was 16 and I was still holding my fingers crossed behind my back,
   hoping that Santa was real.
   
   I'm the hidden meaning behind good reasons
   that have paved the way toward bad choices.
   For I have realized, sitting silently in the corner,
   that we are all forced to realize our
   own self destruction.
   
   Like the building and the wrecking ball,
   of which I am often both.
   
   I am your overspoken words and unsaid thoughts.
   
   I am not the beautiful bare trees in the winter,
   but instead I am your poisonous dinner.
   
   I am the passion behind tears
   and the emotion behind screams.
   
   I am the thoughts that keep you up at night,
   and your cold, bare feet.
   
   I resemble a constant string of avoidance and indecisiveness.
   
   I am your dewy eyes and groggy voice at 7:30 in the morning.
   
   I am nothing but a blinking statue.
   
   I am 16 years worth of unanswered questions.
   
   Yet in 16 years will all I be is
   another 16 years older?
   
   I am the epitome of drowning without water,
   and not to spoil the ending for you,
   but I still have 16 years worth of faith,
   that everything will be okay.

I lay here open
Open to possibilities and opportunities that present themselves for me with you
But i Can't seem to break through this wall I have put up
A wall made jus for me to protect and keep me from harmful situations
Many contemplations about how am I gonna get through this again
So I kept building and building on my personal wall
Yeah see I built this wall with pain over and over and over  
A lil dab of betrayal
A pinch of some scorn
Oh and shovel full of layers of scar tissue covered with stitches for recovery
Yeah I built this wall meticulously
I would sometimes feel like I'm a guest
Sometimes like an outsider in my own skin
Moving along like a night rider
Nobody seeing me or believing me
So I carry some heavy footgear
Holding them in my rear stow away I use it to move along through life without any scars, or that's what I try to do
This footgear feels great because I can stomp, jump, and even do cartwheels over all my enemies
Ancient conviction
Shindy misleadings all leading up to my success
Leaving me blessed
Riding along this pack train saying hello mufasa and simba
Oh and rifiki is there
What's up....
See I admire their strength and agility
I even know who continues to keep me
A higher power and His name is Jesus
Love Him to pieces
But someone came outta nowhere
Out From left field Try to catch the Foul ball
Jumping over bases and even some left field men
Trying to Break through my wall
Shining some light on my night rider journey
Complicated feelings taking many meanings
My head is spinning
Fear rising...leaving me paralyzed even though I still feel your touch when I'm away from you
I'm scared...even some what terrified that I lie here and all I can think of is you
Wondering if my brain waves can send out a signal over to you so that you know how I feel
See night riders they don't open up
Staying closed
Sign on the door...
No more customers...the day is over
See We ride in the dark
Trying to keep feelings secret
A loner when it comes to sharing emotions
Commotion on the inside but calm on the outside
But maybe you can be my knight in shinning amour breaking down my walls
Chipping and chipping away through all the dust and the rumble
I may even stumble over you but at least I'll be in your arms
Feeling safe through your touch that even peels away some of the hurt
So right now I may be a night rider but I'm moving towards the horizon that is the beginning of some light

I. (The Real Poetry).

All these notions but nothing on the page.
Haven't we heard it all before?
Impetus from departed greats
wash ashore in our brains
but when confronted with an void white meadow
our hands go numb,
glued to the roof of a freezer.
This idea of mine is big, challenging,
but so far only a few thousand letters
have made dirty snow angels.
In its place, poetry.
Swifter to write, to read.
No rhymes usually,
just haphazard feelings lurching out my head
like a turquoise waterfall.
Sure I pace round the room
waiting for the next line to evolve
but who doesn't?
I write about real people,
people I speak to, people I know.
Do they know it's them when they skim my work?
Perhaps yes.
Perhaps they don't read them.
Perhaps best for all of us.
The book remains unseen, incomplete
while real poetry rushes into the world
like another superfluous boy band
playing more vapid pop.
Numb them instead.

II. (The Wind).

On a bench
in the garden
I sit with her
as she rests her frizzy Goldilocks
on my shoulder
and says I shouldn't go on Sunday.
A few years younger,
sweet and out of bounds.
Out. Of. Bounds.
So why am I holding her hand?
Doesn't mind from what I can tell.
She likes me.
No she can't.
When does 'the other side' ever like this?
I've told her about the one back home,
how she could be superseded.
I'll disclose, for a while now
I've seen photographs
and wondered what if,
what if the same way too feeling
snaked up the ladders
and throttled me?
What would her sister say?
'He's only been here four days
and look at him, cuddling
the queen of yesteryear.'
Her sister comes out, surprise, joins us.
Say no words, look at stars overhead.
The direction of the wind is altering.
Must be.
I unzip my eyes.

III. (The Sun and the Moon).

Half eight
a year or so in the distance
on a Wednesday morn.
A car.
Neither of us can drive as I write.
One of us is about to though.
London.
Why?
To meet friends.
Another reason?
A show.
A show of sun and moon.
A sporadic delight like a white Christmas.
I say to P it's one of those events
that must be attended.
I'm what, twenty-one?
She's gotta be twenty-four, five?
When will this ever come about again?
Have to acquire this chance.
He says if she'll be aware of the poem,
the one I scrawled down some time ago.
Doubt it, but you never know.
You never know.
Maybe it's true.
A young, beautiful girl
with a hat and a guitar.
There's something you don't see every day.
To the city.
Rejsen begynder.

Outside Oslo
in the base camp
after showering
you met Moira

in the cafe
for breakfast
and coffee
she was in a mood

about the Yank girl
and having to share
a tent with her
(when she wasn’t off

someplace being screwed
Moira said)
and always chewing gum
and those panties

she wears
I’ve seen more cloth
on a finger cut
she said

I’ll take your word for it
you said
she pouted
and stared at you

the finger cut I meant
you said
by the way
are you into

Oslo today?
you asked
mind if I hang along?
sure as long as you don’t

talk about the Yank
or football or Mahler
or whoever else
is hid up

in that brain of yours
she sipped her coffee
and ate her breakfast
saying nothing more

and you watched
as she ate
her eyes dark
and deep

her hair frizzed up
after the shower
her tee shirt
holding tight

her tits
and her blue jeans
hugging her thighs
as you’d like to do

later in Oslo
you toured about
the streets
saw the sights

had a beer or two
while you sat
with her
in some bar

she talking of Glasgow
and her job
and her brother
and his girlfriend

and how
she had this awful
wiggly arse
and floppy breasts

and large eyes
like cow pats
soft and brown
and she laughed  

and you liked it
when she laughed
it made her seem better
more human

less grumpy
less critical
and had you been
more brave you might

have kissed her
there and then
but you didn’t
you just ordered

another beer
and talked of Nietzsche
and Mahler
just to watch

her lips move
and incidentally
bore her.

As the sun sets, I see you and I holding hands,
Leaping through the treetops without a care in the world,
Wading through ponds of fiery passion, if we find them.
We prance through the gardens of life,
Until we wander into the lilies at which we part.


Until that day, dance on.

March 2013

it’s 2 am
we’re sitting in your car, squeezing in the front seat.
you’re holding me in your big arms
you look at me, wild eyed and restless and whisper,
“i love you. and i don’t want to lose you.”
so i looked away and fought back my tears
i held your hand, but then quickly let go.
“but you don’t intend on keeping me either. do you?”
and to that you had no response

so we continued to lay there in silence
because i know you don’t love me.
or maybe you do, and maybe it’s just in a way that i don’t understand.
we always hurt the ones that we love
so maybe you just love me too much.
i can’t wake up in the morning without you on my mind.
it troubles me to think that we might not be meant for each other.
or this entire time you are just a dream.
if you are, how could my mind ever create a creature so beautiful?
a human so perfect.

you come to me with every imbalanced emotion
but i know if i ever show up at your door,
wild eyed and restless,
you will not show me sympathy or let me in.
you will tell me to go home.

Crack the veil of tired souls
cloaked in lonely sorrows,
broken by faithless wanderings,
and feel the strings course through your veins,
the horns echo your heart.
Hold music close in mind and heart;
it makes hearing more bliss than sense,
makes truth as gorgeous as fiction
and fuel for love and dance.
Grip the hands of the etheral,
hold immortality close,
keep it all within and simply
close your eyes and listen.
Everything in song takes a life of its own,
be it lyrics or the simple voice
untested by use, yet strong.
Choirs echo through the heavens,
forcing clouds to yield,
yet holding them in wavering winds
that carry lovely song.