A soft voice
And a smooth face
Present before the mirror.

A forest before the screen
Leads to a movie
As I approach.

I’ll visit your fragrance
When I venture to the corners of my mind.

There
The flood of paltry is foreign
Like the sound of a universal melody.

A pocket sized friend,
Kept where the seasons are eager to flourish.
Nostalgia hints at a shower of joy
And there you are
In my mind
Graceful in your softest memory.

If there aren't blood in my sheets
Tomorrow morning
I'm gonna run out in front
Of a moving car.
What do you call this?
Cemented as a being
Pointed towards death
Yet the need
To exclaim your freedom
Paints shackles to your once naked wrists

They appear alongside time. Slowly with the sun.
Slowly with the moon.

Happy
You are happy.
Are you happy?
The bars of the prison
Appear with the coming of a steady breath.
And you
The interrupter
Lay inside.

Above it reads:
Prisoner of life.

Edge slowly towards
The perimeter.
Your movement examines
Your face.
I call you closer.

And here you are
Telling me,
That the shackles leave
When deaths footsteps
                       Aren't so dim.
His distance
Tends to whisper despair,
I guess.
Much of a character you embody
Amongst the pages of a lively legend,
Yet here you are,
As my friend.
As a smile I turn to.
As the keeper of my tainted conscience.

An Artistic phenomena undoubtedly.
Live it how you want to live it,
I'll observe in reality's museum.

The story of our senses subsumed
By a myriad face. And a tragic disposition.

I won't spot you in a crowd,
But i'll see you in my mind.

Enamored by the fresh coat of winter,
I will now let my mind flourish.

For so many years,
The drought has led
Me to the desert,
Crawling to compose
A soothing sound,
A particular wave.
The area speaks
Of harmony within a
Torn down cave.

The sound of rocks
Placed aesthetic
Occurs within the mind of winter.
And the flakes of bleached out color
Fall
Closer
To the whispers of the storm.

My house looks nice
From this distance,
I could walk up my driveway
And open the door,
See the taste of sorrow
Abundant
Throughout.

Will the fearful curtain
Shed my sight?
Shall I exalt
Amidst its tasty blender?
Enter,
I know I have to enter.
I will enter,
And be pleased
By the otherside.

Many amalgamations
Of the human face
Consist within this highway.
One hand over the wheel,
The other at my lap.
I scan the surrounding landscape.

One
Two
There
And the oscillations
Of the human heart,
Pungent within a rampant life
Project across the strips of our eyes.
The past has written the story.
The future has written the story.

The lights will soon turn green.
And we will go.

The dawn is a nice greeting
As I step up past my *****.
The wine
The drugs
The art
They've all been incessantly
loved,
For about a week now,
maybe more.
Women, clowns,
Demons, fairies
Possible hallucinations currently
Smell of the natural fumes.
Mother may belong
To their crowd.
Whats real oozes of my mind.
My mind oozes of whats real.
A nice mixture
Extracting out indifference.

I'm not sure
When it will end.

Or if it remains
To start.