Hello,
I'm dreaming of stars.
Of love, of money, and fantastic cars.
Of artistic creation, the fame, and success.
Of hope, of longing, and beautiful ***
I'm scared of the future and staying up late.
I've wrapped it all up just to dream it away.
I feel terribly bad but I cant stop the bleeding,
My dream-clotted heart just might keep beating.
But its keeping me down 'cause I'm failing, you see.
I think it might be such an awful disease.
I think I'll combust of this crippling confusion.
I think I might lust for some perfect delusion.
...
I think this has gone on for too long.
I can't find a job 'cause I long for a song.
I can't stop feeling nostalgic, although.
I dream of a house, of my little home.
Just enough to keep on moving forward.
Just enough to live 'til I'm older,
Without too much trouble and enough for my kids.
I dream that maybe I'll finally get rid,
Of the dreaming that's been holding me back for so long,
The one that's made it so terribly hard.
Mar 3, 2020
Mar 3, 2020 at 6:35 AM UTC
Florescent light in the early morning.
The sun comes up when the rain stops pouring.
Ticking, brooding clock in my head.
I wrap produce on plastic beds.
Plastic earbuds bring me joy
By vibrating air through the void.
"Fake Plastic Trees" by Radiohead.
I'm reminded and filled with dread.
A podcast speaks on microplastics.
Oceans filled and consequences drastic.
Bothered by the nine to five.
These vibrations keep me alive.
May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 3:43 AM UTC
Pulled from a shelf and myself on a lounge,
I sit with the brittle paged book.
Try as I might, my immersion is dashed
From the sounds of dinner cooked.
My will delivers a writ to read,
My mind runs to and fro,
The television demands my attention.
Progress, none will flow.
Instead, I sit with prose,
And write a poem on the fixation.
Five minutes have passed; The T.V. now dull.
Finally, I receive my satiation.
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 1:13 PM UTC
I shall never meet the souls whose paths were mere inches from mine.
Our lots cast aside from each other as the gods baited for us, the fish.
Take the bait and swim again; hooked deep In my bleeding mouth.
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 12:16 AM UTC
My Heaven is small and quaint;
A little dingy and filled with faceless saints.
It's a small bookstore with disorganized shelves,
Plenty of material to feed me well.
Comics, games, records, art,
A million things to start.
I'd sight-see amongst my creature comforts,
And read on near death experience.
Near Death: A Look Into The Minds Of The Brave, Page 152.
"It is often reported, that people who experience a near death feel only the nothing around them as they slip out of conciousness."
Even the anxieties will be there,
For without them I'd find no joy in being in small, dingy, quaint bookstores.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 8:00 AM UTC
Holy ****
I haven't seen you in a year.
Maybe more;
And I'm almost twenty four.
Seventeen;
I still fell seventeen.
Coffee pours;
It's running out the door.
Bittersweet;
The ground beneath my feet.
Never ends;
Time don't always mend.
Here I am;
Sitting like the ******
Missing you;
My hearts empty room.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 6:07 AM UTC
It's been a while since seventeen;
Six years since house gigs and cut teeth.
Put my mouth to the grindstone,
Because I still don't know anything.
Jun 27, 2018
Jun 27, 2018 at 10:59 PM UTC
Hot Sun in the sky
There's birds in the trees
Not a day goes by
I won't need the money
Yeah I'm broke with a kid
With a broken A/C
Oh this Summer never ends
Crack a window and sleep
Wake with the Sun in my eyes
Cartoons on T.V.
Not a day goes by
I'm not glad as can be
Yeah there's no school now
I've got people to meet
Maybe take a girl out
Pop an Ollie in the street
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 3:18 AM UTC
Things get better in the same way a cut heals;
Obvioulsy, with time,
But also with pain.
In pain, we have a gift that keeps everything real;
Grounded in rhyme,
But also with shame.
The blood shows everyone how we feel;
Some say you're fine,
But some step closer to share all the same.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 9:39 PM UTC
I weep for all the lives I won't live,
For all the loves I never had,
For the times I looked in your face and breath was put into my lungs,
For songs I never wrote,
For people that I promised to see soon,
For my childhood,
For the times I missed work,
For the times I didn't do my homework,
For the times I chose nothing over living,
For the seasons of depression.
Why does it feel like somethings missing?
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 5:16 AM UTC