The clouds had been threatening thunder for days.  They rolled in the sky with their malice building every moment that they continued to hold in the rain.  Stretched below them, an endless sea going as deep as forever could go long.  It was as clear as glass with only the slightest ripple signaling its deceptive appearance.  Below the surface, energy wound through every molecule in a tumultuous and festive rhythm.  If you could touch the water's face, you could feel the pulse of life through your fingertips.

But I could not touch it.

Between the sea and the clouds, moments were still and sat heavy like the oppressive heat that fills a humid, hazy afternoon in late summer.  Thoughts moved… slower.  Sounds wrapped around you, taking long enough for you to realize it was happening before it was through.  

And there, that is where I stretched each limb for opposite corners and existed.  Suspended between a heaven in turmoil and an abyss of color and chaos.  I was timeless, frozen out of the balance – in separation.  Sluggish thoughts fought to free me but they grasped to whispers of activity with broken fingers.  And in one moment, they took hold.

I felt the vibration in my bones before I heard it.

The thunder exploded around me.
The tension broke.

I fell in.

today
a girl
tried to say
that i looked
like an elephant
as if to suggest
i were quite hideously fat
i told her
that elephants
are adorable
and that at least
I'M cute
maybe to the world
i am an elephant
i don't care
i just wish
sometimes
i guess
that elephants
could
forget

Insomnia, my greatest enemy, dearest friend has come along to visit again.
She appears at my bedside each night and waits beside me as the darkness encroaches.
My comforter is thick and warm, inviting toward her, she comes next to me, I can feel her above me, whisking the tired feelings away.
She slips into the corners of my mind and takes my body for a ride, just lying there for endless hours, waiting for a sign of sun.
I am sweating but the dark is far too cold to relieve the covers of their duty.
The darkness is thick and cold and chills my bones to the core as I stand up.  
I have become far too restless just lying and I need to move, Insomnia what is your purpose?
Three am showers have become a habit, almost like a ritual as I take the walk down the hall trying hard not to make a sound.    
The door creeks as I open it, my feet freezing on the tile floors as I step inside.
I strip my sweaty thermal off my back, a difficult task because it had begun to stick to my skin.
I turn the water to the highest temperature, even that won’t be hot enough to escape the dark chill in my bones.
As I wait for the water to become satisfactory I count tiles like I have so many nights before.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28…
Tonight’s magic number, the water has become slightly shy of scalding and I step in and just feel.
Sensations over run my body, rigid from the sudden change in atmosphere
Relaxed because the heat feels good
I give in and take a seat on the warm, stark white surface
It feels good to just sit in the haze of vapor
Insomnia loosens her grip as the water makes me number than I was before
The water goes cold; I suppose I have sat too long pondering my woes and worries
So I stand which is quite the task, the same each night
I turn off the water absorbing the last of the heat and savoring each second
I step out and go through the motions of drying myself
Begin at my hair and work toward my toes
I put on sweatpants and a new t-shirt
I brush my hair
The door creeks open once more and I return to my room
My bed welcomes me and insomnia has left my bedside, finally tiring from fighting my body, off to infect another I suppose
Good night, until tomorrow my dear friend, great enemy.

Somewhere within the levels of the conscious
between the bowels of the deep and
the deepness of my thought
I am caught
in the secrets that I keep
in the darkness of my sleep where
I cry in waterfalls of tears and joy
the unhappiness of fears
employ and use me
in perpetuity,
or so it seems.

These dreams see fit to haunt me
and sleeping draughts have no effect.
This dissatisfaction that I feel
peels away and when the day has come
I wonder
wonder why the sun still lights the sky
and wonder why it does not light my heart.
Do I need to look upon the charted stars up there
to understand myself and know just where and when
I go to then
will that make me a better man
if I learn to understand the master plan
and is there such a map.

Mother says,
'I need a slap to wake me up' but I think that's a fallacy
dreamers like me need no such thing.

Each morning I bring a bucket to the well with wishes in my head
and these are fed up through the day
into my conscious thought
and once again I find I'm caught
my thoughts should pay attention to what is going on
before I even know it
the fleeting hours have run away
and gone.

The night would say,
'it serves you right you've got what you deserve,
I reserve the right to kick against the night
and rest my case.

my eyes hurl meteor metaphors
towards the gravity of your gaze

upon impact, passion ignites poems
in the starlight of your stare

connected in constellation,
we read

the funny thing about time
is the way it grinds your bones to dust
while they’re still sitting in your flesh

we can all feel it,
we pretend we don’t, but we do

you feel it when you wake up in the morning
having dreamt of your childhood
and the sound of your sister’s laughter is still ringing in your ears

you feel it when you look up from a book
and its not your brother sitting in the chair next to you
but a strange fellow with a deep voice
and a nose that looks remarkably familiar

and strongest of all, you feel it when at the dinner table
your mother asks you what you’ve been up to for the past 18 years

see, the funny thing about time
is the way it grinds your bones to dust
while they’re still sitting in your flesh

just the other night, I pressed my palms together
and I called on a friend I hadn’t seen in awhile,
to ask where he’d been

he told me he’d been spending time with my father
because the man really needed some company
without his oldest son to talk to

oh and while I have you, he said,
your mother called
she told me to tell you
that your bed is made, if you ever want to come home

I've been called
The wise one
The smart one
"Born with a server's heart" one
The one with wet shoulders
Who doesn't cry herself to sleep
The kind one
The bright one
The "everybody's friend" one
The one who doesn't hurt herself
About the secrets that she keeps

But I'm the broken one
The hurting one
"Helping others has to save me" one
I love myself
Then hurt myself
Afraid to have to face someone