A world to repair
And a wrench in your hands.
The rusted bolt of despair
Has long since plagued these lands

Where are the birds that flew;
Through the sky, in pairs of two.
Where are the trees that grew;
With leaves and sap that stuck like glue.
The golden world’s in your hands too,
Why not make this gray sky blue?
Show us the world that’s true,
Bring out your natural hue.

Bring out our natural hue.

Why should I
Take pride in myself
When there’s nothing
To be prideful of?

As slightly rusting walls collapse,
A pressure beyond worlds moves south.


Shards of dirt,
Shooting towards the ground;
Grains of rebar,
Dropping like bullets.
And flakes of snow,
Spiraling in their conceited madness.

Yet the sun still rises.
Cold frost against warm air;
A flickering blue behind the shadows,
And an unsullied white
When lying within the sunlight.

Life chained me down with roses.
Gave me a forsaken heart attack,
Let my poisoned blood seep out.
And I watched it all fade to black...

Spinning round and round
For this endless eternity
On this infernally angelic
Carousel of bloodlust and agony.

You could have it all;
My liar’s throne.
Pick me to the bone;
Create a cliff to fall.

The forest’s wing
Creates its leaves;
Their sweet little sting
Scraped off the trees.

What have I become,
Beating to another’s drum?
Following the soft flare,
With thoughts I cannot repair.

I’ll drop you into the dirt,
I will make you hurt.

Never judge a book
By its cover
But your look
Is so loud,
You’ve become an audiobook.

Softly in
Swiftly out.
Control each expansion
Of these quivering lungs.

Fire’s spreading through my mind,
Life has turned me oh so blind,
If this world could be less kind...
I would be dead, free of this bind.

Looking at an untouched daisy,
I can feel my mind grow hazy.
My limbs are growing ever so lazy
And I’m falling in again. I must be crazy.

Words stabbing as swords,
But who cares?
It’s all under floorboards.

As guilt for my actions
Burns like a seeping acid;
Pervading every layer of my soul,
I wonder where I wasn’t whole.

Where did I stumble off track,
How much have I destroyed,
And what meaningful relations
have I cannibalized oh so brutally?

Why have all my choices
No matter how good they are,
Always hurt someone in the end.

However,
A small spark of light
Begins to flood
The sun-bleached floor.

A pinprick of light
Entering and exiting existence
Like a flickering green leaf
Among an auburn landscape.

An instance of time,
And an object of remembrance.
Burned in our eyes
By the hopeful sidelong glance.

I’m happy, I continue to assure.
They all fell for my desperate lure.
It’s all a hopeless ploy; it’s all fake.
I’ve built my world upon this mask;
An ebon shell that’s about to break.

Whenever I have an exchange
with this quiet friend,
I can't help my incessant urge
to tease him once again.

His reactions lighten my mind,
and bloom flowers in my soul.

It is not a romantic attraction,
but he helps remove the dark,
a welcome distraction.

The sixteen bit
Integer variable
“intParityHandler”
Has had an overflow error.

I could always
Enlarge its capacity,
But what if
There’s not enough
R  o  o  m
In my mind
to do so.

The cooling air
Calls in a darkened sky.
A soft rain hits with flair
And the clouds continue to cry.

A step of light,
A touch of flame.
A world so bright
Yet a world so tame.

On a level field
You are now so close...
Yet so far.

How can I show you the world
When I’m trapped,
Within this limited space?

Trust is a two way handshake

Flowers mill about
The field of conceited sunlight.

For pleasure?
For knowledge?
No,
Forsworn.

Hands in flaming hands
With the demons that once had
Control on my world.

When disarmed in the fall,
the winter ground
Hits harder than all.
No way to brace
For the mind’s justice,
So I lay, cold and tired.

“Not all things are made
To survive becoming past”
I thumb the cold blade,
Knowing this won’t last.

“Peace residing
Within the art of war”
Inside the cracks I’m hiding;
While my mind’s on tour.

“Within emotion
Lies our charred corruption.”
A mental explosion;
And a civil war’s eruption.

And I hate myself for it.

Driving by
These skeleton trees,
All I can really do
Is think and internalize.

As the souls
Surrounding my own
Glisten with vacation feels,
Their voices resound
In a wildly uneven,
Yet ecstatic chorus.

I listen to the awful choir,
But fail to gather my voice.
I can only sit and internalize
The soul that my love denies.

I want to steel this crumbling heart,
But she keeps me from doing so.
Now my heart takes the main part,
Instead of steeling, it lets itself grow.

Over smoke and grit,
Floating into nothingness,
Ashes fly their heated cycle.

An end lying in wait,
Through the endless detours
That construct a draft
Of our human life.

The spectrum brings
Colors and light
Shrouding those blessed
With fathomable delight.

Time passes as it will
And eventually the spectrum
Will have had it’s fill.

The colors will soon
Turn their back,
And my spectrum
Will fade to black

In the air
For less than
A second.

My hand moves
In utter hope and
Desperation,
But to no avail.
The glassware
Is now everywhere.

I step on
The jagged mess
That I have made
To repent my hate
For dropping
That precious plate.

I always wanted
To be seen as an adult,

But is it too late
To start being a kid?

As the beach pulls at the grains of sand,
Your forgiveness tugs at the corners
Of my reddened eyes.

As life flows over the ledge,
We watch the waves push them back.

Them,
The trillions of voices,
Of souls,
That precede our beckon into
This oceanside cliff.

How many days
Will I be able to do this
Without failing?

And how long
Will it take
To dust off the old books
Lying on my mind’s shelves?

The past five days
Were not the best.
You could even say
That they were ****,
As you disgustedly spit
Into your spittoon.
But they were among
The best five days
That I’ve been blessed to live
In the five year winter.
I think the equinox is finally coming,
So I’ll start my vernal days humming.

Within the cracking glass
A reflection takes hold.
Throughout this ringing tone;
inside the crowd I’m all alone.
The ticking words,
abhorrent outside my head.

My mind must watch it’s tread,
The striking mallet instilling fear
My jagged edges are begging to

...disappear...

Six and a half hours
Of grueling yard work
Seemed like an eternity
Of endless seconds

Without you.

The gentle surf slides onto shore,
It’s indefinite curve lightly tumbling.
A scene like a feathery leaf,
Drifting towards the autumn ground.

A deafening calm,
Where nature effortlessly prevails.
Pervading the unsure landing,
And giving it strength once more.
Within the boundaries of earth
Lies a boundless expanse of life.

Apparently I’m at 10,000 words on my profile. That’s pretty cool.

Now is the time
When those
Who normally seem
Sensible,
Become the
Insensible.

I lay in my bed,
In the aftermath of
That...

After a quick nap,
I wake only to find
Myself chained down,
Unable to move.

My sloth sin
Consumed me,
Leaving no active
Pieces untouched.

So I lay,
And I ponder
My wandering mind.

I think to myself
“If I lay here long enough,
Could I get laid?”
And
“If I sat in a puddle of
My own **** for long enough
Would my leg disintegrate?”
Both answers are probably no,
But...
You never ever could know.

All work and no play
makes me a useful boy.

As long as I keep working,
people will see my lie as truth;
that I'm not a failure.

Mistakes are a demon
Bludgeoning you with a bat.
You get nothing but pain,
See nothing but failure.

And then your hospitable
Tormentor
Tells you to learn from
Getting beaten severely
By an infernal divine.

So many twists and turns,
Rocks in the road,
Broken bridges
Gapping broken land.
Maps never worked,
Nobody ever told me the direction.

Now it’s straightening out,
But I never saw the chasm.
You’ve left me to fall once more.

Penetrating the soul’s every layer
And spreading influence like
a dangerous pandemic.
You have ailed me with lovesickness
And none of my soul was spared.
Thank you for the emotions
That you brought me on these
Unceasingly fleeting days.

The line between heaven and hell,
A line moving to and fro
With each silent toll
Of the otherworldly bell.

A motionless ball set to roll,
Time tells of stagnant control;
Neither will consume the other whole.

Maybe the ghost
Will come to my door
And he too,
Will become a thief
And steal my life away.

A film of dust delicately cakes
The oaken shelf,
Reflecting a soft filtered ray
Onto the dim ceiling.

Deep olive curtains
Dye the slightly stale air
To a sluggishly pine-like hue
That resides ever so prominent
On the ambiguous rays’ edges.

The silent air sleeps
And with its vexing stillness,
The slight tinge of a curse
Resonates through
These mahogany walls,
And even down
Those sharply shadowed halls.

Swirling drops of screeching chalk
Memories left untouched.
Life unwound,
And a life better left in the ground.

The wind moves like a whip,
As if making way for a storm.
The field, a dull golden amber,
Leans to one side in the fiery weather.

The wind pulls me away from myself,
Freezing my saddened body,
But releasing my tortured soul,
Pulling to the healing grounds
That I consider this field to be.

Assumptions.
Closing doors to negotiation.

Assumptions.
Fabricating half truths
On baseless knowledge.

Assumptions.
Hurting hearts and souls alike.

As my body starts to drag,
My mind starts to wander.

Moving becomes a chore,
And listening is a bore.

I think I’ll just close my eyes,
And fall to the floor.

She whispered into my ear
“I find boys
Who write poetry
Really distracting.”
Then her flame went away,
Leaving me to wonder,

And forget.