A fever courses through my veins,
And I’m feeling lightheaded
The world continues to spin
But I’m standing still
Wondering to myself
Am I sick with love?

All I can do is stand and hope
That my brain is just on elope.
But sometimes I can feel, and know,
That I’m just a **** dope.

Swirling colors
And vibrating air,
Filling my world;
Shaking my spine.

The world has moved so much
And now I’m moving off a lifeline.

Now I fall.
The realm of ash awaits,
And I hit the ground with a flume.

Maybe it’s time
That I wake up;
Throw caution
To the wind
for once in my life.

A fleeting flame
Only needs a log
To relight it’s inferno.

Among the trees,
And through the sky
Flying fast
And flying high
The million mile lightning
Will never die.

Slipping somewhere cold,
My grip is forever lost.
How long is the fall?

Weaving through the static noise,
Black and White fills the void.
Inside my mind, I put away the toys;
For all is not yet destroyed.

The sun’s main flame
Appears to glow tame,
But life’s never that docile.
Peace will always take awhile.

Suffocation:
A silence so potent
Where the air itself freezes,
And life no longer breathes.

As the small child
awoke upon the creaking beams,
he was careful not to move
and cause unrest
to his clueless flatmates.

Each ginger step
taken with the care of a cat
moved the boy in ease,
and in an undisturbed silence.

out the open window
he flew, a silent squirrel,
and landed, a drop of hail.

The boy knew his path,
tracing it without fail.

The destination stood ahead,
and the boy dawned his hood.

A twenty foot wall,
reaching into the sky.
An unscaleable surface
but the boy knew how to try.

The bound of a panther,
and the leap of a squirrel.
The flight of an arrow,
and the end of the sparrow.

As it bears down,
Shrouding me in fear,
I feel it.

Piercing my skin,
Like a webwork of needles;
Igniting my nerves
And numbing my veins.

The weakened rays of sun
Fail to reflect the lingering web,
Or the spider lingering beyond.

The years won’t testify
The light I’ve lit.
Standing off the edge
And rusting into oblivion,
I stand, united in my scream;
It’s the only way I am whole

The vile thorn
Piercing like an unseen razor.
Infecting the wound
Like a midsummer overcast;
Sudden and volatile.

It whips and warps you,
A slight touch of the thorn;
A graze with death’s finger.

Within my mind the thorn resides,
An affliction to my mind.

I am dull,
I am vile.

Dec.28.2019

An abyssal hole,
void of any values.
In Binary it is 0,
in Hexadecimal it is 0x0,
in words it is "   ",
and in life,
it's me.

Is it worth it to be mad;
To let myself drown in my blood?

A raging typhoon,
But only I get hurt
By the flying debris.

Why should I get mad
If it only scares others away?
I can be nice
If i want someone to return.
Being angry does nothing for me.

No rest for tired eyes.
They quake like a hatching egg,
As they reach their closure.

Through continued exposure,
The light begins to sting;
Needles in my veins,
Making shattered window panes.

Where’d the glass go?

The ringing in my veins
courses through my aching body,
Like a rampant child;
Reckless and unrestrained.

It calls to me,
screaming for my attention,
to once again feel my ‘love;’
My dedication.

I can only deny such crawling advances,
And feel my yearning spirit cry.
Eventually I will break,
That will be the day I hide.

Loftily flowing through the air,
In the almost nonexistent breeze.
It wanders everywhere,
But is locked to one spot.

The imperfect immaculacy called life,
Flowing unrestrained through all things.
It flows with neither rhyme nor reason,
It flows without regard to the season.

From the tips of my wiry, weak fingers
To the roots of the solemnly stoic tree,
Standing proud, for many years to come.

From the lifelessly vibrant autumn leaf
To the ceaselessly soaring summer bird,
Brimming with an almost vexing vigor.

From the phenomenally frostbitten stream
To the swaying spectrum of vernal petals,
Berating the grass with their "benevolent" beauty.

As I have said before,
Life:
The imperfect immaculacy,
Chained to existence.

Oct.25.2019

Sammie, it annoys me
That you called my question sweet
It’s not you, it’s me.

What to think of it?
It confuses me so much
Know that I love you!

The cliff looms over like a monolith,
Radiating a ghastly aura.

I can’t bring myself to cut ties
Even if I know that their eyes
Hold a different light than before.

There’s no way I can leave now.

The monolith stands above
And I need to find the top.

Paradise is just over this precipice,
So why can I no longer see it?

The melancholic melody
Brings forth the voices
Of the long lost autumn leaves.

Whispering among the winds,
Elegantly threaded echoes
Resonate with the depths of my being.

Shaken at the roots
Yet strengthened at my core,
I feel my freedom return once more.

With all our shadows comes the light,
Casting rays around,
Fueling our ever blissful delight.

Within unburdened walls
Lies the embrace of space
And it’s forceless relation
To the movement within us all.

Inside chains,
Captive in icy walls.
A virus which protects,
And a cold heart
Sitting close to countless deaths.

Another subzero drop,
And my soul shall shatter as well.

If only you knew
That I am sorry.

It seems that you’re not satisfied
With all the runs I’ve tried.
You’re gone for good yet you linger,
Like one’s reputation, pointing the finger.

What was I supposed to do?
I lost my **** because of you.
I’ve made it to the bow;
Nothing can stop me now.

July 2019

Dawn, the naturally brilliant masterpiece.
radiantly split as if by a prism, handing darkness it's disregards
and forming a mosaic of light, that is soon to decease.
The dawn then fades into the sun, the next of three cards.

Day comes along with unsurpassed brightness,
bringing a warm light to the otherwise cold Earth.
a soft blue sky floats with a particular politeness,
and the water reflects its color with a taunting mirth.

Dusk follows in wake, the harbinger of darkness.
It shows us yet another vivid, spectral mosaic
whilst darkening the sky with abrupt impoliteness.
A multitude of watercolor stars appear, all rather archaic.

It is thought that all appreciate art of this kind.
However, I won't appreciate these occurrences.
I am neither blind to color or completely blind.
I am blind to their meaning, they contain no reassurances.

I could never appreciate what I can't see or feel,
to me, the colors I've described aren't real.
Those are what others think, I wish I could see...
But I am blinded and will never be free

A silent echo;
An internalization.
We come to reason.

Though reasons are lies;
A guise among the many.
Don’t hide your treason.

A sheer slate of industry,
broken by the melodic ridges.
Echoing the smallest whispers,
and dulling the mind's largest cries,
these walls defy all which seems sane.

Without color,
without shade.
Simple textures
resonate my cadence.

Standing strong and stagnant;
unrefined,
undefined.

ARD,
The initials of my name.
I hate 2/3 of
That dreaded sequence.
I would redefine
This personality of mine
Under a new name,
But then who would I be?

Misery fills me unforgivingly, once more,
But this time, it pushed me out the door.

I ran out with an unrequited rage,
Against the world that taunts me.
I took one breath after another,
Melding into the rhythm of my steps.
The darkness became my world
As the sun was shot out of the sky
By a luminescent arrow,
Only to be replaced by the “innocent” moon.
Yet I move on, step by step, trail by trail,
until I find my way home.

Now I am cold,
Fatigued,
Sore

And still full of misery

Everything is ok.
Each deft stroke,
Each ruby bead
Dropped off a ****,
Each strike of lightning,
Or each flaming kiss.

It’s all ok.
Nothing is wrong with this.
Don’t tell me otherwise.

Through the ice
And falling even more.
She’s down there to catch me,
But the icy shards
Are freezing my blood.

A branch sticks out in my path,
Throwing me off balance,
And now I’m no longer falling;

I’m tumbling out of control.
With no idea
How to regain control.

Dripping blood
Each and every
Blissfully painful day
Had many consequences.

No longer
Will my thumb sit
Without a sun kissed tint
And scars to glaze it.

No longer
Will I feel
That spiking pain
In my left wrist or thumb.

But...
Now...
Any wounds
On my left hand,
Or even that arm,
Close faster
Than ever.

When I read those messages
I can’t help but laugh
In my vast contempt
At the figure you represent.

You boast a similarity to him
Reminding me of my blunder
That sent my mind and heart asunder.
I do not hate you or him,
Far from that fact.
I hate myself,
For my awful tact.

Maybe life
Will recalculate
All of these chances
For my failure.

And maybe
I’ll succeed.

Tugging at my eyes
With the gentle touch
of a light-bathed savior,
Time has once again
Caused me to lapse
Into the world of waking dreams.

Reading what I hear
But all I hear is latin;
The voices in the confusion.

Spikes cloud my vision,
Disintegrating the border
Of self-awareness.

An unspoken concept
Drifts through the air,
As if carried by the silent wind;
Her delicate touch
Disintegrating the stagnant air,
Bringing fresh life into the world.

After a moment of silence,
I pull my keys from their hiding pocket.
Their jingle, too, touched by the spirit.

Turning away from the cliff,
The screaming call of the void
Turns to a deafening silence;
The world is quiet once again,
And so is he.

On the other side,
you draw your life
Into its drowning existence.
You’re wielding a failed red thread,
Hoping the needle is sharp enough
To run your troubles through.

I watch in fear and worry,
As you become a stumbling mess.
This wall of glass
shattering into my veins
Whenever i make that first step.

I can’t remove what you’ve built.
I’m afraid of what you’ll do.

Like clockwork;
Running on broken gears.
Seconds distorting
Beyond the minute gaze
Of the hourly chime.

I woke up with a start, staring at a wooden door.
It was my front door.
Walking through it I reached a lawn.
Walking down my lawn i found a long road.
My road went off into the distance,
Walking down my road, trailing off into the distance.
As I reached the horizon, I saw a light amongst the fog.
The light belonged to a car, traveling through my fog.
My car crested the horizon, and drove onward.
The two lights signifying my car drew closer.
Amongst my fog, I could barely see my road.
As my car darted closer to me, I started to fear.
My car was speeding up, faster and faster,
Gliding over my road,
Ripping through my fog,
Screaming through my otherwise silent wilderness,
And eventually hitting life into my lifeless body.
The first thing I saw was my horizon,
But then it all left me.
My horizon was no longer mine,
Nor was my wilderness,
My fog,
My road,
My door,
And then my life.

I’ll do it in a poem bc this is a poetry website.

With each that comes along,
A timer is set upon them.
Why let the timer be?
When defusal is possible.

Why let the bomb explode
When just being friends is fun?

Living stagnant is painful
But losing to the timers
While time is stopped
Pains me more.

I have a question for you, A:
Why make me decide
Between two paths?

There’s always a third,
Right down the middle.

Sticks and stones
May break these bones,
But the pain will find the past.
This is but a life lived fast,
Nothing’s meant to last.

When the crow flies,
Lost feathers fill a ream.
When the dreamer dies,
So dies their dream.

A vast dark sea
Approaches overhead,
Like a distant diver.
The silent scenery
Swiftly slides
Into a world of noise.
Birds caw their warnings,
The wind rushes by,
Like a helicopter
Sitting too close for comfort.

As twinkling lights
Shine like starlight
Through a cold night,
I look for another calm
In this unruly tempest.

As my fears disappear,
Like a toothpick
Among the amber blades
Of fall-going beach grass,
I admire the excellence
Of the rain’s soft persistence.

Saving others...
For their sake or mine?
It’s all a platter
For my ego to dine.

It’s a criminal system
Deserving destruction,
So I’ll destroy it.

I can read and write,
therefore I can bleed and fight.
Bleeding through all the troubles thrown,
and fighting back with art, the art of English.

The problem, whatever it may be,
will not cause me to fail nor perish.
I shall move onward, towards the next sunrise.

My words are the vessel of my vitality,
so if push comes to shove I will rise,
above the death that encompasses my reality.

My words are a dull sword,
used to parry and ward,
not to slash and make bleed,
as the words of others over-do that deed.

Buoyed to the blood of our planet,
And anchored to our machines of war.
The human race cannot keep digging
Into this blood soaked shoal anymore.
Or a volcano will open up the ocean floor,
And destroy our abundant life, living nevermore.

The flame,
long since thinned,
Snuffed out by the wind

Only ashes remain,
Set to rekindle their flame.

All it takes is a small spark
To set the world ablaze
And leave us all in the dark

I built a castle,
And burned it down,
Watching the ashes fall
And fireflies rise.

A paper castle of much grandeur
Can’t hold a candle to a flame.

The shadows drape their silky cloak
Upon a sleeping shoulder.
They’ll take their child’s arm
And drag him to the beholder.

The light grows brighter,
But his shoulders grow colder.

Dec.28.2019

I feel sick.
The nauseating waves of emotion
flooding my body in one continuous motion,
as if it wants to drag me out to its seventh sea;
a glacially boiling reverie full of flash-frozen icicles.

The past five days have built block upon shadowed block,
and I'm losing sight of my own deceptively delusional reality.
Why have things taken such a sick and twisted turn towards my hell?
I want my ******* knife, I want to see my one and only solace,
I want to see my vibrant blood, full of self despising vigor.