and so I am again wonderig why
The whispers call to me dryly
I have finished my bottle of cheap whiskey
Why
I am bothered now when these plants sit idly
Bt
Have I, a hard time staring at myself
Why
I have nothing subtantial to prose though
Time
Is a scary eye full of what could happen
I own nothing.
I have earned a place in waste
My only skills include
Being amicable when pressure mounts
Visualizing paradise in the seeds I've found
May they learn a ******* lesson

Waves crash against
the glass they spill
onto the carpet

Another stain that will remain
Until the time of prophet

Was it deliberate?
A simple question from another
egocentric hipster delivers
The inept question of art

I just want to sleep at a regular hour
And push this ******* down
A flight of stairs

Or do I have that backwards

How polluted am I
Where even my apologies deflect the desires of remorse
Unable to show sincerity through effort
or through a screen
Could I have become an arrangement that pleases the hearts
of all seated around this vat which holds
my poisoned thoughts
They leak through, unbidden & vengeful
though perhaps there's another way
to set the blame to any other hidden face I miss
knowing that perhaps a brother fades ending
new regret trained to twist and
smother me with sinful grace
I'm so confused, I hate to muse and sift, peruse
my actions of good intent but fickle meaning
crazed enough to ponder them in public
these hidden feelings on my sleeve
I seem to be grinning without teeth
I am a scab unto the world,  I rip
slowly and with delectation
to cause a rift between the gift of people
that gave pause to lift in delegation
a blighted rebel wryly smiling
behind an icy wall of spit
I created

The log pedestal sits along the stream
Lonely, untouched & seething
It waits
Until the surface crawls the mossy touch
Infesting it's new creation unbidden
It craves
And plots the conquering of neigbors
And allies alike, in the name of decay
It fights
Adorned the decorated growth continues
never satiated accomplishment
I achieve
Until the wooded cradle shows only shape
The texture now a secret
Traveling the winding rivers edge
To tell stories hidden within the weave
I mote it be

The decadence fades into realism
The absurdity of a smile
So confusing now pressed against glass
While spinning purple lights
Tear my eyes from wandering
and hateful.

Bitter, cold, expected, terrified I
wait to drift into the nightmares
that I know accompany the snows.
What to do to pass the time?

Am I awake?
A questioning glance tastes like honey now.
I'm told it's coffee with cigar.
Another pond I will inevitably cross
Once my composure is regained.

Offerings of stagnant puddles
May slake this empty melancholy,
Instead I cave into a craving
to exchange my profile
for one that's made for waiting.

Any mask will do if it's imbued
with soul, a toll to part the vain.
A collection started, and kept well guarded
By the stone that marks my grave

Apparent melancholy to the one whos ease
through the opal eyes
Of life anew.
I found in them reflected three aspects
to define. Dried, cured, and smoked
just enough to flavor tea.
Expectations mingle with ruined flavor,
So let it coalesce dysfunctional
While watching the highways
make merry a pointless insight,
And the scenery.
I see masks no more
Behind the walking walls
The eyes beholden a faceless madness
Too horrible to taint
Too pure to feel
Indulgent.

Good luck
It's symbol rains over my dreary skies
And has changed It's name
From what it was.
Bad luck.
Though the confusion has left me willing to understand.
There is nothing to fret over.
Nothing to accomplish,
Except the opposite.
Maybe karma will hear me begging
Maybe the 'what if's' will gain clarity
As long as my heart keeps breathing
I will fall into despair.