period is a certain time
period is a passage
period predates silence
period is a statement
period ends words
.

does the bird not fly
with wings made
for
s
o
  a
      r
            i
                     n
                                          g

skies?

oh.

But you cut them.

Little by little the raindrops fall
little by little you see me.

Underneath the sheer
veil of doubt

I watch as my dreams fall
apart.

Dreams are made to be chased
like a butterfly it runs
catch it and move on.

The
Double edged
blade of
pain, giving
strength
and depression,
the
will to move
forward,
and hide in
your corner
of the
world.

A figure pauses,
relapses, moves back.
starts again;

broken childhood, shattered                                                      
too soon. others wouldn’t
have seen it coming.

futile attempts to build
dilapidated bridges
fail and burn;

drapes cover you, hiding
away monsters that
lurk within your mind.

armchairs left to rot
in forgotten corners,
orchids withered after a decade.

the lights don’t help.
the noises blind you.
the screaming never ceases.

glimpses of memories,
flash. flash.
flash..

You’ve wasted your time here.
the Devil lives within this empty house.
it’s too late, too late to crawl.

the best you can do is wait.

We suffer.
Anger
Depression
Denial
Falling Apart.

We break like
glass
Shattering everywhere.
Yet we sit through
the pain.
Each and
Every
Day.

Rocking in the corner,
crying in the closet,
staring in the mirror,
watching
a frail reflection stare
back at us,
asking us,
why can't you do more?

Judging us.
But in the
end
it is only yourself.
Hurting,
raw,
and wounded.

Do not
Pretend to
live life,
Because that is not
what you
are meant for.

Life is given
to us
spoon by spoon.

Enjoy it,
do not waste
what is given.

Life is
swimming with
all of the colors.
Swaying to the music
under a starry
night sky.

There is no
use in pretending
that it cannot
perish.

Embrace it.

Live life.

When the heat simmers
and the grass grows golden
When the dust clouds rise
and the birds soar away
When the summer winds blow
and the trees began to wilt
When the train chugs along
on its sad wistful track,
I'll come home.

Those moments you never want to end
when the snaps come on beat
the lights not too bright

That moment when wishes
come true in your mind’s eye
and everything becomes clear

I never want
to escape this feeling
that slowly leaks out

As the night passes and morning comes
only fleeting memories remind
of the night before.

Time cascades
over skin

Memories played over like
the broken cassette

Notes of ivory slip
and slide

Thoughts fog up
and drip down the drain

Left bare and shivering,
stripped of walls

Scribbles in the mind
fly into tangibility.

You turn off the water
and step out.

It used to spin from
the webs of my mind
Dripping out onto the keys,
stopping time and motion.

But now it ceases
like a new moon,
gone indefinitely,
but silently present.

One day, I hope the sun
rises on this land,
again;

For now, I lie in wait
for it to come galloping back,
filling my night
skies once more.

Dimmed lights shine
from layers of glass

Wrapped in
a never ending illusion


We walk everyday
on our own feet

Yet we rely on so much
that isn't us.

It saw the sun rise,
yet never wake.

It saw the tadpole jump,
only to never return.

It saw twilight,
choose between dawn
and dusk.

It saw waves,
wash away.

It sat there,
and waited.

Round
Smooth
...
Imperfect

Sometimes, I see myself
Glass shards reflecting back
Fractured crimson landscapes

I watch myself
Salty equations sliding down hills
Psychotic half-*** smiles

Sometimes I think I’m him
A perfect image imposed
I’m going crazy too

I dream happily
Of crimson covering my land
And the blank screen that ensues

a light flickers
flits like a moth

from window to window
it goes.

nestled in a nook
shied away from the dark

too frightened to face
it's cracks.

Sunlight spreads
across windows,
gleaming like a
cat’s eye.

Nowhere to be seen
are
children’s giggles.
You lay in bed
wondering,
wishing,
when will the
next day
arrive?

It comes on
a white round circle.
The skies have
turned to waves
of blue,
and you sit there

Waiting.
For the orange sun to
come pouring in
your broken shards of
cereal that
used to
break you.

Cereal.
The small crumbs of hope
That never seem to reach you.

Orange sunsets
surprise
you when they
turn to white dots
In the
dark sky

How many
times have the
clouds
passed?

Too many,
you decide.

And the sweat dribbles
across the pages

upon which my pen
has started scribbling again.