I love my life.
All of it.
Every time the sun warms or
Burns; the rain soothes, or
Stings with angry ice; barrel-hot
Buckshot, I
Thank. Thank for the
Weather.
I love my life.
All of it.

It's an art.
All of it.
Every time the axe rests above
Your neck mid-air,
Wink at the masked one
Holding the handle.
Thank. Thank for the
Swift awakening
Awaiting.
Add years to your dreaming.

It's an art.
All of it.

I love you, poet.
All that is you.
You hold an opposing answer
In each hand, commanding
The chooser to hold
Your gaze and keep
Asking.
The best readings rest between
Every line drawn.

I love you, poet.
It's an art. All that
Is you. **** well
All of it.

Sleep safe.
Add years to your
Dreaming.

Okay,
Riddle me this...
No wait,
Riddle me that...
No, how about
We skip all the riddles
And get down to the facts.

No... actually,
I don't care for the facts,
Just give me the truth.
Wait... I don't want the truth,
Just give me your view.

No... don't,
Just don't say a word.
I'd rather sit in silence
And have to wonder.

So skip all the riddles,
And skip all the facts.
Skip past the truth
And your view,
I don't want any of that.

Truthfully... I don't want to know.
Something's are better left unsaid
Ignorance is bliss,
And bliss is all that fills my head.

So lie if you have to,
Lie if you must,
Just make sure I don't know
The truth between us.

I just want to write a grand masterpiece
that'll make the world swoon,
but I'm too busy wallowing
in average doubt and self pity
about how I can't write a grand masterpiece
to actually write one.

Insomnia
I'm not sure
Are we friends?
Or enemies?
I prefer the nighttime
It's quiet and peaceful
The calmness alone is beautiful
For that, Insomnia
I thank you
For all of the times I needed to be asleep however
But didn't even know where to begin
I struggle with you
Laying in bed
Wide awake
Bombarded with thoughts
To a point where my body is so exhausted
Yet my brain is running laps
It's a love-hate relationship I have with you Insomnia
Can I catch a break?

I wonder if it’s true
That in seven years,
My skin will be brand new.
Just like I’ve never been
Touched by you.
I’m not sure how I’ll cope
With the fact that my flesh
Agrees we were never really
Meant to be.

*(r.e.)

It sounds ridiculous but only I feel productive when I'm doing nothing.
Sitting back, just relaxing.
Popping blue beans, burning bowls of green.
And just thinking.
Daydreaming about how things could have been.
How things could still be.
But how things will probably be.
Just close your eyes and let music be your guide.

Entire lives constructed and played out
in grand fashion. A world so detailed
I would rather get lost,
And never come back to this travesty of a society,
so raw and primal.
so human.
My world is so beautiful and yet so depressing
because it's what ours could be, but never will become.
Anything to distract me from this.
The 24 year old burnout grinding through school because there aren't many options left.
So where will I'll be in 5 years?
I wont.

i have dreams about spiders
i have dreams about you
things that could **** me
if they wanted to
in my dreams i’m afraid
that i’ll see them again
because you and spiders
are of the same web.

*(r.e.)