I’m starting to come to terms
with hate and insanity,
I drove to her house at 4am
because she wasn’t answering her texts,
and I called her 30 times cause I thought
she got into a car accident,
I hit a skunk just
after leaving my house at 4am
and I never smelt anything,
I’ve been sitting on her shoulders for
as long as we’ve known each other,
and all I’ve become is heavy dust,
I have good intentions,
but they’re transparent,
my heart is consistent
but translucent,
a transient feeling of
reciprocated compassion
sparks immeasurable
inconsistencies in
sane behaviour,
but I have good intentions,
and every day we sit in a vessel
with no holes and I try to patch
them because I feel like I’m drowning,
and eventually she’ll want to swim,
she turns turns amnesia into a theory,
she’s a mirror and I’m seeing
an evolutionary reverse,
before I see clearly
I'll have to wipe the fingerprints.

I suppose if the arts had any real power
Michaelangelo's David could have healed my brother
Rimbaud could have saved Hiroshima
Monet could have painted the world in shades of peace
Desiderata could have protected me
But this is the real world
And where poetry once grew comes the art of fabrication
Dali's obras are no longer enough to make me forget
Moonlight Sonata never warned me of this hurt
The waltz never healed a broken family

I suppose if the arts had any real power
Beethoven wouldn't have gone deaf
Van Gogh would have been happy
Hemingway would have loved better
And Ginsberg wouldn't have been afraid to love

Yet here they all are
When the only light I see is on hundred year old canvas
When the only solace I have is a dead man's words
When the only thing that keeps my heart thundering
Is the promise of a Boticelli ending in Picasso figures
All colors, beauty, light and metaphors
The promise of a Renaissance gleaming in the ashes of prose

This is the real world
I suppose if the arts had any real power
It would heal more than just my heart
It would build me a new Garden of Eden
And I'd pave a way to nirvana
So the world could join hands
And start anew

But it's saved me for now
That is enough.

I wanted to call in sick to work today
and tell them that i just couldn't do it.
and its not the sickness your mom can make you soup for
or the doctor tells you to rest and drink liquids.
It's the kind of sickness that makes you feel like
if you take one step out of bed the ground is going
to crumble beneath your feet.
It's the sickness that caused you not to eat for days
or weeks.
It's the sickness that makes everything in the world
feel like absolutely nothing.
The doctor can't fix you
Your mother cant fix you
No one can fix you.
Only you can do it.

And we looked into each others eyes
I couldn’t find a yes,
only hardened silence lay between
the question and the knowing.