Word-pain is so much better
Then real pain

There is no fancy writing
There is no rhyming lines
No quid pro quo
No justice
Or quick sayings of wit

In a poem you can die a thousand million deaths, but after each you still hear them all and have a mind to write one more for yourself.
One more time you are able to cover your grave.
One more time you can cry over blotches of black and white

In life you die.
That’s it.
No more.
End of the line
No more graves to dig
Only a life of promises made... and broken
Only a “to be continued” unfulfilled

Stupid
.
.
.
Stop
.
.
.
Don’t think
.
.
.
Stupid
.
.
.
Stop
.
.
.
Don’t think

Late at night and I can’t think
All these feelings doing the thinking for me

I reach for the sky
It rushes down to meet me

Suffocated between ground and air
If only I could lift like Atlas

Except I can’t
So it all comes crashing down

One thought rushes to another to another to another to another to another to another

Thoughts to emotions, emotions controlling thoughts. Thoughts to emotions, emotions controlling thoughts.

A. A word you search and never find
Before your world fades away.
C. Come out and say what you need to say

D. Don’t try to find who you are
Even so you’ll be led on
F. For you’ll be forever gone

What is reality but the perception of a moment in time?

What is the past but a perception of somewhere and sometime you have never been, seen, or heard... and never will?

What is a thought but a new perception?

Starlight star bright
All my loves sleep well tonight
I wish I may I wish you might
Sleep in beds of love and light

There’s nothing I could ever say or do
To make you realize how much I love you