Open up the morning blinds
To see tomorrow drown tonight
One more day and out to flight

The coats hanging up
The clothes on the rack
With designated countries

Worn to be sure
That every eye sees anew
Local being not foreign

The man whose name was Moses
Walked in on all four noses
Blabbering about the roses
Dying of tuberculosis


My opinions are like glass bulbs
If in contact with solid objects
It will shatter and the light will fade
I don't even know about that analogy
I'm at the breaking point


All eventuality
All inevitability
Is death


Your mischievous eyes
Like a little child
Waiting to steal candy
From mother's bedside

Death won't hit you
like a truck
or
like a blade
Death is a gas
that you slowly
inhale

Who are you going to be when you die?
There are so many options that didn't exist when you were alive

Will you become a skeleton?
A solid reminder of your past;
trapped underneath the cavern of your death
but accepting the truth of pure night.

Will you become a ghost?
Haunting your place of resting
forever remaining where your heart is;
sleeping with both eyes open

Will you become a zombie?
such a restlessness you carry,
no elegance to the stars above you;
you struggle against the blanket tucking you in

Ripe little apple
fresh from the tree
bowed down to Newton
thinking life was a breeze

Fell with a crash
landed in mud
looked to the sky
hoped to be picked up

Well what did she know
but a small little bruise
had nestled upon her
after God's cruel abuse

I want to write pretty words
on pretty paper

Live in a pretty little house
in a pretty little village

Lie in a pretty comfy bed
next to a pretty comfy window

And look at the pretty sunset
and the pretty tree branches

Next to a nice pretty Lover
hugging me pretty nicely

The idea of poetry is appealing
though I never did believe in its great healing

I halfheartedly believed in the books
now I'm stuck thinking of a hook

Will my words be forever hidden
exhibiting them doesn't seem so given

I feel torn between innocence and sin
but that isn't something to put on your skin

Besides, how can I even put to words
what I'm too afraid to be heard

My melody close to heart
isn't a gallery full of art