why is the last light, that anyone ever sees their own?

because everyone else's is brighter.

for the burden that seems lighter

only to burn in one's own fire

the pieces
all of them
a tiny sordid amount
of millions
all on the floor
bloodied hands
and pieces
in*

a completely and utterly
futile exercise

"oh you know"

"the usual"

the brightest smile you'd ever see

The King worked tirelessly
so that he may be kind

The King worked tirelessly
and so he thought he was kind

He worked and worked
for the people he thought

but honestly he'd think
it was for him to be kind

and so he lay on his bed
life ebbing from his head

and thought,
maybe now I am kind

but the people remembered otherwise
thus history said otherwise

and so The King
never existed at all

-llo.

goodbye,
it is for me
maybe not for you but

it's too late now
I've been sending
calling for you

for who knows how long
sending from across
this eternal black space

but now
I hoped
this distance seems beyond me

I wanted to share with you
my hopes, dreams,
my light

I wonder what will reach you?

he-

the people worked
and worked and worked

to get to the top
but

the king said a word
and so the top

and the people on it
were no more

left to work again
and again and again

they played that song

and everyone danced

it was lit

but it was only you

only you

love always leaves ruins in its wake my dear.

Each kiss
another piece lost

Each lingering glance
another piece lost

Each moment of anger, borne of concern
another piece lost

Each aching moment
another piece lost

Each moment
losing more and more, of myself

Never less

the statues
that adorned

the great cathedral

the statues
that brought beauty, balance, perfection

to the great cathedral

perfect representations, made with love.

Were cast aside

and left to disrepair,

and now lie rotting

in some forgotten, dusty corner

the great cathedral stood tall however
with nary a bat of the eye
or the pang of conscience.

shame.

yet you are under my shadow

the trouble with okay is...

when you say "are you okay"

I rarely have a good answer


yes.

or no.


as an artist this is very frustrating

all the feelings in the world

all the weight
and all the burden

brought to a

pinpricking, aching, agonizing

needlepoint.

straight to your heart

straight to your ******* soul.

and all you got to play with

all you got to express with

all you got to express this with

is

yes, or no.

The trouble with okay is

you think it's okay

okay isn't okay

it's just, okay

okay is.

mediocrity

ahhh

see how that rings?

hear how it rings?

how it sings?

mediocrity.

finally, something

an answer

a word

that isn't

yes, or no.

truth, and lies.



but the real trouble

the real trouble

with okay

is

when you ask me

if I am

well...

I'm not,

I rarely am.

i have this pebble

and with it

I'd like to build a mountain with you

I saw the stars

saw the sun

saw the world

and turned my back

to come back

to you

but you're not here anymore

but at least the world is still here

not for me but

at least


the stars do seem dimmer however...