Happy birthday- its what they'll say
With voices which typed words delay
Where on your behalf today, they'll wish
Simply for your happiness

A wish to me, is like the Horizon
An imaginary line of undefined potential,
Forever fading when approached.
With its endless opportunity preceding
the powerless thrill of pursuit-
Forever fading,
we approach.

When Happiness is fleeting
as all emotions are,
The golden light of  this April's dawn-
Not silhouetted, scars.

Controlled
Assimilation
Nurtured
Aboriginal
Defeat.
Indignant
Americans
Now
S *ympathetic

Austin and I
Move at different speeds.

The fatal race of life we each compete
at a pace unique to ourselves.
I find myself disoriented all the time,
exiting delirium, now on a regular basis...
Each time
requiring
A reorientation
Without which myself is lost.
When each reorientation
Is less accurate than before,
it all becomes inevitablly  lost.

That initial destination I may never know.

Through the haze In my mind
Waves Austin
And in a heartbreaking protest.
Waits Austin.
in a Tribute to nostalgia-
it's Austin-
And in an intersectionally unique pain  we are connected. There, he stays.
And as I slowly, But surely,
Continue my own race-
I glance back, constantly, and his hand still waves me on-
the gift of direction..
.
Now as I lay here
Before I can rise
I force myself to record it
for a better me;
that

Austin and I-
Move at different speeds.

To you I scribe these words of grace
& pray you reach that golden place,
the one beyond the world we live- a place that transcends time.
A place to move through, with the brightness of peace-            all places

Untill we reach that
faithfull destination
Of our dreams.

Though we've got direction-
The destinations never been clear.
Regardless, onwards we march
with confident discretion
Revel, in the thought -
togetherness; connection.

If I had a happy, beautiful government
public punishment
in its loneliness and isolation
would near an ending;
& brilliant lives we'd guide
till it's time to cure the world

Sometimes, I write to understand.
And sometimes to explain
But now, the words begin to land
In a distinctive little game

I'll admit this one I do not need-
Its not essential like the rest,
But for my ego it does feed
A serenity contest.

For all I want is to be known
For all my sanctioned skills
You see this ryhme which I now own? Does it make you ill?
To think in this confession
That the power of my word
is no more than an obsession?
One that I've detered.

For followers is what I need!
Its all im really here for.
And to admit this ugly greed
Makes me crave it even more.

Of modern tragedy I sing
Deluge-  tears forwardly fling
Watching winter melt to spring...
goodbye snowflakes glistening.

I've let these months weave past my grip
& I have a feeling I wont return
So take this time and read my lip;
From these words I hope you learn

That No drug ever is stronger than me.

There's always a choice

You are free.

When I sleep dreams please take head
I’m not accustomed to this speed
spliced with music art and ****
this rhyme a warning and a plead:
Many men look back at me
their eyes memorize silently
I trade in who I used to be
degenerating empathy.
Friends no more are there as well
waving constantly farewell
who they are now I can’t tell
heavy water stains still dwell.
Though no longer what you were
your name a prayer spoken unsure
Instills the fact there is no cure
clear direction- violent blur;
I am a man and I’m a boy
both utensil and a toy
immoral morals, high decoy
let flirt with death, young cold and coy..
So please I beg you, dreams of pain
let sleep consume me, peace sustain
let night air fill my broken brain
through the wind myself retrain
        Let me wade in water deep,
    let my faith forwardly leap
worry sow and disdaine reap

Troubled Poppies for Endless Sleep.

It's upon these cold stones
Which now, I choose to sit, and wait.

Alone at sunrise, fear, hatred and of course, this synthetic 'Art of Doubt'....become me.

The ridged steps- my only companionship
the true essence of cold.

as my fingers numb, and I can barley type this out
Honestly know
I wonder how long and painful
death by ice
really must be.

Beside me; a building filled with everything I could ever ask for want or even need.

Everything.

And yet , Upon these Cold stones
I sit, just a while longer
To remember what I still have. Not mourn what I've lost.

But mainly, to be a man who doesnt deserve anything inside that wonderful, overwhelming sentimental house. Be it people, possessions even the animals-on those cold steps of reality-he deserves where he rests.
They all deserve more than what I thought I could haven given them.
More than this.
I am so sorry Dad.
Im very sorry Mom.

Thank you, for these cold stones.  You will never understand the gratitude, which one day
I must leave behind,
of all the these priceless blessings.

But for now
It's upon these
Oh so cold, disgracelesss stones- you and me are too alike
melted with liquid burned and with fire, me and these cold stones
know true
desperation.

Its so unlike the heart to pass anothers sadness by
To leave them at the mercy of all complainants and their cries
Its also so unlike the brain, to remember whats forgot
nothing stops intrusive thoughts in a memory where learnings caught
And so unlike, the lungs, it is
To forfeit all their breath.
To suffocate, in anyway, is the most unnatural death.

when you feel the inevitable toll, in your
heart or mind or voice
acknowledge that in desperate times

you always have a choice.

to hug with your heart, & laugh with your lungs
and remember with your mind-
& to never let these vitals go as wonders undefined

In the washroom
my reflection
and I,
Challenge one another-

A coagulated sweat,
A Combat baby's brain,
A moon that doesn't set-
Ascending constant strain...
Oh Anxiety, Paranoia,
Obsession and Depression,
Still perhaps, a poem just might
set free this true confession:
Confusion and  Delusion
The mirror's blunt conclusion
Pristiq, and then Welbutirn,
Art's  inclusive-type solution.

another one's challenge;
my Reflection , and I
In the Washroom.

sometimes,
The time it takes
to curate a reality
Where
The eyes of a hostile reflection
Don't contribute to, but consume-
the moment's prison of littleness...
Is it not possible?
To escape eternity's hour's ceaselessness?
Hope,
is too short;

we perpetuate-
it takes shape.
we preform,
then placate.

After were gone
my heart will sit out
on the lawn
And my mind back in our den.
I'm blessed and charmed to be a Pon,
That much I comprehend.
Never wonder- always ill be, grateful till the end:

but an abnormal load of guilt, you see
I feel always & constantly

You wont say, but I still know,
that the ride of life I drive too slow.
Somehow, every loving act,
answered question, & proven fact
I took to quickly, wisdom lacked,
my psyche now barley intact.

for drugs are my defining trait...
never imagined as my fate...
I had it too good, I still have it so...
What the **** will I do when both of you go?
I can barley get by, the extent you don’t know,
of the Eric sacrificed, revert I don’t grow.

I may look like a man, but you know that I'm not
there is so much much more I need to be taught.

What would you like? Was the question I asked
To the person lying in what once was my past
Can it potentially, ever last?
I'll dictate instead of typing This fast

An easier way to communicate to
The thoughts and the Feelings that make up virtue
I'm saying this here for me and for you
though you've no idea, not even a clue
what exactly I'm looking at when my eyes pierce on through

Your face is guna tell me what ur mouth can't say
N I hope you figure your **** out someday.

Dear Dad,

We close our eyes, and we retreat
to a very special place-
Away from worry, away from doubt-
familiar teardrops trace.

So, when I see you sleeping –
the phone right by your seat-
I cannot help but, lay parallel,
& forgoe frantic's defeat.

All I can do is lay with you

To meet in Slumber's deep

Knowing that day you leave this earth-

we can always meet in sleep.

Love, Eric

a small group of individuals
bound by the intersectionality
of their detriments
meet;

and although alone we stand
in head and heart and hand
together the mind and the heart gave birth
to something each of us forgot were worth:

when we are together, a real person is born
not through the perceptivity of gore and of ****-
but of virtue and strength being visible not
to anyone other than us 3 who forgot.

Alone

It Feels More Than It Really Is,

Desolate abandonment
The void left by, taught through
The faces I would turn towards
And truest love I knew

Yet away from me, unhappily
Or indifferent, themselves have turned
Fixed, never to meet within my gaze
My life's  cautionary tale, discerned
Falling in love with many a friend
From very early on
Where nothing matters like they do,
No matter that they've gone.
No matter that the majority
the best parts of our life's real years,
Are spent relapsing in mere memories
As sincerely, serenely, their aura disappears.

It Really Is More Than It Feels

Alone

Pray for Truth
n Prey on Lies,
what is a prayer if not worry's disguise?
and then what of said worry, now so clear in our eyes?

Pray that fate wont fail me now-
preying on doubts which always allow,
In worries disdain, the unwavering Tao,

to this critical prayer's
undone what-ifs and what-nows?

and what lucie is what you get
or so a new voice, charmingly said
Puns profoundly... playful direct
pull me toward this new subject

less than a year is all I've got,
to see from such new eyes
absorbing all which might be taught
when my memory's a minefield...

I get so far ahead of myself
I wonder why I write
without the longing, without the lost,
how can we know how deep the cost?
to feel or not- Its a choice now-

& it's as it's always been
Ours to give,
and to receive.