Cold Water
turns my skin blue
And feeds me a hard portion of life's true gifts
filters and funnels all the cushy grains out of my coffee
and leaves a bitter after taste
it might have lasted days if I didn't inject myself back into the streams of society
I flowed further and further each time
exploring each twirling tributary
all that leads back to this humble kitchen table
where my coffee gets served
along with a tasty bowl
of Cold Water

the symptom of waking up is being awake
the morning bleaches your midnight self away
spiteful sun rays pull at you sweater
and chant around to with snotty cheeks
its reckless endangerment  to put on a party hat  
and leave a perfectly naked evening smothered in bliss
hello mornings are spat out through tight teeth
and throw themselves against the window
dripping down the window sill
what an eff'n mess you have to clean up

All my coworkers are out in the kitchen
Moving around past and into each other
The weekend was great
I did so much
Monday is even better
I get so much done with a full cup of coffee
I love the order of my desk
It reminds me of the order of nature
Everything has its place
post-its with post-its and other paper-like things
Staplers with staplers and piles of staples
My boss could be my best friend if he wasn't my boss
My boyfriend could be my boss if I didn't like him so much
The morning paper said a lot
The world is still spinning thankfully
Doing what it does
Feet are still somehow on the ground
Heads are still falling gracefully from the clouds
I'm getting better at dodge ball according to my partner
And even better at dodging those not too close to me
Keeping them where they should be some might say
But at least the morning dew cleansed my car
And the smell of cigarette smoke is slowly disappearing
And while all my coworkers are out in the kitchen
I'm celebrating the little victories
That somehow makes being with them a little bit more worth it

I don'r care
I wonder if I ever did
The wonderwall of my worries
perished in the the wake of new thought
When my mind matured and ears stopped listening
beating hearts that beat chests to pieces
Stare from far distances
At the silhouette of the crumbing person
I became with new breaths of stale air
Welcome to the desert  of forgetting
And remembering what was to be forgotten
Welcome to loops of sanity and insanity
merging together
crashing and swirling through each other
it was never art
I was never an artist
It was just what it was
And the Earth will continue to turn
The wind will continue to blow sand off the ground
And feet will continue to walk to furthers point of no return
Until the sun warms cold faces again
And again they looks towards each other
Smiling maybe
Tearing up most probably
As the morning rears to an end
They too will welcome me

All my words are hollow
They echo inside
Like ting ting ting
They roll off my tongue
And sound good placed together
They are the shadow of real things
Just gray shapes with no real detail
A sight for the starer
But just a glace for the searcher
All my words
They barely cast shadows of their own
Because they are made out of nothing
Candy floss for the reader
Bubbles for the thinker
Pop, gone, pop, nothing
All my words
Have no thought
That is why they get none in return
Thoughts are formed of ideas and concepts and lingering things
Thinking is for the thinking man
Thoughtless things
Are not even things at all
They are just words on paper
Word from a tongue
That soon returns to air, and dust and hollow stuff
Nothing to become nothing
Think about it...
Nothing is nothing, right?

I want to be in love
I wished upon all the stars in the sky
And they collectively shook heads
Saying that I should know better than to wish on sparkly dead things in the sky
My coins fill fountains
And side walks where they spit them back out
Pockets are empty like the valve in my heart that pumps out romance
My body is starved for it
Yet my hands search for the feeling
Wish bones split
And lay in two
But I still search for you
My sweat love
That I am yet to get a taste of

Death overcame him
How could it not?
Death is, after all, the final say
Of all the things that could have been said
Of all the people that could have said them
Death spoke last
And I couldn't argue with it
Because there was nothing left to say