Dewdrops drip from butterfly wings
An unseen cricket in the undergrowth sings
Mosquito bites fresh still throb and sting
Time is only thing that changed

Tell me about the earlier days
Frostbite, thunderstorms, and summer rays
These are all the things you say
Time is the only thing that changed

Your smile is still childish
Tongue still loves licorice
Ever bewildered by the ridiculous
Time is the only thing that changed

Your skin is speckled with liver spots
Hands tied with arthritic knots
Old memories, your brain forgot
But time is the only thing that changed

Because you will be and always will
Be the one I love, be the one I still
Cherish in my heart, admire until
Time stops

You may think you've changed
But it's clear to see
Even after an eternity
That you're still the same to me

To be, or not to be. That is a decision.
To learn, or not to learn. That is a lesson.
To see, or not to see. That is a mission.
To love, or not to love. That is obvious.
To live, or not to live. That is an option.
Who am I? Now THAT is the question.

Silken sweet is the sycamore's song,
where robins roost and raise their young,
and smooth smells of chrysanthemums run
to see the sordid spring.

The shiny sheen of nature's skein is too delicate
for my Velcro eyes, which tear and wrench
the tranquil strands into a tangle of rough satin;
be my sandpaper soul that skins salamander to
brawny bones and bores raucous cores like
maggots and ****.

Raw sewage seeps, creeps carefully into
the spaces of Her starry quilt
until squelching squishes escape
my hoarse rasping whispers
and see the calloused corpse that casts its rueful shadow
into bright days, silver nights
to a twilight that will not end.

Caustic contaminants cross my veins and cake skin in
corrosive gasps; fumes funneling fingers of pus
pancake pores of porcelain dust to a mortar
of blemished touch.

May I bathe in boredom's ennuinous ***** so that I may emerge
blessed, reborn best as salty caramel springs,
let the day spray sparing tea into me and cleanse
careless cacophony.

Burrow my body,
leave quelled, cool Calvin to play the fool
and be me for the day.

You were gone too suddenly
For me to be sad
You went in a hurry
And you left
Some of yourself with me

Your hair is still here
Floating lazily
Tangling, twisting, clumping
Golden pillows
Hugging dust bunnies

Strings that twist and tangle
But never unwind
And perhaps they are broken or cut,
But the knots remain,
Proof that there was once a connection

Solar strands steal into cracks
Crevasses now filled with memories shedded
Lost perhaps
But still present
Like the sun on a cloudy day

You’re stuck to my sweaters and socks
Coating me in gold leaf
Twenty-four karat nostalgia
Priceless, hugging closely
A subtle weight on my heart

The house is quiet now
But still warm
Still dusty and grimy
Just as you had left it
Because I don’t vacuum anymore

I can squeeze myself like an orange
Giving my sweet and sour soul
To sate the thirst of passerby
Whose stomachs will never be full

Strangers sipping saccharine nectar
Spitting putrid pulp
Tasting only the sweet of fruits
Wasting what makes us whole

I give my body for others to love
Not for them to take
My personality is part of me
So please don't cherry-pick

Forgive me for I have fallen
From the fair sky
And ruined your beautiful wings
That you had made for me alone

And yet as I plummet
Plumes prancing about my descent
Your gift is even more lovely
Each fragile piece flickering in the sunset

And as I am burnt from heaven
With third degree burns of passion
I will bask in the flames
My body branded black to the bone

A coal to light another pyre
As my passing brings another life
My cries converted to cries anew
In the larynx of another love

Should I change to be the me that others want me to be?
And change to maintain that which I have already obtained, or remain the me that I have always been?
How will I survive without the me that has been alive as me when I throw reality away for another me?
Now I am not the me who I have been for I have changed my personality, permanently barking up an unknown tree.
Tossed aside what I was inside so that I may contrive an identity, from me others can derive their sweet desires.
Will others flee when they see that I have not become what they want to see and rather the me that pleases me to be?
I agree with great certainty that the me that I want to be is uncertain, for even I do not know why I cannot simply be just me,
Why I need the validation of words from lips unimportant,
from gazes of eyes that widen with admiration and pride,
from applause to a facade, a disguise,
compliments to a me that is not me?
I try to provide all that I can provide,
for without the lie that is not me,
those that look up to me may lose themselves too
and just as I have, with a sigh long, long ago
they die.

My eyes are not furnaces,
melting realities into idyllic casts
disfigured until their original forms
are but ashen memories
upon the ****** anvil.

Nor are my eyes windows
Through which I gaze
And through which others gaze back
Pure transparency
And no deception

Or mirrors that reflect
Images mimicked
Upon an insincere facade
Merely a copy
Never as beautiful as the first

My eyes are not any of these
They are pools of water
In which I see both myself
And that which is beneath
The world below the surface

Everything I see is painted me
The shade that I have made
For myself and no one else
Ugly, beautiful, personal
To me and me alone

Milky dreams drip from my ears
And molten frost leaks as faded tears
Corroded whispers escape my lips
And from my soul the echo grips

final breaths of rain
as a barrage of sighs on concrete waves
the deadline for their journey unfinished
wails of the storm
it shrieks for children crushed
by their own momentum
wishing it could cling to its babies
until time ceased
and with it
they could stay
forever
taut delicateness
in rueful tears
vibrantly transparent
fragments rise to the ancient gestures
of golden fingers
tendrils of vaporous labor
assimilate to form a smoky embryo again
birthing another generation
destined to fall

A man lies on his bedbug-ridden mattress, staring at the strange stains on the ceiling, wondering how they got there,
contemplating the stories stored in the sauces and syrups mingling among the asbestos of his overly humble abode

Ugly brown splotches like abscesses on the tattered comforter that he wraps around himself, a metallic odor stirred like a soup in the air by the creaking ceiling fan, he is reminded of those tender tattoos upon his left arm

Self-loathing pulls on his every nerve, throwing wave after wave of pain, both physical and not, onto his long-damaged conscious, his own hatred for himself plucking at his sanity, his humanity

as he becomes but a simulacrum for a swine,
not even as worthy of the title,
for even such a lowly animal has utility in this world, but not he

Drifting off to another day, one that he wished would not come,
a bright smile and laughter fills his desperate thoughts, stirring him from his weariness and softening the perpetual frown upon his ragged, unshaved face

And as he flies away from the despair of that rundown motel, reaching for the cotton candy clouds as he rides the Ferris wheel
of his childhood, the warm breeze wafting greasy goodness and fresh paint, he feels at ease for the first time in a long time,

but he snaps out of this trance, suppresses these memories, scared that he may taint them with his pathetic self and darkness, perverting the only lengths of his life that have value, the only parts dyed with an emotion that was not anger or sadness, and so he pushes them inside, keeping them buried deep, like a jealous dragon guarding treasure undeserved

And it hurts again.

From this lovely world forgotten (or rather one not to be remembered), he descends once more into this living Hell. His innards writhing like a snake, shedding its sickly green skin, tears screaming empty threats at his eyes, hollowed lies for he does not have any left to spare, he mourns the loss of innocence

Turning to see that rusted pair of scissors on the unpolished wooden desk, a paintbrush reserved for a special hue, he thought to drown his needless emotions in his art

Sitting up and reaching once more for the weapon with which he would smite the only true enemy, he painted

Long strands of crimson surfaced from his canvas, and the ground began to spin, the stars in his eyes applauding his brilliance, and feeling accomplished in having dealt sweet retribution onto this villain, he collapsed onto the ground

With time, the drawing would fade, the emotions would return, the paint would dry up, leaving behind another mark on the bedsheets, and when that happened, he will once more construct his masterpiece forged in blood

I see life through a crystalline window
Colorless so that my vision is untainted
Yet ironically still deceiving in its transparency
For through the many facets of this jeweled facade
My sight scatters into many dimensions
Unable to focus on a single aspect
So that something as simple as an iron needle
Becomes a cage of interconnecting rods
Binding my thoughts in an imaginary jail
In the matrix created by the morphed glass
My eyes: where simplicity is corrupted
To a kaleidoscope of unwarranted complexity

He didn't say goodbye to me
As he closed his eyes for the last time
And fell asleep in an eternal dream
A state that is far more sublime

He didn't even thank me
For giving him a home
Or providing him food and water
Sharing what I owned

I walked with him
Talked to him
Pet his hairy head

I lived with him
Stayed with him
And this is what he said

"Hi owner, how's it going
I owe to you quite a bit
But I'm a dog so I can't do much
Except maybe fetch or sit

Instead, I'll remember
The nice things we did
Together while I lived

I'm going to go
And I won't return
But I'll leave with you a gift

It's all the cool fun memories
Those things inside your head
That you sometimes think about
When you're alone or before you go to bed

And even though it's not a lot
I'd like to let you understand
That it was a blast being by your side

And that I hope I was a good friend"

Through the rain
A burning dove
Sings of the pain
Unrequited love

Like a blanket of gold upon my chest
This love that I perceive to be
More of a blessing than a burden
Still weighs deeply on my spirit
Drenching it in pain and doubt

And the more I feel this feeling
The more I realize how hard it is
To hold on to it
Like tiny silver fish
Slipping through the net of my heart

As if a brilliant jewel
She dulls everything else
Sapping all that was fair
And all that I once saw with a smile
Only reminds me of her

Memories and contacts
However trivial
Intertwine themselves
With every silken strand
Of my soul

And though it may sound like torture
A curse wished onto ill-thought persons
It is an addiction that I prefer not to shake
Because when it is all over
I will be stripped of all things attached

And nothing will be left

Truth be told, I have nothing to say
Nothing of worth to fill up your day,
So I apologize for wasting your time
As you read this useless series of rhymes.

There once was an immortal man who thought he had it all
The world in his hand, resting in groove of his palm
And nothing could or would stop his conquest
Until he met a challenge that he simply could not best.

He had as long as he needed to beat this task
But he got it, couldn't do it, and gave up just as fast
Avoiding this issue, he sulked through his years
And too proud was he to stop and dry his tears.

And soon he slipped into a sour state
His stubbornness leading him to a horrifying fate
That of a human who is unable to be just that
Feeling less like a dude, more like a dog, chimp, a rat

Day in and day out, he remained in his chair
Fearing another obstacle, he stayed in his lair
And for that matter, his skin became pale
And his eyes, ears, and even nose began to fail.

Yet to this day he is still barely alive
And in his agony, his inhumanity he still writhes
Thinking about that thing that he could not defeat
Wishing that stain on his life, he could delete.

The death of a man is not when he stops breathing
But rather when he stops believing
In the fact that there is always something to be gained
A rainbow most often finds its way when it has just rained

People have been searching for a way to live forever
Which should be the same as never dying, aren't I clever?
If we simply keep on living,
Never stopping, always giving,
Then we'll keep on getting
Finding something worth the suffering,
And that version of immortality sounds a hell of a lot better.

I eat my corn dog
ketchup on my chin,
and the frogs croak,
while the crickets chirp,
warm air pressing gently on my skin.

A cool breeze tugs my shirt,
carrying a faint smell of cinnamon.

The cries and laughs of children
heard vaguely in the distance.

The birds' singing dies down
as the sun begins to set,
resting for another round,
as it hides its gilded coronet.

Yet the lights of the carnival
reflect like little stars
on the pond's surface,
dainty and novel,
shining without a purpose.

Just for that moment
I am unable to move,
for the night air takes my breath
and my body the darkness soothes,
so that all my pain melts away
as does this passing day,
and I let go of my regret.

I stop pondering whether I'm still sane,
for this moment I wish to remain
petrified like a Vesuvian
and all my worries, I soon forget.

And in those delicate seconds of clarity,
I feel like I truly understand
the meaning of my humanity,
of this abstraction that I perceive as actuality
what it is I really demand.

Everything in harmony
brimming with lucidity;
in utter awe of life,
constant serendipity.

Do you recall
The feeling of fall
With burning leaves
Dancing trees
And a breeze that pervades through all?

Do you remember
The chill of winter
That quiet slumber
And smell of lumber
As you sleep by the fireplace's dying embers?

Do you sing
With the thought of spring
And its blooming flowers
The cheesy lovers
That smile as the wedding bells ring?

Do you honor
The handsome summer
In its endurance
The assurance
And oppression of its motherly warmth

Do you feel
As if life isn't real
That all you see is a dream
That you may fall from the seams
Of the universe?

Even if everything is nothing
And our actions are but indistinguishable vibrations
Upon the vast lake of stars

Is it too much to ask
To remain asleep
And live in my fantasies
Superficial or deep?

And reap what I sow?
And decide to stop or go?
And live as I please?
And be who I want to be?

The sun keeps on shining
And the waves continue to crash
The moon takes the night shift
While your dreams remain trash

Or at least that's what you think
That your efforts will never become
Anything worth mentioning
As you stare down the barrel of your own gun

Please know that it's never true
What's truly useless is to think that way
We all have the ability to change the world
It is these negative thoughts upon which our despair preys

Every step we take shakes the Earth
Leaving a footprint in the lives of those around us
And every word we speak rattles the eardrums
Of everyone within the vicinity of your sound

So don't think that nothing you do matters
Because you have the power to control your destiny
Freedom is an inalienable right, but only if you take it
Because the meaning of life is whatever you make it to be

Will you decline the very thing that makes you human
And roam in the shadows without a purpose?
Or will you accept your strength and continue on your way?
Because there's far more to the iceberg than its surface

They fly from my tongue like sparks from a fire
Those hurtful words aimed at the objects of my admiration
Because I cannot hold them when they are so high up
So I must tear them down from the sky to cradle them in my arms

It may seem ironic to destroy those pretty stars
So bright that they shine even in the darkest of nights
But I simply cannot sleep when they gleam like jewels
Beaming technicolor through my plain window

And call me a fool for being a destructive bigot
Filled to the brim with selfish desire so that I have no room for love
But isn't it so much easier to covet and scorn
Those constellations in the sky where I have no place?

And as I gaze at the pure black blanket void of all light
After I have bulldozed everything around me
So that I am the highest point on Earth
I realize how much I miss the Big Dipper

The Milky Way is huge, an expanse so great
That even I can have a spot of my own; it's free real estate
Among Leo, Gemini, and Pisces, I can have one to call mine
A world of my own where I may do as I see fit

So instead of loathing those with which I have not
Instead of hating those with more fortune or glory
Understand that each of us has something special inside
To contribute to that network of stars seen when the sun goes down

I sit on a bench in the middle of spring,
and absent-mindedly I tilt my head to the sky,
yet unknowingly, the sun creeps from behind
the clouds above and splashes my eyes with waves of light.

Averting my gaze from its hostile rays
I look back down to Earth
and see the crab apple petals tumble over the pavement,
falling into the cracks of the concrete.

The clock tower strikes noon
and I am brought back to reality,
the wind caresses the rough skin of my face
unworthy of the memories or reflections of others.

So that when I meet a child or a pretty woman
whose being is too soft and innocent
For my harsh appearance
I worry that to face them will taint their loveliness.

Yet I accept that this state of being is natural
no matter how menial, how painful,
and is a treasure, a reminder of my mortality,
somehow pleasant and homely, this feeling of vulnerability.

So I hope to enjoy this feeling while it lasts.

It's dark outside of my glass jar
So I stay inside and watch from afar
Taking solace in my cozy isolation
Living life from the percolation
Of air into my domain
Not moving, I remain

In a perpetual state of innocence
My freedom given as the sole expense

Yet curiosity wells up in me
Like a coming storm in a pitch black sea
And waves crash inside my head
Putting myself in shackles of lead
I realize that I'm not living life
What I'm doing is avoiding conflict, strife

For living without troubles
Is the same as a speech made of mumbles

So I untwist the top of my jar
And see around me, in that blackness thick as tar
And see fireflies dancing like licks of flames
With an intensity so powerful it burns the blood in my veins
And I realize that I am also aglow
With a warm feeling growing from my head to my toes

For I have taken my first steps into the real world
Stepped away from my comfortable abode

And accomplished what few can say they have done
To have faced the daunting future instead of turn tail and run
And realize that what's to come is not all shrouded in mystery
Light of other lighting bugs shining brightly through that witchery
We all have some people whom we may call friends
Who see things the way you do, the same prescription lens

Because none of us are truly ever alone
And no sins are too severe to never atone

We are the fires, the lights for tomorrow
And even through hate, pain, stress, scorn, and sorrow,
Not even the sun, nor the moon, or even the stars can compare
We continue to walk through the dark, that burden we must bear
Because we are part of this vast, strange universe
An ocean of singularity in which all will submerse

Today is the day to do something
And waiting will wait for another time
For now is the moment for seizing
And prolonging is not as satisfying

Go out there and live your dreams
Cliche, romantic, unreasonable
For people are not so easily convinced
That their beliefs are utterly unfeasible

A lovely sky on which to gaze
Has clouds that form our whims
Like a puffy dragon, a goofy shark
Or a bug with twenty limbs

And the trees will wave in greetings
When you come outside at last
And the sun will shine a spotlight
Onto your green carpet made of grass

The birds will cheer for you
And the crickets give you applause
For going outside and starting on
A journey that gives you a cause

Pessimism is gloomy
And optimism is unrealistic
Nothing really matters
But thinking so is nihilistic

So go out there and find something
Because waiting is our biggest lie
Dreams cannot move like humans can
And your heart will never say "goodbye"

Sweat clings to my body like a baby to its mother
Yes, I am the creator of these droplets
They weigh me down as I run through the woods
Searching for something unknown

The shadows paint the stripes of zebras
Onto the soggy leaves of the ground
For the eyes of birds and frogs alone
I steal into the museum of nature
Surrounded by the breathing of trees

Life is like toilet paper
It starts out a pure white, plump with years
And it seems to last forever
Until it doesn't
And only when it's almost gone do you realize
That the roll is nearly gone
At last, you sadly peel from the cardboard cylinder
A pathetically thin sheath that tears and comes off as shreds
The skeleton remains, an ugly dilapidated brown
And you look into the trash can
Realizing that you can't get that roll back anymore
That you could have used the roll more wisely
That you could have made it last longer
And that it was completely filled with ****

The pressure of time presses my shoulders
So that I may never stand tall
And atop a mountain of expectations
Makes it that much more dangerous to fall

The rain beats down on my face
And my shirt gets plastered to skin
And I raise my hands to the crying sky
As I begin the feel the world spin

My brain bursting from my skull
And my soul threatening to combust
And all that is golden and all that is nice
People tell me is just my lust

I run through the storm
And swear to never go back
For then I would see myself
In a mirror painted solid black

Quiet static from the TV calms my tired soul
A metronome of jagged rhythms and wild tempos
Yet it must repeat at some point
And that's all it needs to do

Day by day, I see the sun rise and set
Or is it simply me sinking lower and rising back up like the tide?
I'd like to say that it's the sun or the Earth doing the work
Because I'm far too weak to move

Drops of water fall from the leaky faucet
***** saucers and pans piled high near the sink
A warm mixture of sweat and pizza hangs in the air
Not quite unpleasant, like an old blanket over my body

Sweat drips from my neck and wets the collar of my shirt
My head resting on the hot arm of the sofa
And I can see both the ceiling of the room and of my skull
I balance on the cliff over the chasm of slumber

Teetering back and forth on the precipice, not sure if I should jump
My eyes blinking faster than the static
My heart beating slower than that faucet
My body feels like it's falling down and then flying back up
And the moon plays peak-a-boo as I pass through the clouds over and over again