Chores
This poetry, this foolery, it’s a chore, it’s a job
It’s my guilty pleasure, it’s an idol, my false god
It controls me, it hurts me
It frees me, it fixes me
This pain is my poison, but oh how I have developed a taste for the bitter
And oh, how poetry is the loss of, yet the gain of the filter
The filter of life, the filter of emotion
Helps us strain fake from real, then twist and shape them into one another in our own ways
We do whatever floats our boat, but the boat’ ends up on great big waves
In the eye of a storm, in the gates of a swarm
A swarm of locusts, our own plagues and trials,
Trials test gold, but am I even metal?
Poetry turns me from paper to metal, surrounded by paper,
In a town of paper, with people of paper, and places of paper.
Scared of the rain, scared of pain
Alchemy, the quest to turn lead to gold, paper to metal
People search, but don’t find
I seek but don't grasp
People are stuck in their binds,
But they don’t realize they are the ones who clasp,
Clasp the chains, not chained up
Stuck but free; their life seems bleak

There is a rope in my mind
a frayed rope in my mind
breaking and twisting and bending and grating
against thoughts, about to snap, slipped into a lapse
a lapse of time, a lapse of mind,
Knowledge expanding in the light, feels more like a blight
My mind has broken or has it grown
My heart is lacking or is it full
You are the cure, the sweet melody to the blur
The blur of life
the blur, oh the blur

Irony of the Clouds
The irony of the clouds, the backwards image of the sky
Happy, white, and full, they fill until they die
Then it rains, and cold cold wet rain hits everything, everyone, and the sky is grey.
Even the clouds let out, have an outlet
People see them as happy, and see other clouds as sad
The irony of the clouds, the same one grows and cries, the same full white cloud, it turns grey, and lets out the things it can’t hold for it’s life.
Oh the shock if they learnt that the clouds hit their brim,
When they realize how ugly pretty little clouds can get
When clouds let lighting out, when clouds aren’t white
When clouds cry and when they shock
When they dissipate and disappear
Some big and some little, some thin and some thick
They all fill and they all let out, and if they don’t, they grow and grow until they can’t grow anymore,
Then they seperate, lost among the clouds, among those that they can’t tell themselves apart from.
Why don’t we let the little cloud weep, so that it can grow white once again?
Perhaps I will never know, but maybe for once, the little cloud can cry, and not be all alone.

I am titleless in my ways
Stuck in the cage
Writing about the weight
Body pressed against the grates
I have abandoned the house to turn to rubble
I have run away, I have been delivered to trouble
Kept captive by the old thoughts, the old desires.
Who am I? I am master of none
But I am all of it, all of the thoughts, all of the pain and all of the love
Titleless in my ways,
The iron heart starts to rust
Chips away at the feelings I had, until uh-oh, I feel nothing
The pain of feeling nothing at all, the pain of having no pain, I fall
To ground and get back up, only to be knocked into the pool of blood
I shake it off, smile and walk, acting like everything’s all kept up
I write and I write and keep writing for hours,
But oh-no! My mind starts to sour.
My only outlet, my way to escape, has turned me into nothing but a lonely man, trapped in the cage.
Finally, I escape, when the Chimera dies, a relief to myself, until I realize, it only grows the blight
So where am I now, who am I? I am me, the facade of personality.
Am I me, or are any of us really them? I know who I am. I’m insanity.
And this isn’t the end, oh no, it’s not. But for now, I have nothing to write, oh no, I do not.
Because every time I try to keep going, I get stuck, and I run out of luck, out of words, out of time, out of anything at all, except thoughts, but what do thoughts do, without paper?
What do thoughts do, without a feeling? I do not have these because of the block, I want to go back to my house, but I am completely blocked.  
The house is my sanity, my name, it’s me,
but I ventured out a little too far, and then I was trapped, trapped, within bars.
Don’t worry, I escaped, I busted the cage, but only to be blocked, on my way in.
The desires so close, they flash and they die, maybe someday I’ll get them, for now, I can only try.
So I will return, with a title, next time, but until then, goodbye.
Until then, I will try, to chip this block, to cure this blight, to heal this wound, to keep my hopes alive. For now, I will try. I. Will. Try.