Play my heart like the fiddle,
Make it fun.
Pluck the strings like a harp,
And see me shine as the sun.
Strum the rhythm like a guitar,
To being wild and young.
Bow the love like a violin,
When the game gets old and our time is up.
Press the beating like a piano,
If you miss me love.
Hear the the symphony of a summer orchestra.

People look and stare like I'm crazy
But to be honest I see you all in vertigo
Pulsing in and out of oblivion
Don't any of you care about the truth
Fake.
People ask me why I'm leaving
But I never arrived actually
Just a slate of erroding curiosity
Do any of your pieces fit here
Hate.
People of bloated and dense realities in motion
But I see the potential barricaded within you
Lodged by ego and envy
Don't any of you know love is the best word to describe
Death.
Which is just a means to an end before the next cycle

It was bright with the sun on our side
Now nobody sings

You've already taken a bite.
What's one
Or three more?
The Apple of Knowledge
You know you want
To eat it to the core,
And because of human conviction
You will always need more.

This is a place of artistry
Of beautiful images painted upon a city
Where lights reflect the magic of stars
You'd think you found a dream walking between cars

Alive and part of a whole
This is a place everybody knows
Where anybody whose somebody story is told

This is a place of importance
Of bold colours stamped on towering complexes
Where hipsters drink in smokey bars
You'd think you were a cool kid in black
Gonna go far

This is a place everyone goes
Where lovers walk hand in hand
And kiss like classic T.V. shows
Unaware and unwavering as the night sky
There are no boundaries in her side walks and street signs

She is clear as glass,
An expensive gold,
The main act premiering across the road

You wouldn't glance twice at Mr. Invisible
He is mute of colour and silent
Nearly lifeless and murky

Hiding in plain sight for all to see
He isn't glamorous or beautiful
The only art he holds
Is the cardboard tent set up for warmth
Against the cold

Tucked in the folds of a heedless city
Is poor Mr. Invisible

I was a waving flower
Graced by the liquid warmth of a new sun

I had roots clinging with such power
That I believed I would never waver

Until the shade of my naivete fell

I am a dried ounce of potpourri
Rotting in a picture frame

Waning in the moment
Of how delicately

My exultancy carries into
Cipher