I precariously prepare the play poetry,
patiently pondering the plane paper.
Part by part I paint the possibilities;
to pertain this performance perfectly
I pick P.
It is poison; I proceed,
problematic,
-even-,
precise predicates
I place, it's a paradox. Perdition.
To picture my pain the persona must
posture my part: I progress without
precipitating my predicament,
pursuing the proximity of an end,
puzzling, pushing, and punching without progress.
Oh please let my precedent come to pass,
prefacing the end.
The plague is over.

I love,
But not like others love;
I don't speak the words for the sound.
I love,
But not for a kiss.
I love
strongly and fall even harder.
I love,
But not simply.
I love,
passionately.

I'm addicted to pain.
Maybe cause I'm immune to it,
I suffer what three souls couldn't handle.
but no matter how many times
I put on the rope,
how many pills I swallow,
how many times I pull the trigger,
the **** bullet will not come out.

Death herself does not want me,
so I lay here, and suffer.
I go to sleep every night, wishing for death.
Hoping to never wake up again,
and I wake up every morning,
wishing I hadn't,
wishing I had died painlessly in my sleep.

In the night the demons follow me, during the day they wear masks,
"I am tired",
"I am fine",
"I'm just tired",
"I'm fine".
Well I'm not!!!
I am dying inside, I am miserable,
and I only spread misery.
I don't want to suffer through death, but I want to die.

I don't want pity,
I just want things to be different,
I don't want to fail at what I hope to do, because,
almost dying changes nothing,
dying changes everything.
I am screaming at the four winds, hoping my shouts will stop it.
I am begging for help;
but I don't want attention.

I don't want pity,
so I lay here and swallow another pill,
I reload the gun,
I grab the rope,
I'm miserable.
I'm lonely.
I'm dying.
I am,
but I want to be,
I was....

She is like the wind,
meant to be free
She is a wild animal,
not meant to be tamed.
She is a diamond, hidden in coal;
unique in her own equality.
She though so wise,
is a playful little girl,
caged in the body of a woman.
She is not an object;
objects come with instructions,
she is not easily understood.
Mystery is her favorite game.
She lives to laugh and laughs to live;
but a mask she wears to hide her past.
Mysterious beauty open your eyes,
wake from your slumber and you will see,
you and me darling,
we're meant to be.

In my endless search to replace you,
I've traveled the world in 80 days,
And still I cannot find your substitute.
I've looked for you in my reflection through so many eyes believing the lies and promises I once made you.
I've searched for your love in the many carnal fantasies of women that in the darkness looked like you.
I've wandered like an explorer through so many satin beaches, but no matter my expeditions, I could never make port in an island quite like yours.
I've tasted and drank from the poisonous fruits of love many evergreens have offered me,
But nothing tastes quite like you, the dew of your love and your thighs is not the same in any branch I've reached for.
I've heard the song of the many sleepy voices of seraphs in the morning,
But an "I love you" doesn't sound quite as good when it's not coming out of your lips.
I've tried endlessly to satisfy the void left behind by your indifference,
But I've come to the conclusion that it would take a thousand broken hearts and their pieces shattered into smithereens to try to fix the ticking bomb that now beats in my chest.

The shadow fell,
and the cloud formed.
Cast me to hell,
and leave me thorned.

The masquerade,
and games of fate,
they all do fade,
and turn to hate.

The smoke cleared out,
and freed my lungs.
Left me with doubt,
with all my wrongs.

Please set me free,
and bring me back,
or let me beat,
my dying heart.

I saw your eyes,
entrapped in time,
they promised lies,
when they met mine.

She says forgive,
I say forget.
They come and leave,
and I regret.

She cries and asks,
what shall I do?
Just wear the mask.
"I'll miss you too."

You're not to blame.
It was too fast.
Our hopes were lame.
They could not last.

Your love is real,
but not for me.
Time all things heals,
so let it be.

Don't think me poor.
Don't ask for more.
Just lock the door,
on your way out.

I saw her today
She seems better without me
Her eyes glow once more

I was drinking a cup of tea,
and distracted by what I saw,
I forgot the forces of gravity never stop,
and looking through the side of my cup as I drank,
I realized my tea didn't forget.
so now I sit here with a stained shirt,
wet pants,
and an empty cup of tea.

Never think you're old enough to handle,
lying awake at night past four;
don't scream, don't cry, don't cause a scandal,
simply beware of the darkness you adore,
for the man with the black candle,
always stands behind your door.

Listen to the crinkling sound of bubble wrap being stepped on by a pair of fresh socks.

Imagine the sound of a chalk pounding against a slate stone on a classroom wall.

Look out for the large raindrops falling and bouncing on a cardboard box.

Watch carefully the tapping of two high heels dancing a slow song on a wooden dance floor.

Feel by hand the impalpable wind vibrating under an exit door.

Sense the rapid movements of a humming bird's wings while he does his God-given duty.

Admire the sound of two lips meeting each other for the first time like two strangers.

Speak with your mouth and produce a melody for the heart, and let your words be the little things others sit back to:
Listen. Imagine. Look for. Watch. Feel. Sense.
& Admire.

He sits on the floor,
Behind the counter by the door.
It lays in bed all day,
Like a ragged coat thrown away.

He's ***** and unpolished,
Like a rule that's now abolished.
Its sole is out of rubber,
He can't find its pair and it can't find its lover.

One would think they're not the same,
Their only contrast is their name,
What's the difference? I do say,
They're both hollow anyway.

A book falls from a shelf,
but no one will ever read it.
A song is sung about love,
but it's never heard by its motivator.
A poem is written from the heart,
but it is never recited.
An I love you is trapped on somebody's lips,
but it is never pronounced.
A word like fire that never sparked;
a novel with no beginning.
Two lovers destinies called to be,
but distanced by sad reality.
An unsent message and a missed call,
an unsent letter, three swallowed words.
Does true love really exist?
or is it merely a myth...

Things got a whole lot easier once I found out how the world works,
Problem was,
I could not live with the remorse.

I feel nothing.

I don't feel happy.
I don't feel sad.
I don't feel angry.
I don't feel mad.
I don't feel...

I feel empty.

I'm not inspired,
I can't write,
I dont feel that fire
That once burned in my heart...

Sentenced to live,
Sentenced to die.
Life and death,
Day and night.
Winter and spring.

10 years.
10 years, spoken so cavalier
By the man in the white lab coat
And the heart degree.

I've lived my life a castaway
Too scared to leave the shore.
I've tried many times to sail,
But I've never reached the door.

Life is a bowling ball
That hangs on a thread of yarn.
I'm too old to die young,
And too young to die now.

The heart is a ticking bomb
And by God time is ticking.
I stopped hearing the wall clock
Its batteries ran out.

Shadows are falling,
I'm running out of breath,
The hyacinths are now high on my shoulder,
And my lips covered with the dew of your thighs.

God is the dealer
And I called his bluff
But my clover has dried
I went all in and lost it all.

The show must go on
The world will keep spinning
I can see the promised land
But the bridge is on fire.

Hineni my lord.

I'm still standing,
I'm still breathing,
My heart is beating,
My soul is tired,
Each breath is agony,
Each night is longer,
This may be the end,
This may be the beginning.
If I don't wake tomorrow,
If I cause anyone sorrow,
Forgive my Lord my sins,
Forget me not my next of kin,
Life is a falling leaf,
Death is a hurricane,
I'm an outcast in troubled waters.

Tuesday morning.
I woke up, to find my bedside empty.
There was a letter on the mirror,
I'd met someone else, "I'm sorry".
I decided to take a shower, but halfway through,
I remembered I forgot to pay the water bill.
I dry myself and decide to cook breakfast;
I also forgot to pay the gas bill,
tough luck.
I take off for work,
but forgot to gas the tank
yesterday night,
the car stops running by the interstate,
flashing red and blue lights stop by my car,
"License please" says the man with the funny shades,
seems though I also forgot my wallet in the living room table.
I begin walking to work with only a $250 ticket,
tough luck.
Great, I arrived to work ten minutes late, coincidentally
my boss was holding a meeting over low funds and
dismissal of some employees,
lucky me.
I'm the first one out, I gather my stuff from my desk,
and begin making my way out, secretary passing by spills coffee
on my "precious" belongings,
"Just trash them" I said,
tough luck.
Walking down an alley towards my apartment,
three creepy looking
dudes ask me for my wallet,
-as if I had it-,
"We'll just take the watch, and the coffee stained coat, great, we'll also kick your *** while we're at it."
Great, just great, fifteen minutes later I get up and walk home,
"Crap!" my keys were in my coat,
tough luck.
I tried going in through the window, funny, someone else did before me;
my house is missing anything considered valuable,
I walk into what's left of my living room, and find my wallet,
empty:
What a coincidence.
I just need some sleep, so to my room it is, great
it's also been sacked;
thankfully my back up phone was still under my nightstand.
15 missed calls from...my brother, voicemail says my father died while I was at work,
tough luck.
Nothing else can surely go wrong, right?
I reach for the gun under the bed,
they also stole that, just great!
Tough luck!...

Depression is a heavy ***** blanket
That wraps you and won’t let go
It sometimes becomes cold and soaked
And you can’t take it off
And it dries and becomes a little lighter
But it’s still there

It sometimes keeps you warm
And it is the only sense of safety that you hold on to in those lonely Sunday afternoons
When the only warmth you get is that dreaded blanket

That blanket becomes the only thing you know
It creates a sense of familiarity that when you don’t feel it draping over you
You begin to wonder if you finally have managed to take it off
But it’s still there whether light as satin or heavy as wool
It will always be there

Until that final day when they’re covering you with it in a wooden box

Funny how we're all so self - centered
and believe were special,
but all this catastrophe shows us how really we are all with no exceptions,
worthless paper men to the forces of nature.
And as I stand here on both my feet,
I can die just as easy as my enemies,
just as easy as the person I love,
and just as easy as the stranger next door.