My life had become unhinged, bereft indeed.
You came into my heart and I believed.
Oh love. The great. The one.
Oh how you've stood by me.
A brain sick, cosmonaut.
My mind would lead.
I blushed when you came in.
The brush was crimson on my cheek.
My adoration for you leaked.
You are what with all my life I've longed to seek.

The following is art.
The following is the hardest part.
#hypnosis
#hipster
#anexampleofpie
Sometimes I think that the more I learn about the world, the more I can change in it.
Other times I wonder if ignorance is key to immortality.
Still... I come to the conclusion that thinking a thought is far from scientific and so I save the idea for another day, life, or year.
The more I think, the less I know.
The more I change, the less I grow.
The less I stray, the more turns gray.
The more I wonder the less I want.
The more I pray I may have my day.
Hears the lesson let ears be taught.
Part one: forest rhymes with city.
Lessen the key, break the lock.
Set scene; forestry.
Like a dog in the fog on a log I encountered.
"I have my ways" in a voice that I pondered.
"A road yet wandered, is kept in heart." Said a voice on yonder.
Cheek roses.
Chill dusk.
"To be fair; (I replied in a civil new tongue.) A hair unkempt, is stray, in part."
The dusk settles.
Inept new learning styles to teach kids~
Grass changes.
Dew rises leaving Seattle in a smokey haze.
A part in half.
North, staff, remember.
~set guns to phase.
Behalf of setting the scene of Charlie's untimely demise I will now take you to the world he called home for an unmarked amount of...
Electric May
was the name of the foggy day where the confused man chose his path in his-
dollars turn to
~this is just a phase
My mind's own whistles.
~is that even a phrase?
garden
train station
Is this all a dream?
#clay mation
Science-tag.
Theory? Fickle.
"Get out DA way."
Said the man in an overcoat that was dressed like a pickle in a displaying emotional fashion.
"My soul's new crystals.
woman twelve o'clock"
Part two: crystal rhymes with missile.
-set around Christmas time where man finds for the first time he is dying.
He stands tall.
"It's all okay."
Clumsy wind tickles.
>October dreams.
Coal burns nickel.
Seasons loss, soon to pass.
Eccentric quarter.
Fall (wiggle) down well.
Never fickle.
Never can tell.
Restless.
Meanwhile twelve turns to one.
"Better out than in I always say"
-shock, wobble, Spock and a movie reference.
Part two of one half.
If I die today.
Tomorrow revived.
If the machine unkempt,
I stay alive.
Checklists.
Life...
(Box)Insanity,
(Square)clarity,
(Check it)equilibrium.
Heart breath for a second or a millisecond more. Fire burns inside so I'm knocking down the door. Witches stay alive so we nail them to the floor.
Bored?
Civil unrest.
Always wanting more.
Super protest.
Poor Saint Nick.
Antics protect.
One.
Indecent holler.
Blue stands for
Tolerance.
Gun.
Pie.
Iron meet the ants.
Hollow for sure.
"Miss?"
The true floor now chants.
Forever unsure.
"Behind your eyes you (never) seem to rest.
I'll find the gleam men cannot test.
Meaning I'll find you when the stars are cheating.
I'll lose the road.
I'll burn the start.
Fire to Spider-Man.
Our web's apart."
Reckless.
Smart.
Wise or witty.
Tell me oh reader...
What rhymes with city?
#Spock
#winning
Fun.
Pity.
Pun?
A CITY.!
In parts

Poetry,
It's been too long. I would write you a song or a sonnet but every-time I'm on it, I'm in it in a bad way. Like Eminem with nothing to say. I got low goals, but I'm not flying solo. Fry me up and serve me with some **-hoes. Wait a second... It's taking over me. The writers a hopped up and hyper playing with the paid piper. A cipher. A mockumentary life story. Never boring but never going for the glowing glory. That's the gory news. If I got to let loose, I got to refuse soon. So poetry it's been too long. I can see why you never call. I mangle these words on the cell. I'm trying to sell out with salad fingers for dinner I give myself the creeps. I take amazing leaps. I swing from tree to tree. If he sees you when you sleep does he get constantly bored, or does he dive in and engorge on the course of your dreams. Interesting it seems. Skin deep.

How it’s hard to be a person.
Lesson One.
Being one.
It’s fun when you’re a kid because mischief is cute, but now you wear a suit and “funerals” is in your vocabulary and there’s never peace of mind and you’re always weary for the times when you make a mistake because being an adult means you have to be great 100% of the time... unless you’re out of your mind in which case it’s legally forgivable, but you’ll never get back the friends who were critical and that brings us to
lesson two. Cynical.
Making friends.
Making friends is hard in this bizarre world of mine. As an adult you never have the time. You don’t know who to trust. If it’s the opposite *** it must be lust, right? I mean that’s all we’re ever told. Fight for the right to make out. The brave and the bold always go for the gold whenever lips are involved. Same *** is just as bad. It’s sad really. Hyper masculinity & competitive-ism run amok. It’s just our luck that we’re taught to be different but also to never give a ...
“Who cares if things are bad. Now let’s not get political. So you’re saying that when you were young you were proud to be whimsical. A trait that you developed. It’s personality? Well personally I think it’s weird. Originality? What are you queer?”
You see the point I’m trying to make? You don’t? Well for goodness sake, open your eyes. You think I’m not trying? You’re lying to yourself if you think this is easy.
Putting it all on paper.
Being an instigator.
They’ll say “see you later” for sure, but you bet they never will.
Alienated for the views of loving everybody.
It’s hard to be human.

Madness is majestically killing me from the inside out.
I shake about in a lonely haze.
Madness will figure it out.
Lame brain match train mash cherries in an apple orchard.
Who am I really helping here?
Am I writing this out of fear of leaving a footprint or the idea of being meaningless.
Manic Monday's lead to astral Sunday's eventually.
And finally we all plead with the seed to grow in a barren wasteland.
What about now?
What about shouting makes it okay?
The same with planes arriving causing delay.
Life… is about checks and balance's… and keeping your brain attached while they try and strip it away to nothing, burn it, and leave you in the gutter.
"I'm dead!" you will say, while secretly you hide it away and pretend to be a useless zombie inferior to everyone else.
I'm still here.
I never knew what that means until now and how it is a statement but it is also dangerous…
Its like inviting death to dinner while you take your sweetheart out to lunch.
"I'll see you later." you say and just like that, without an instant of delay you're gone.

It’s a song.
And we all play along.

And another thing…
What's the deal with hand dryers?
Have an electric float.
Because even with a cherry on top you could've used a towel.
Speed up the process….
So you dry your hands and then go in to sit through a meeting about tea.
We are all so bouncy, bounding more than strides when we're born and then…
And then?
And then we all start doing things that don't make sense until it slowly drains us of all our money and we end up in the gutter.
Again.
Always with the gutter…
Like… why throw a curve ball through life when instead of being happy you found yourself a wife.
Married out of wedlock.
Found yourself a *****.
Speak as an intrepid person.
Well, now watch me soar.
I'm a lyrical principalist with lots of disciples all of whom I miss.
All of whom I miss.
One more time for this…
All of whom I miss.

And… its not like that bad. I'm not like.. A sad lad.
Its just, if you were born to do nothing… you might as well enjoy it with your friends.
But.. They were all born to do something.
So now I sit here on the fence.
Sort of a combination between humpty dumpty and a stray cat.
A strange combination at that.
No compensation for that…
Giving use to a fence.
42.

I'm a ghost of my past self....
an echo on a wall...
bound to fall...
or only falter.

I walk my own way...
the way I did before...
nothing more

I live each day dying more than the last.
Those days have passed.
Make it all last.

I love my life like a child loves a toy.
Like a father loves his boy.

I am the destroyer of worlds.
Never born to be in it.

I am the singer of squirrels.
Never born to be with them.

I am the ignorant preacher.
Fear gods wrath.
Kinda has a ring to it...

I am the deathly hollowed out man.
Fear the sands of time just to turn on a dime and let everyone know...

I'm the fake that nobody knows.
I'm the adventurer who only found dirt.
I'm the worm... that clogged the machine that never really worked.

I once went to the end of time and then I lied to myself about how I got there.

I am blue, I am red, I am grey.
I am impaired.

I am the patient nothing...
Born to say something.

I'm not crazy.
I'm just broken and hazy on whats truth, and whats lies.
Unspoken the feeling of bright colored eyes.
I changed with the times, I beat out these rhymes.
I don't commit crimes but I want to beat down heaven and bring it to earth, or bring hope to birth but not hope in a pope but hope in this curse of humanity.

I want to travel and unravel whats been made.
I want to bring home d-day and call a parade or maybe throw a grenade.
I just want to **** my mind or just unwind or maybe even... find myself?

I really want to find something worth finding.
Something worth more than wealth.

I don't have all the answers.
I just have my truth, that I can't hit undo no matter what I now choose and we all do what we do and if we don't at least try then we're royally *******.

So here is what I think.

Maybe the answer to "42" is "why not?".
Maybe the answer to "we lost" is "we fought!".
Maybe "lazy" people are just... broken.
Maybe politicians and lawmakers are outspoken!

Maybe, being "crazy" is just really knowing more than what we should like, we could be "on that level" but fear in the devil throwing a fit makes us commit to social norms and belief in reform.

I will not give into the eye of the storm. I will be reborn and rise like a phoenix up through the ashes and then destroy the classes and will not be undone.

I will light up the sky filled with a thousand glowing eyes to brighten the sun. I may die but all will say at least this dog did have his one.

Maybe I am crazy.
Maybe I'm not.
Maybe I lost this battle but I'll tell you what, I fought and I'll fight till the night and day gives me the right to say that I've won.

Its never my intention to settle down.
Always a crook more than a clown.
I look into your eyes and find they are forever friendly.
Going down the road. Wherever you send me.

The real injustice is when justice wins and locks you up instead of settling sins.
Where to begin?
Even those who claim to be holy said we're born into sin.

Those who really know me would say
"Personality is a thing to weigh and then be pinned up"
when sin is not enough.
Forever grateful.
Then walk on along your way… smashing the grape bowl.
Into wine, I find we have a more pleasant conversation.

Imagine this while we kiss, a moment of blissful sensation.
You're on the planet of misfit toys.

Meanwhile this guy is happy with his new Rolls Royce.
So happy he might as well rejoice.
Well guess what?
Its not a choice. Not an option.
You must go about your day.
Til death pops in.
You see we're all just locked into fate and settling down is just a wait...

Instead you do something about it.
Rock your head… invest your wit.
Set fire to an entire island.
Have a fit.
Don't address the silence and the silence wins.

I've been sitting.
Oh, have I been sitting.
Lengthened legs be withering away...
Sullenly a sway in the wind.
I barely have a say where I go.
I move like the snow on a mountain.
Sitting collecting momentum until I fall all at once, once more...
I've been sitting.
Once I had a vision to be ridden of this mission.
No revision.
No new words.
A promise no one ever heard.
I've been sitting.

Step into the spotlight.
You just might show us something that we like.
You've got talents for days.
It's not over, you're a supernova.
Show us, teach us to not roll over.
Inspire me.
I could use some new motivation.
Set fire to the sea.
We call that innovation.
I know I suffer from procrastination but step into the spotlight and you could be the next sensation.

Warm shadows, forgotten names, a torn and tired journal stands for all to see within the flames.
Whispers from the past.
Light dances on the sea.
Wisps of the future.
What we're born to be.
The lights will draw you in.
Love will mend your heart.
It bursts, the dawn of day.
All of it, faded memory within the start.
Id like for you to stay.
Golden river beneath the sun.
Moon submerged, the days tend to run...
These days.
These days for you and I, our fingers pricked by brush and lovely roses for our eyes.
Smelt it, your nose did.
Slipped beneath the hush hush tide of yesterdays home miss...
Once I had a home of stone. Ask it to be bold if...
So alone in yesterdays home this...
Brick by brick our love was sown.
The puzzle pieces sing for peace in the melody of the past and lovely roses.
We grind it up from stone to sand and feel it, just as our toes did.
We waste our halos on instrumental ears and chase away the cold along with the fears of yesterdays run.
Sub Mental fun.
Our peers are plain, beneath the tide, beneath the sun, i try and write in the brightest way.
And yet delicious treats line their way back to the shore. The shire falls. Wisps of the future drinking on the past.
Watch us soar.
These halls of greats.
I prefer whisky to wine made of grapes and yet a man of god would fast and then would ride on his high horse fast like he were the last man special inside.
So special is a snowflake in the devils eyes for he lives in the heat.
No surprise.
I take the leaps without looking.
No sunrise.
To defeat the light and he's all alone, rookie.
I'll summarize...
Mr jack and Mr. brown get what they need.
Baby words fall trickle up towards the unknown and unpracticed.
I planted the seed.
Fickle flakes lack this sensation.
Tentative imagination.

This all leads to light sometime.
I find it in my rhymes.
Memories find they are satisfied.
The present gives them peace.
I am not perfect.
I write my mind at least.
I love you.

Tick... tick... tick..,
The sound was ticking...

Time was whistling past noon as I sat in my bedroom with nothing to do but listen to the sounds of the hounds across the street singing songs unique to the windows of a widow whose husband had died too soon.
Tick, tick, tick.
Muscles twitch.
My eyes gloom...
bewitched on the sight of the swinging pendulum that relayed my bittersweet symphony.
Everything is symmetry.
Everything's that same dream.
I think the thoughts in my head like I’m in a scene.
I'll be sleeping like a dead man soon.
I tell the tall tale in my head with room to grow.
It doesn't.
The tiredness lurks.
The perks of my uncomfortable mattress is formidable to match wits with.
(end of part one)

Tick
tick
tick,
the sound was still ticking.
Tickling my mind.
Yet inside there was something still missing.
I'm behind the curve.
My mind can't keep up with my words.
My brain can't pass its turn.
Trying to stay awake is like biting into a stale steak...
Its hard.
My arm is so far away I can barely lift it.
My legs are so stray they won't stay near me.
Suddenly my eyes go black and I can think clearly.
"Relax" says the cataracts of my soul (at its best).
My synapses rest as I prepare for the synopsis of what's next. Dream on...
Time moves fast, but the ticking chime moves so slow, everything in my mind goes out the window.

Marno T. Rupert had nothing to lose, or so he thought as he sat on the moon. He held he breath. He didn't want to die so soon.

Marno T. Rupert had only gotten his powers about an hour or so ago. What he didn't know is though the river flows so slow up unto this point he grew so small.
The waterfall slows his fall but, Marno T. Rupert learned nothing at all.

He jumped back to earth to examine his worth.
He felt lonely, being the one and only under the sun... the only son of a gun who got super powers.

Marno T. Rupert could jump over towers, but he felt like he wasn't particularly great or good.
He always was late and misunderstood.
He didn't like "fate" or his neighborhood.

And so...
He went back home.
He zipped his lips.
After all, Marno T. Rupert was a pacifist.

He decided to become a scientist, a friend to society even though he could throw a car for miles and meanwhile bounce bullets off his chest.
You see?
He was super but a man.
Changed his brain and used his pen.