She will smash
every wine glass.
They are all broken,
but not here heart.

She will walk barefoot
from room to room,
while her feet are bleeding,
but not her heart.

She will drink him up
until her heart aches
and her head hurts
but not her heart.

Back to the subtle pool of dark
and deep that lay below illumination.
Wriggling, slippery scales of black
In a pool so deep it's hard to see,
hard to grasp.

Down the hall, in the realm of control,
pulling into light a dark shadow.
Maybe two, at the least one.

Pull it close,
touch it in mind,
know it and hold it,
just to let it go
into a watershed of tears.

It will eat ones self,
chewed by its kind.
So deep and dark, subtle and fooling
this pool of mind.

The man said nothing is real

While making a sweeping gesture with his right hand
It's a simulation he says, all of it, nothing is real

I remember singing row row row your boat
Reminding me to be happy, because live is a dream

Again the man states while gesturing, nothing is real
Strawberry Fields, nothing is real, nothing to get hung-up about

The Hindu call it Maya, all an illusion, nothing is real

Science gods working toward virtual reality
Where we can't tell simulation from life, nothing is real

An eyelash fell on my cheek today
And without much thought I flicked it away
No wishes to be made
No games to be played
Just like my old eyelash
I floated away

I was never taught to write a love poem

From a young age I learned how to grieve
I learned how to keep myself on my feet
I learned how to wallow on perilous ground
I learned to stand up when I fell down

I was taught to smile to keep hatred away
I was taught to keep my emotions at bay
I was taught to do everything on my own
I learned to love being alone

I learned to build barriers all around
But I was never taught how to break them down
I learned that if a crush seemed to stay
I needed to to push my feelings away

I never learned to love or to give anything to you
Now I don't even know how to break through

This was for my love but I'll never show him
These strands of sorrow meant to be a love poem