The music won't block out the thoughts,
No matter how loud the volume.
My poems no longer heal me internally.
No matter the scheme.
So what's the the point of it all.
Nothing no longer fulfills me.

My heart is leaking, my heart is pouring out and I sit on the shore of it all. Tearing myself apart and skipping the pieces across
The ocean of its fluid hoping one day I drown entirely in my pain.

Wouldn't say that im suffering without you
But certainly, sad songs are knives to these flesh and bones.

I haven't heard from you in awhile
But you still cross my mind
I haven't spoken to you in awhile
But I bet you're doing just fine.

lets slow it all down.
watch the skies drag these clouds.
let the ocean carry our worries as we
lay on the shore and share our stories.    
Let the world race to the the top of the
highest green mountain lie, ****, and deceive
for materialistic values
we sit on a park bench and wait for the
sun to introduce the stars

I'm being murdered by time, I died in seconds.

I'm not what I used to be, a dreamer whose ambition for
writing was bigger then he can hold. Now I cant
even write about love.the type of love that makes your worries melt away
with the touch of two opposing hands breath taking poetical love
that men and women part seas to find.
I've lost that feel. I've lost the greatest gift, curiosity.
Curiosity like the feeling of wrapping paper on Christmas morning
as you find your name signed on decorative box.
i'm not what I used to be so ill end this here.
hope you understand I am not the dreamer I thought
I was i'm just a man stuck in a web of his own mind.