Wrinkled in the pages of my book
was a wrap of ancestor skin.

Wrapped in rice paper
was a roll of animal sin.

\Stew and steams
Sewn in cages
Soaked in milk
and blessed with sages

was silk and heart weaved in a page

on a paper book so thin.
so thin
like looking in a leaf who had been
out on a rock for ages

only veins left with out skins
it's what we printed on our pages.

i see my ugliness but i can't change it
i'm pulsing in the world's corner like a disgusting maggot
i revel in the gift of sunlight laid before me
i sicken myself but i feed and feed and feed

i drink tea, i make myself
cups of coffee
like i wish you well
and do things sweet and political

the truth is unavoidable
i am a crooked freak
some days symmetrical
but with wires fraying all the time
and tasting death on my tongue's poison tip

I see you everywhere but beside me,
the one place that I need you the most.
I don’t know if you’ve just felt like hiding,
but it feels like I’m being stalked by a ghost.
I think of my life consisting of just time biding,
with parasitic emptiness and I’m the host.
This hits me like waves I am meant to be riding,
and it follows me persistently from coast to coast.

The grass didn’t seem so green back then
I guess all that constant rain did pay off,
‘cause now this little future’s just a casual friend,
and my god looking back the past was soft.
It’s not like I always want to be drenched in sorrow,
I find I look much better in brown, blue or grey,
you know I’d trade in every tomorrow
for just one more yesterday.

I hear every voice but yours in my ears,
the deafening noise has made me forget that sound,
since I’ve heard that sweet melody it’s been too many years,
and every other pitch makes my static brain pound.
I’m always biting my lip but now I’m fighting tears,
I shake my head side to side and around.
I’m quickly losing stamina from battling my fears
and now looking forward to my hole in the ground.

The skies never seemed clear and blue back then,
it turns out that I was the creator of each cloud,
I’m hoarding past calendars so that I can pretend
that I’m back in time and making everyone else proud.
If you’ve got a hour or two that I can borrow,
I swear I’m good for it and whatever price; I’ll pay,
‘cause you know I’d trade in every tomorrow
for just one more yesterday.

I feel you all over, laced in everything,
if it wasn’t such a curse, it’d be a gift.
You’re the peace in winter and the hope in spring,
you’re the summer sun and autumn’s winds so swift.
I’m relieving every memory, looking for a place to cling,
I remember all of the details but the clarity is now adrift.
Side to side, back and forth, I constantly swing,
it pulls and drags me down but it can also give the highest lift.

The sun never seemed to shine right back then,
but maybe I was just too busy looking for artificial light.
I was never one for second looks but I should’ve searched again,
because everything I wanted was already in my sight.
So I plant a seed hoping it will eventually grow
and I sculpt all I wish for with clay,
‘cause you know I’d trade in every tomorrow
for just one more yesterday.

The night swiftly wafts through the window,
the darkness, opaque, though everything is there,
the soft glow of moonbeams from the heavens,
the clock ticking it's undying sound,
me in my bed pondering life's wonders,
the moon drifting each and every night.
Soon I am gone, everything is gone,
The Moon moves steadily on

indubitably,
the human mind
is one of the most
complex things
known to existence

the fact that
we only use 10%
of our brains
brings me such
exultant and rapturous
sentimentality to the
faculties of my sensory
that I almost feel a sense
of stability amongst this
treacherous
and perilous
society

entertain the thought and image:
a screaming child,
a dramatic teenager,
a juvenile delinquent,
a schoolyard billy,
a *** deviant priest,
a ******,
a child molester,
a serial killer,
mass murders,
psychopaths,
the insane,
the over opinionated,
the miscreant,
the doltish,
the frivolous,
the presumptuous,
the feminists,
our countries leaders
using and having
90% more complexity

all spirit and emotion
would be
completely obliterated
and the world
would be
pulsating into combustion

but then again,
there are other and more
preferable assessments
to contemplate on, whilst
looking at natures goodness
through a bullet hole
in the side of a car,
while bound and gagged
in the back of a trunk
with the final notion
that this might be
the last remaining moments
to be alive