Even the sunrise.

A party's
not a party
if it happens every night.

Catching a buzz
a bit too much,
it ends up catching you.

Cotton candy skies
every morning,
even the sunrise turns against you.

Days come
and come
and come.

Relentless battering of time
Against my skin,
beating us all
to death.

Even the sunrise gets old.

Even the sunrise.

Happy birthday Mom.

Tangled up in.

The corners of your soul
are growing cobwebs
and I'm caught.
Lightless, sightless.

Tangled up in your sacred flame.
Fingers stretching towards the sun.
Blind eyes searching for warmth.

Free me from these cold shadows
sprouting in the corners of your soul.

These hidden battles,
quiet fights.

Turn it inside out
and
flood with light.

Don't have dreams, aspirations.
Dreams are just another banal experience,
only not yet realized.

Better yet, have dreams but leave them be.
Let them be dreams,
let them stay a golden land of idealism
to which you mentally flee when
caught in the midst of your current
mundanity.

Don't chase them,
don't turn your dreams
into your routines.

Place them upon a shelf
and marvel at them with
an enormous and writhing sense of
what if.

Enjoy that feeling,
revel in the wander-thought
for that is the truest form
in which dreams exist.

Annoyed and whiny little fools.
All led astray with their keen writing tools.
Moan and ***** enough and you'll see
that my poetry isn't for you, it's for me.

So *******, **** your talent and charm.
Go write your feelings out and drown
amidst this ocean of mediocrity.

******* all.
Worthless people.
Spew your trite.
I'll spew mine.
Let's ignore each other
for the rest of time.