To you
I want to be an open book
want you to pick me up, dust me off, take another look
But my pages haven't been traced in ages
not by fingertips or by faces

open me up
I don't care if you have to crack my spine
If that's what it takes to see through this cover o mine
then snap me open
and lace your fingers, let traces linger
over the calligraphy carved into my core
match the curve of my vertebrae
with questions that ask me if i am my metaphor

I have a plethora of pages, an abundance of euphemisms
inscribed into my essence, in a sense
I AM words
words that are not satisfied with being scanned
words with a hunger to be studies, syllogized
words that wish to be read over and eaten
by ravenous eyes and enfamished minds

Scour the syllables ensconced in me
etch and re-etch them with your pen
hold the precious print close to your skin
be a hungry page, and let the ink sink deeper in
I'll be a book and you be my scribe
look so close at my words that you lose sight of the divide
seek and discover
my heart inscribed
in every letter
every line

There cannot be found a man who places me under more scrutiny than i place myself. Therefore, when i tell you something of myself, do not question its veracity.
Would that this statement were all encompassing,
but for my softening of my own knowing, and for my unknowings of my own blindnesses,
i entreat you, question me, and question me often.

Happy Valenetine's day...
massacre i mean.

yup me too.
But of course i can't say that right now.
And even if i did you probably wouldn't ever believe me.
And even if you believed me you probably would begrudge me for it.
So i sit here.
Quiet.
Or mostly so.
And i hate the fact that i can not say THAT.
Of all things so simple.
I love you so. You're gorgeous. I know.
But would you have it, would you hear it?
well of course not. Hell no.
This has thrown a wrench in my mission.
The entire intention i had for our friendship is being dissembled.
In the silence I am reminded of all the sounds of clanging symbols.
If we have not love, what are we?
Well i have it, but i cannot say it.
What does that make me?
A quiet symbol? Or a song more beautiful than anyone could resemble??

Now watch me with my uncertainties drift downward
spy me falling slow or quickly southward
yet do not ****** me up;nay, grab my hand
and pull me gently back from quickened land to land

vaguely i return from softened sleep
i pray that to the fant'sies i have left
i have not lost my soul but have kept
my body and my soul, my mind intact
that though i love the journey, i needn't journey back
to steal vitality- return't unto myself
that my heart lay not hidden among pages upon a shelf

I pray (with my heart-for that is what makes it prayer)
I will not leave but find both here and there
the very heart i oft'n fear i've left behind
tis new, it grew, and changed along with mind
and soul, both here and there -among the mythic leaves
and in sleepy softness when i a'first awaken from waking dream

the realms of fancy both far and near at hand
reach out and touch you like a kind and wrinkled man
sagacious-many stories has he to share with you
gained through eons and ages of conglomerate imaginations
mystery and mythical in all their machinations
learn here what never was found in earthly realizations
heaven loosed on earth -in heads, hearts, and inclinations

a twinkle in his eye hints at many secrets
a longing of my heart overwhelms; bids deeply that i seek it
uncover the connections;his smile flashes white
and mischievous - but no fear or uneasiness overtakes
curiosity creeps in - why?! what?! I must know what you have known
"seek and you shall find, ever travel deeper in",
"seek and you shall win-
the prize- a story all your own"

and fant'sy has aged grown from old to young
indeed he knows that stories kept - that stories never sung
**** life! **** life! go hungry and alone!
and infant dreamer with nary a scream
nor tantrum to leave his lips
may tell as many and great or greater stories
as or than a man with ancient wit

my heart has taken fancy to fant'sy
my lover is my lore
but ever unto day must every daydream shatter more
and oft in life i must momentare -lay aside longing for myth
and often unto lore with life must i take part as *****
and often unto life with lore must i remind my heart
that faithfulness to myth and real may meet within my art
and life that's lived just as a myth is just the place to start
and myth that's lived just as a life is where it all must end
and all that lay between the two is life; and i will spend
to seek a story for the sake of a story
through this - story i shall find
and glory subvert for the sake of substance
you shall not know my name -
for fame i'll sacrifice for worth
and name - i shall know mine

Tick.
Tick.
Not a clock.
It's my neck.
Tock.
Tock.
It's heavy on
the chopping block.

Last night i dreamed
you got a purple heart tattoo

Last night i dreamed
that i still meant something to you

Probably the third time that I've prepared for the worst
can you see how much i hurt? do you know that i still thirst?
sometimes for my own blood, sometimes for my tears,
ive thirsted for what i've feared, for what seems now many years,
i contradict my self, and  twist my words and slay
the things ive said before, with the words i speak today
watch the way i walk, and wallow where i wait,
for things my malice stalks,  for people that i hate
wander neath the willow, weary, weeping,
wide eyed, my thoughts keeping,
me wishing i wasnt awake, when i should be sleeping

It's been five moths since I've been alone
every moment I've been with my phone
God is not in my contacts not me
i made time for those i can see
and now as i separate
for a few moments
I pray that God
will speak in this silence

what gravity, and where has the gravity gone?
when yesterday a new year dawned -
I asked myself this question,pained,
and answered with the things i've done.
I blame myself for our pummelling decline,
though in part, it be yours beside -
i could have, but didn't-and did, but could not have -
many things that made the difference.
And i lay there, wondering if ever i would feel as heavily entwined,
as when first your gravity became mine.
and feared - that never again - should i be tethered -
by the few invisible tines that held me to this mote of dust
I fear free fall, up into the sky.
And all i can do is lay here, and fight the lies, while we cry.

sinews held in by rivets rh-rhy-rhythymed apart
frayed like cello bowstrings - the silly string hallways of hearts
a war where the marching drums sound like violins
the weapons wielded merge heartbeats and equestrian -
hook-hairs that snare the steely strings
ones not quite so metallic as we think -
they've frayed like flesh and refrained-
from sn-snaa-snapping -but just barely-
they still trip - trying to make music merrily -
still beat themselves up -with the singsong self-hate they're carring
they prefer to hide in the woods at the moment -
their cries as slight as the winds - perhaps they're out of breath
from trumpeting explanations - or perhaps they wish to rest -
tired of touching lips-
to instruments----------------
- they don't want this symphony to crescendo into treble this time
-  they're starting from the base up -
Happy for now and trying to hold their face up-
they are aware that they could be used
to make garottes  -or grand music -
to suffocate mute musician's who refuse to hear their sound -
or strangle guitar necks as deceptive cadence mimics resonance and resolve-
. . .
.........
there's a duet full of dissonance and you won't-
believe it but by the tear-tearing disbelief
you will timber like a tree -tone in two-
voices arguing inside of you- staccato soliloquies -
punctuated with melodic defeat -
intercede with a sharp or two - cut down to the root, the truth -
result in music i can dance to - symphonies , harmonies, rounds -
we are notes - in twoes and fours - together we are sounds-
adagio acrobatics emanat from where our feet touch the ground
in time, intonation the same as our romantic inclinations -
dances we just both seem to know - impromptu instrumentations-
the interval betwen  these two half notes made whole is zero-
you're a maestro whose got my heart crying in half time
-its the sound of requiem turned serenade - I was Alive on our wedding day -
and so were you - proceeded by a promenade -
of promises -
a recital of something more than just lyrics -
you said I Do to me-
a staff of out of sync harmonics
It's ironic  - I worship with shhhh- under my fingernals
and you - you love the sound - and the smell

Dancing so long that nocturne
turned to noonday sun -
until I , nightingale, and you the gales in night-
are one

You are not an object, you are a soul
encapsulated in the beautiful-
in a sense , the innocence you embody is heavy sent
but in this world it's a countdown like
eleven. . . ten. . .
dissolving as you appear as an object
**** your self out for the pleasure of the audience
It's tragic, wreaks havoc, it's intrinsically implied
the less you are true to the beauty that is you, the more your beauty is not reflected
is rejected, denied

If love were not a struggle, then why would I want it?
If love were easy, I'd be far more haunted.
If love were a game, I would not want to play.
But love is life, and I will live and breathe today.

It stirs my soul to say I am slave,
for thee, daddy, I shall mock ideas of freedom
cast forth by common and devilish cultures,
for thee i shall embrace another sort of freedom,
freedom under constraint,
constraint willfully chosen,
by infinite grace, ever applied in totality, to me,
freedom that says,
before I was a slave to sin,
now i am a slave to righteousness,
and joyfully so,
for being moved by your spirit,
i am ever able, when before i was helpless,
to choose that which pleases
the abundant master,
the master without end,
the existing one,
El Ro'i , the God who sees me,
me a slave chosen as friend,
me a friend adopted as son,
me a son lavished as heir
to that which i deserve not an inkling, or mite,
not jot, nor tittle,
not a word or breath from your lips,
none of that which you spoke or breathed into being.
Oh, God! I am a slave!Ever shall I be!
Thank you master that i be, ever slave, ever to thee.

He is above understanding altogether.He is the greatest mesmer. Always. Ever. A mystery. Above rationality by countless staircases. Square on the ground but floating and flying. In front of me. Behind me. Adjacent and in between. In places that don't even exist.  A single thing. Higher and greater than the highest and greatest. He made himself lowest for the low and the nameless. Making many a face for many a faceless man. Changing the unchangeable by changing into human skin. His name is Jesus. He is the illuminating dark.He is praised by songs that don't even come from lips. He speaks the language of the universe.After all the universe is language. Likely in verses. "Let there be light" he spoke the words and they were. The universe is language and it's speaking simultaneously. I am drowning in him, not even wanting to breathe, sliding fluidly through a 3D crystal sea that seems to breathe. Surrounded as far as the eye can see, farther than the edge of my dreams. It is kissing me awake and madly maddening me to sleep. He is looking at me lovingly. They are romancing me.  A sea of black boxes. Black boxes the colors of rainbows. Thick and smoothe like molten marshmallow, flowing overhead and underfoot, i am begging to be ambushed by their undertow. Square and solid black boxes that flow,like two  synchronized streams, in velvet synchronicity, a marriage of both extremes, This is paradox in reality. I am pleading to be painted oblivious but i don't know, maybe i am jaded by invisible star-songs, not even knowing I've spent my life humming along. I'm lost in the knowledge that i do not know. Letting my spirit marvel breathlessly at the breathtaking beauty of my soul. This is the universe. Un-understood and undeniable.

A word the opposite of it's concept
flawed, broken, incomplete,
unable to share what the word should be,
the word comes out
perfectly

Perfume that makes me rememebr late nights in the backseat of your car
you knew this, and so you wore it three times, and i could smell it from afar
i caught it as i walked by even across the room,
and i was overtaken by images
images so easy to sink back into -
so easy to want when everything else is so hard to do
i missed these when i shouldnt
they werent mine but stolen
i dont hold onto them but they hit me
like your perfume in my face
They linger in faint traces
when you leave the room

Three sides to every story
two opinions
and the truth

I had only ever seen
you in black and white
in faded out photos on a poetry page
in long letters typed out in
black letters on white
screen
they even lacked the curl of your hand
traveling over paper
but i asked about what color your eyes were
and i asked questions to discover colors
and we had so many colors in common
that we blended into a unique hue
of blue like your eyes and mine
of prismatic glory in our words and our minds
our colors clashed intensely in some places among the prism
allowing us to discover the brightness of colors
that we thought to be plain
an the intensity of new hues
deeper greens, blacks, blues
when they blended and were the same

we are like light
attempting to be black and white
and managing only to discover how colorful we really are

Brightest
Finest
Sweetest
Softest
Standing there; the brightest, finest sight
Contemplates the sweetest, softest night

I am caterpillar
teeth hungry for things that leave me behind
leaves blowing in the wind when i wish i could call them mine
pieces of the past spit out for lack of taste, lack of color,
lack of the ability to reacreate, lack of everything that i thought was underneath my name
But that will all be over soon,
please, though i am caterpillar,
call me cocoon
help me spread silk over myself
to cover over all misery i have felt
help me forget the cards that i have been dealt
help me
GIVE UP MYSELF
turn me liquid. . .
dissolve all i have left
enzymes are invited to devour my deepest desires
I am tired of not being able to fly

Began with an emotionless admittance of a fact of attraction
I never imagined that even this would happen
But then emotionless admittance because emotional satisfaction
Desires I didnt remember could feel different in action
Fact is hearts never had to have
hope, to hope, to happen

I already knew that affection runs in all directions
but to realize that for it to be tinted ****** did not mean it was an infection,
that essentially it was all aimed at knowing your perspective and introspection,
and has become the spectacular insight that
between two people so alike and different as you and i,
this weird state of existence in ****** desire and friendship,
is beginning to be the exceptional exception to my age old misdirection.

I dont know if its just because you were there for the discovery
but i think for sure it has to do with your desire to discover me

so
when i begin to remember
how uncertainty and smiles slipped
across your skin the same way
blue silk did,

How uniquely i get to discover
the willingness to take leaps of faith
in my seeking faithless friend

How remarkably shocking it is
to see you lay yourself bare before me
and that you, to me
are such much more than half naked.

I get to see you.
I get to know more of you
than i ever have before
I get to discover so much more of who you are
when your plush pajamas hit the floor

When there is no longer liquid in your chest,
it is then that prayer serves best,
for prayer is lifeblood, akin to water from God,
mixed with your heart, to become a brand new flood,
that feeling may indeed be done at it's best,
and survived, and experienced,
and hell be made to feel like rest.

If you've ever realized
If it's ever crossed your mind
that praying
is like holding hands
with your self
and with God
perhaps your next thought would be
how
I must pray to God
that your right hand will soon be mine (again?)

just a slip into sight
turned around thought i might
catch a glimpse, i was right
saw your hands interwovern, intertwined
head bowed praying to the divine
then came a thought i'm not quite sure was mine
"praying is like holding hands"
with your self, and with the sky
with your faith and with fire
but whether you call me prince or call me liar
I wish you
were holding mine

watch fingertips slip into palms
hold tight and wish for everything you're too scared to say
-at least that's what i do, anyway,
I've got to wonder what you're praying for
I have a feeling
that, if i could dive into them, your prayers
(if i'm not already there)
that i would be inclined to tread water there to the edge of drowning
-and perhaps past-
If that's what it'd take to see them answered

here i am
and i dont even know you
i dont even know what you look like
except that one picture of your face
but that is not what i am thinking about
**** it

Tonight, and maybe again tomorrow,
i am going to pretend you're a memory
that somehow i could never touch or see you again
(and if i happen to, i'll overlay the sight with both a smile and a frown, maybe a grimace)
(turn quickly away and pretend that i can handle this)

I wonder if she knows how close i have become
to becoming just a memory
to never touching or seeing her again
(if she happens to, understand that I've nearly disappeared)
(laid a blade to my bare skin again a hundred times)
(if only in my mind)

i kiss you
and with each drop of rain
our outlines melt away
and with each second passing
i realize it's lasting
i realize that we are melding
in a puddle at our feet
that each drop is colored rich
with hues of you and me
that between us there is nothing
that with each place, each time you touch me
your heart sings in soft notes that you love me
and mine screams that i need you
that i love you too
and i never want to lose you
become one in a moment
we own it, no one can ever take it
if there's a problem we'll fix it
forget the word ending
end that kind of thinking
end it
erase the word ending from your vocabulary
replace it with a glorious second reality
and magically
it will disappear
and our fear
the fear that we're not good enough for love
will melt away
into nothing
in the rain
P.s. one day

Let's be honest here
I hear voices.
It's hard not to listen to them.
They are convincing.
Even when what they say is complete *******.

I keep smelling dead things,
and fire, and smoke,
ammonia, and ****...
I wonder if I'm dead,
or am dying,
If i'm laying there in the gully,
where his subaru crushed me into the ground,
if my chest has caved in,
if i've been moved yet,
leaving only a stain in the dirt
and a crash path through those frail little trees
How am I here?
and not there?
That is where i ought to be...
is this some hyper realistic dream?
has this already happened?
or is it happening?
and how the **** would i know the difference?

I will live this life as if i haven't yet,
make memories that matter,
even if i am already dead.
It is the best i can do.

My skin
thick like leather but tender
hearts sewn there by sharp needles in the shape
of dual question markes
reversed and entwined like lovers lacking answers
that they beg for
but there they are still embracing
still sown ragged, sore, and deep
and for the pain it took to put them there
I'll not rip out the stitches
that are
the hearts shaped like questions marks
that are part of me

I wish that i could stop dreaming because in the end my friend i wake up screaming. Blind and unseeing i arise, wide eyed with my voice flying from my throat. you all know that i have nightmares, or if u dont you dont care. Scribbles from my pen reveal that to feel one must live and to live one must lie awake at night, free to think with insanity flowing through his veins. Attacking sanity because sanity is a cage that enrages me.  The thinker , the feeler, the hoper, the dreamer. In all sanity one is far from reality. A wise man once said to me "things are not what they seem". The silent are screaming the dreaming are waking, the  fallen are flying, the living are dying, and still we cant see that we are blind to the truth. I was blind to the truth but now death is dead to me.

The clouds look like
my head feels.
I question what
is even real.
Foggy thoughts
gum up my mind.
Life as real...
as reason,
rhyme.

Rat a tat , tap on a desk
Pentip raps and the beat is my heart in
my chest
Stuck sitting
I can't stand it
If writers were criminals you'd catch me
redhanded
Words smoothe like red silk and silky
black.velvet
Syllables Spilling from my lips and sounding
like sanskrit

Wrote this
just.to say that I could write it
But it doesn't Set my heart on fire because
empty words can't
ignite it

been about a dozen.days since my pen has touched a page
Thought I had a message to.send but I.don't have much to.say

i can see the  reflection of a tree
sparesely decorated with colored leaves
hidden under or over - im not quite sure
the backgroud of my computer screen
behind me is the window
and sky, and wind, and trees
are just a second in that direction
but here i sit
in lecture, reflecting on reflections

there are two things i regret most.
they are
not realizing how far behind i had left God
and hurting you

your picture was enough to make me pause
i picked you up and looked at you,
smiled, remembered, looked down, paused,
and set you back down on the table

every breath that comes is a sigh
i mean
when wrote it i thought it and then it dies
will a simple text my hope sinks lower than the floor
and i can't feel straight anymore
im scared out of my mind that this isn't returned
im worried silent that ill relive what I've learned
if i fall to the floor crying will you hear me?
but no, my instinct not to hurt you
by screaming at you that you have hurt me is my shackles
and i torture myself here as i listen to you and you are wordless
stuck, silent at the other end of the phone
while here i am thinking what if
what if she doesn't love me
i can't really breathe
im sorry for the pain this brings
forgive me

shocked when i realize it's not fictitious i'm vicious, vindictive
not that i have a choice in this
woke up on the anniversary of a massacre
broken up but still can't stay mad at her
can't spit venom from my lips at the girl with those lips i once kissed
but i can seethe at the thought of who she replaced me with
woke up this morning it was raining on the 'tines
mind filled with bitter twisted lines
"i'll **** him if they kiss in the rain"
threw the thought away so it wouldn't show om my face
put a face on the same way i was replaced