They talk so often of it
that they forget,
it's Consistency over quantity
that leads you to it.

This is not a poem.
This is an outcry.
Enough is Enough.

A meadow
    is more than
       a blade of grass
          but make no mistake
           that meadow
          would not be
        the same
without it.

Beginnings are found
   in vacant silhouettes
   and a need
  
to stifle the chill.

So starts the
   Rampart, a fortification
   of one’s heart.

But though the
   barricade may comfort
   with impenetrable walls.

What’s inside will starve
   If never allowed out.

It’s a clever find,
   putting doorways on
   the passages of mind.

To find a way out
   without letting
   the Heat out.

But while outside,
   playing amongst Wonders,
remember, so too
   exist Blunders.

And to they,
   in a door unblocked
   there is no delay

Watch them follow
   you home, a scheme
   to let the Heat out.

So comes the latch
   to protect and preserve.

You may leave, a
   few times at first,
   without caution or dread

To find shock on return,
    a pathway ajar.
You see, Blunders are clever
    they can pick and can pull

For each Blunder
   needs a latch,
   specific to the last.

Before long avoiding
   Blunder leads to
   a collection of protection

And a maze on one's heart
  can be more complete
  than any rampart.

Remember that when
   you fear the chill,
though latches may
   seem to be key,
It's making peace with Blunder
   that is the path to Wonder.

"Excuse me?"

and
  a flash
   is all it takes
    to shunt the flow

-Don't

         but a moment's hesitation
        fails to arrest the flood
     and for a moment
it feels good

   as something
             Authentic
                     boils over.
                                                           ­                 It's Boiling Over

                                      I'm slipping.
      
You're talking
                                          Unheard
    
Sounds
      Choked by
            the Runaway

"Are you ok?"

and
  a flash
    is all it takes
      to shunt the flow

"I need a moment"
"Oh... ok."

and then
Quiet.

"I... I should probably go..."
"yea, it's ok. I'm ok."
"I'll text later"

following promise,
termination's tone

as canvas
becomes foreign

-you're dissociating

Words of fixtures
turn to foreshadows

             -You're dissociating

Thoughts segregate


                            -You're Dissociating


good faith
and isolation
give safety to a tear

and
  a flash
    is all it takes
      to allow a Flood.

Everybody knows
    the meaning of a rose.
        The bud,
            the bloom
        The wilt,
            it's doom

It's as if flower's grace
    lives only in a vase
But it's only the cut
    that bloom to depart

A rose isn't in bud,
    not petal,
        nor thorn
A rose is a Bush
    from root,
        past stem
Those crimson hues
    atop shapes in green
        are just a product

    A moment in time

The whole is what matters
    Not metaphors in tatters

The severed may droop
                like you've finished the loop
            but all you've done
        is cut stem from root
    and in doing so
Only killed fruit.

Racing vectors,
a taste of pause.
Trajectories congregate
over darkness and bitter.

sip

Looking over
argue and laughter,
through their smiles
is a distance in miles.

Solitary and rest
blanket lonesome
in the company of
other.

sip

A pause,
it's all it takes.

To peer around
these cobbled walls,
pieced together by
nuanced pitfalls,

to find other alike.

With a peek they
look over their own,
past and beyond,

their darkness and bitter.

I raise my cup
and take a

Sip.

Tracing edges,
seeking frame.
Emerging sight
adores symmetry.

Perfection lives
in outlines drawn
at first light.

But transparent forms
held together
with Razor seams

are frangible

.

How it hurts at first,
to see the cracks.

Looking honestly,
passing glass
and into gaps.

Find yourself where
sketches fall away
and translucency
gives to accuracy.

Because beauty
doesn’t live in
vacant forms.

It shatters borders
while it screams

to be Seen.

Look now
at Fingers
cast along plain

As a dying Light
settles into the horizon
Fingers become Flood

Creeping Blackness
consumes landscape
until it’s exposed

Once the eye
and heart
Adjust

Its easy to see

darkness only exists
on the border of Light

Two truths in parallel.
        One of Duty.
                The other, Tender.
Their parallel nature
        Makes them seem tangled,
                Knotted.
But Love and Commitment are not one.
        Two truths separated by Self.
                Sacrifice that and
weave truths around what remains.
        Because ropes
                are stronger than
                        unruly knots.

It caught once.

Not lines of blue,
such crashes of hue.

It was small, the spark.
And alight, the bark.

What comes after?

My house, a cinder.

The room is empty but not vacant.
She is curled,
a density without
Weight

When the ring comes,
It is felt by
a thread that tried at
Something else

In the empty
that something else...
Tugs

Your call is a reminder
Of how we moved

But you can’t pull the weightless

Don’t you see?
When we moved
You moved something foreign.

I’m not the kind of girl who stays the night
She says

I know
You say

But what else do you say when,
Her legs are twisted into yours
Her hands linger in yours
Her breath stalls,
moist on your chest.

She gets up
and finds Her clothes one
By
One.

But you didn’t know the dress
could be as **** as the strip.
And clothes are off again,
And She melts back into,
Your…
Everything.

You cant conn forever
Eventually, She finds her way
Out of touch
And You sit,
And lay,
And sleep.

You still like choking, don’t you?
You had almost forgotten
and play into her kink,
she is not the same girl.

You left the girl who doesn’t stay
Here, you placate your desire
for something that isn’t yours.

she moans,
she bends,
she comes,
You don’t.

she stays the night,
and you wish she didn’t.

The words come
In places that you’ve saturated
With people that saturate you

They say that when words come
One should have paper handy
To scribble madly

But the words come
In cherished moments
Where time can’t afford loss

So the words go
To them
To her

To heart

Find them there
When pen meets paper
Because

When words go
More will follow.