sometimes I'm bored
not feeling it

so close in touch with death
I still think no one is watching over me

sometimes
I hear this song
he knows the one
goosebumps
or is it the air coming in from the high windows

calling over my sadness
I was happy
now my smile is losing its charm

sometimes
I wonder where we go
where we are
where we stay

sometimes
there's no meaning
at all

now

finding myself
fast approaching death

sometimes
all we need is a day out
to remember we're not alone

look everyone breathes in the same air
!

sometimes
you just need to hug a pillow
stop thinking
sleep away

“YEAH!...YEAH!...I’M AT TH’ BARNES AND NOBLE…YEAH?...
I SAID I’M AT TH’ BARNES AND NOBLE!!!!...YEAH!…
THE SHADES!…YEAH, THE SHADES!…I MEASURED THE SHADES!…
YEAH!...OH, YEAH, HE’S A DARLING!...I SAID HE’S A DARLING!!!...

YEAH!...A DARLING!...SO LEVERAGE THE PRICE!...YEAH!...
LEVERAGE THE PRICE THEY AIN’T GOT NOTHIN’ YOU DON’T
SO YEAH LEVERAGE THE PRICE!...SO THEN SHE SAID
THAT HE SAID THAT SHE SAID!...I SAID THAT SHE SAID

THAT SHE SAID THAT...I’M AT BARNES AND NOBLE!..
YEAH!...BARNES AND NOBLE…SO LIKE I SAID THAT...!!!

Wiring holding down and moving body parts
The will of all our coding is creating in the arts
its safe to say its some what the same but different in some other way.
Its safe to say it could be understood in a thousand ways so it probably should.
But floating on thought we think we think we hold our ground
and talking alot we think we think we think we are
wiring holding down and moving body parts.
Body parts equipped with magnetic hearts
Creating some fascist art
and hating some fascist art.


This is a song I wrote.
https://youtu.be/NxtF5ZIsPKw

we can
never
go back.

to Sunday
mornings,


with the
loves
of our
lives.

turning over
like an
open love
letter
for only
them to
read
in our
bed.



holding us
dear.

it is
a reflection
that you
can
never
focus
to clarity.

a heart
beat
that
skips a
beat,

and then
never
comes back
to you
again.

a first
kiss

just once.

and then
it runs away
from your
lips.

and at the
thought
of him.

you rush
for the
cold
salvation
of a
ice
shower
against
your skin.

whenever
to remember
when.

it is a
solitary maze
you walk..

and his
arms are
lost
to you.

and my
words.

are such
a poor
substitute

for the
look
in his
eyes,

whenever
he would
see you.

the laughter
in his
voice,

over
something
that you
have said.

this Sunday
morning

I can't
promise.

I can't
promise.

I can only
give
you these
pauper's
words

and a
place
to rest
your
weary
head.

tonight.

Our prayers
answered
in your
heavenly
bed.

quenched
thirst

from a
midnight
passioned
kiss.

my hand
resting
on the
small
of your
angel
back.

time
keeper
moments,

that
define
us.

moments
­that we
navigate
upon,

like
stars
of the
constellations
above
our head.

no boundaries
there
in your
siren
smile.

only
contentment
as you
rise
your
eyes
to mine.

in the
mist
of fallen
dreams,

amongst
the rumble
of broken
hopes.

you will
always
find
a moment
to tenderness

here.

waiting
for you

in my
eyes.

“Don’t ruin my artwork”
He said to me when I was still his canvas
But he grew less fond of my colors, now dull
My blues to greys
Fading away
The white washed over me
And I was no longer his masterpiece