In tiny tiles of colors,
You are perfection.
In simple lines of words,
You are meaningful.

But in the  static state,
The moving you,
You are the train
That reached the outskirts of town --
Trying to run away from reality.

I am empty
Like a wasteland I am empty
Desolation should've yielded comfort by now
Left without time to call my own
I am not even my own person
How can I be another's?
It seems a simple desire, to belong
Yet I've never fit

My life is one of internal isolation
Can that separation and life itself exist, harmoniously?
As always, I hold doubts and withhold hope

Nihilism, pessimism...it all blends the same stench
I am with the crowd in my saturation, if nothing else
Perhaps more are empty than I thought

I estimate myself as beyond all others
Inner capacity poised for pain and self-conflict
What is my mental pain, so toxic, in the wake of Hell's disasters?

Please, I need a true companion
Romance would be the unexpected bonus, if possible
Hear me, comfort me, be there for me
I admit to my utter weakness and frailty
Now I bare myself in an attempt to finally strengthen
Now I need a mentor, a true mentor

Are you out there?

Surrounded
All of me contained
Attire but another layer, another mask

Wounds heal and bleed,
heal and bleed, heal and bleed,
Pain never yielding

I observe, I witness
only shadows
and not the glistening
which bore them.

Except for one
at a time.

Time between each flash
inconsistently lapses.

I feel the fear
overtaking
this prolonged era.

Fear unto darkness
What remains
of my own luminescence remains
contained within.

I will bare only when a
Light pierces, blinding
all I know
when I finally open
my eyes.

Take a step back
--believe me, I did--
and see that the pain
of love is a universal,
defining trait here.

Where are the words
--where is the celebration--
for obscure
pop culture references?

Surely some overly obsessed
Game of Thrones nut
has some worthwhile words
to share
if but for a day.

Shadows thrive upon complexity
Vague and nonsensical
The untrained, without resolve
Welcome all to cast their shades
Deeper inside they oft reside
Wilting, transfiguring
Til the field they presume to preside
Flourishes with roses black
as obsidian

Yet the seed may still be planted
Yielding a flower tall, light and bright
Consuming those beneath until vacancy remains

High is the Sun, white is the Orchid
Tempered radiance, gradual growth
More shall fill the newfound garden
While Day brings its gifts
Crescendoing by the simplest
of cool Spring breezes
Coming and going through
The end of another season
Promising its constant return.

Clumsy creator
scribbling whimsical impulses
silently crying with desire for bliss;
the one-sided dream of popularity.  

Such history
angst protrudes
endless words repetitive
for all shades to a single
melancholic emotion.
Comfort comes from discomfort
past and present.  

His tales err
each day a page
littered with blemishes,
the next forever blank
until written so.

Don't dwell too long
correction's left to
what the future promises;
more room to fill
than a page growing
ever so occupied,
worry growing rapid
like a child to a parent.

Despair
long the struggle
you must overcome.

The weather for any path we take
realized by our mind's forecast
our eyes the screen we sense.

Solace may come
when rain falls heavy
yet the sun shines
promising growth with
the earth long overseen;
beauty cannot forever cling to
nights and overcast days
while light permanently contrasts

So please
embrace balance.