I find myself sitting between safe familiar walls, locked in fear. I am strapped to my cozy comfort, hiding from the opportunity just outside the door. I am glued to my routines with the anxiety of responsibility acting as the mortar sealing me in these walls. The chain is up and no visitors are coming this way this while. I am bound here by the metallic binding of my boredom. I am content yet restless... disturbed by the stillness of a whirlwind of a life that is blowing by too fast to take a breath... gasping for air as I inhale nothing but billowing plumes of dusty ash. And it is here that I dwell with no sustenance but the hopes and dreams of a place I will race to one day. After these walls become memories tinged with the sad familiar stories of a time that cannot be bought back. And so I know we come and go and with us these walls, this sanctuary of a prison. This place where time crawls as the world speeds along out the window and I am trapped here by my own ****** doing.

Your badass big brother is scaring and scarring you worse than ever.
He is not pressing his swollen fist to your familiar face,
But pounding the pavement in a ****** knuckled black out rage.
Reliving those war born, flesh torn gunshot mortaring days
And though his breast is bare and skin unscathed his heart is purple.
Refusing to share with you the cause of his eternal internal strife
And what has caused the **** on the soul of this wounded warrior.
Unable to comprehend the horrors too vividly vile for a brother’s ears.
Then you realize that your brother has gone far away for a while,
But you don’t really know if that gap toothed kid with goofy smile
Will ever come home from the bombing brutality of manipulative men
Since the battlefield is not a place, but a past that remains present.

You are a river running through my thighs and tearing through my thoughts
Swirling with uncontrollable currents swelling your banks in a gush of flooded waters.
My shaft like an icicle in March as it drips trickling drops of water subtly shrinking in size
A milky potent sludge streams from swollen sweaty lips between legs as a gasp slips.
A gentle poignant poke in the place I least expect probes my interest in filling time slots.
Thoughts flow from heads as blood flows to my head in a fistful of fun,
But do not let mere fuckery and folly become a disguise for intentions underlying intimacies.
This is not some superficial pursuit.
I want to peruse the intricacies of each extremity.
I want to corral each thought in my precious memory,
A delicate delicacy not uprooted by contemptuous jealousy.

I am the Night.
I am a faint breeze sifting through the solemn sound of silence.
I am the creeping clutch of the depths of your dreams dragging your eyelids closed,
The greatest feats and familiar fears encountered in an entrancement of your fantasy
I am the flecks of white flayed upon the dark canvas to highlight a lone silhouette,
The fades and shades of blues and hues of purple slowly entangling in a twilight tragedy.
I am the symphony composed by crickets and cicadas tuned right to the moonlight,
The crescendo of chimes under a crescent casting light through cloudy blinds.
I am shared whispers under a beach blanket spoken to the rhythm of the tide,
The ebb and flow of an equivalent current stroking the sea-soaked shore.
I am the dew dripped damp grass curling beneath bare feet of midnight lovers,
The cold, forgotten feeling of slivers of leaves weaving their way between tickled toes.
I am the moon attempting reflection of a greater beauty back upon the world,
A mere semblance of the sublime sunken Sun sentenced to never bask in her own radiance.
I am the creation born of the breathtaking Sun kissing the very end of the world,
A longing caress of her rays upon the horizon grasping my cool fingers as the world falls away.

Forging in mind’s eye the assumption of reliable consumption of reality. Where the nativity of creativity begins condensation while receiving condemnation en masse. A shitstorm rages now, a widowmaker of incomprehensible complications to the causality of casualties of class. Discouraging color, forcing the implication of domestication of thought, wearing casual ties and carrying a briefcase, all for hope of a brief taste of success in excess. Do not assume that I can be reduced to my résumé.

I am an introspective extravert inexplicably exerting determination and ******* of normativity in my delivery. I am a Neo-narcissist, a true self-arsonist surrounded by crumbling spires of self-respect, yet I refuse to neglect my superior intellect, but my ego exemplifies my worst and testifies to my selfish intents and purposes and even worse is, my flaws. And now all I can do is pause and reflect upon what made up, makes up the mind of man in me and whether or not we are all slowing, and lazily going crazy or just me.

Every scar, scratch, mark and line
All stems from the great divine
The waters gushing rushing down in falls
The reds stained brown on canyon walls
The softly squirming streams of blue
The bashful laughter of lucky few
The strings of light tied to intense heat
The nimble hands and most crafty feet
The valleys scraped in mountain side
The lost art the Earth doth hide
All bear semblance to that divinity
Thine holy source of identity
Alas the vast, beautiful world we see
Erupts from sacred center in “me”