There was an old woman,
Who lived in a shoe;
She ate peas with cumin,
And smelled like shampoo.
She listened to Poison,
And had 7 cats;
She ate berries of boison,
And did acrobats.
She worked at a ***** house,
Made dolls on the side;
She hated to work out,
But loved ham-fried rice.
She had crusty socks,
That she'd hide inside books.
She had hide-a-key rocks,
And rusty fish hooks.
Her only collection
Were lamps with no shades;
Her only rejection
Were moles with no names.
All she ever said
Was the great "cellar door."
And now that she's dead,
The shoe lady's no more.
"what an odd woman,"
I said with a poke.
"she's surely a strange one.
I smoke too much dope."

I lay on your chest and caress your soft skin
Kept pressed against my head.
I smell the scent of your sweet sweat and
Feel the chill of your warm breath on the back of my neck.
I let myself relax and don't ask what's on your mind
Cause I know what's on mine is so, completely different.
So instead of a question I could answer myself
My fingertips lightly trickle across each rib to your hips
While my lips skim your collarbone with a kiss
And then form the silent words
"I love you."
I don't even whisper cause I know you're listening to each breath,
And I bet if I would've said it, you would've left again.
Like when we made love a half hour ago,
You had me panting and pinned to the floor
While we just layed there- connected.
I could feel your heart beat against mine
And the beautiful pulse sent ripples of euphoria throughout
My entire body.
I wanted to tell you then, too, but didn't wanna lose the moment.
I had to blink back hot, stinging tears from flooding my soft, confused eyes because I know
I will lose you. Again.
It's just a matter of time now.
I hold you closer to me, and wanna plead, wanna beg
Please don't leave me! Don't break me again!
Just take me! And keep me until
My heart falls apart in your hands!
Then put the pieces back together, kiss them better, and keep them forever.
I wake up beside you and purr Goodmorning while my mouth
Teases your ear with teeth and tongue.
I call you my baby, like a 9 month old habit
That catches on quick after 3 months of cold turkey.
But it still comes natural to me,
And it seems so easy
To just tell you.
And I wish I could say everything...
But things are different now.

Feel myself become engulfed by it, and let
It's haunting scream at me.
Besides bruised ears I have only
Indifference for the actions that make up this daily
Facade. Useless
Are all these things... These things
I constantly find myself surrounded by. I'm lying
Through a dry mouth with sore lips, having been
Chapped to a torn up-bleeding-choking mess.
Nothing new or reasonable will come from this.
My body
Aches as though it were swallowed whole by the
Monster that is my reluctant reality; it's stale and
Putrid acids consuming me
From my organs to rotting flesh.
There is no grace, or hesitance about it.
Time rattles about my skull like a loose concept
Released to scatter across the ability to fathom.
It all holds me captive and yet I wander about
In a sort of dizzy-frenzy, obscured by confusion.
I dwell upon freedom, eager to escape the
Strangling hold of darkness, which has
Seemed impossible to surpass.
The world is a very big, very uncertain place that
I'm endlessly finding myself lost in.
I think of how there are so many, yet no
Real ways out.
So here I am... And none of it makes any sense.
The rigid strangeness is something so terribly familiar, and I
Only want to forget existence itself.
Who could predict such a forecast?
One with it's trembling skies shivering with fear,
And winds yearning to escape all the
Pressure in the atmosphere.
Endless agony penetrates my weakened chest, and
All of life clings to it's edges by
Frail fingertips alone.
Yet the skin is wearing thin, and beneath
Blood turns black and sour,
Aching with each year of misery.
This was my fate to experience.
*This is my punishment.

Want to write my thoughts down
In a clever, beautiful way.
Poetry should be graceful.
But creation is not a guarantee.
And it shouldn't be limited to wit and ease.
Who's to say where true beauty lies-
Behind the eyes of a soulmate,
Or maybe just in a forgotten smile on a sad lonely face.
There are just so many words,
And infinite possibilities.
Need to create to keep it real.
Because, who's to say what's real?
How can we even know if anything is ever original?
That's why I have to make art-
Just to prove to at least myself that there IS something
Throughout this void of oblivion that beckons truth.
And that truth- that real art-
That's music.
My music.
I am music.
Everything- if anything exists, is only pure music.
And that's all I can bet on,
When the chips are down.
I will be singing until my last breath ceases.
And music is the only real beauty that can save my soul,
Bring me peace, and
Carry me home.

Residing peacefully at the apex of all life's twists and knots of reality lies something fathomable only to the individual will of personal  existence. What could be so completely comprehensible and yet so seemingly incoherent in it's infinite entirety? Well, destiny. The only attempt to understand any of this frivolous madness and chaos is to begin by expanding your mind with the thought that regardless of which path chosen- fate will occur.
So no worries.
Although despite the will (however strong,) of the human brain with all of it's expedential  expandable abilities, one can not always attain and/or preserve a firm grasp on attempting or achieving control. This is indubitably so, when considering the beckoning temptations of life's every day situations- gnawing at the material egos of society like a stranger offering shiny hard candy from the depths of the darkest shadow.
What must be lingering at the backs of our minds? What there lies something so dark and dank and dense that we can only pursue a vast and vague definition for recognition? I can only be swept away by the engulfing wind of nothingness, and dissolve into the abyss of eternity.
Is it graceful- to fade away without resistance or even acknowledgment or consciousness? Or is that just ignorance? The questions can only mingle with the theories, the "facts," the nothingness of everything,  rather than be answered. Because there is no solution to the unknown, and this all is still only ever just a question of existence itself.

...So where do we go from here?

Regretting something said or done
In sobriety
While ******.
Mostly social interactions I suppose
Things I think I shouldn't speak,
Maybe its just me.
Why can't I see the common line
That divides this communal collective
Of what's generally perceived as
Normal.
Maybe its just not in me.
And maybe something's
                                                          Missin­g.
Like its
                 Not
                             Quite
     ­                                       T h e r e .
But nowhere else,
Either.
So maybe if you make me a
Map
Of the way humans should stay on path
I should take it
Like everyone else but I'm gonna have to
Pass on that
Because it would still only be just
As useless as the next thing
Or other
Neither will stitch the pathways like veins
To a translucent permeable
Sieve of a person
Cause these preset standards and demands
Are too much to ask for
The place of blood in these
Hollow vessels.
I should know,
See I've bled myself dry.
I'll scratch at my scars when they itch
But I'll ditch your insistent opinion about it,
Cause I don't need that ****,
Don't need nothin' and not needed.
Just stuck in between lines
On this compass of life
The clock of time
And the lines in my skin.
Wearing the world with
Mirrors for eyes.
Stare in all you like
There's nothing behind
But the knowing I'll never fully describe
Anything to anyone
In a way that is what I mean;
It isn't words that fail me,
But my unfathomable capacity to
Comprehend at all, and if I
Were to conceive a consciousness
Could I ever really communicate to you?
I don't think so, but
I won't ever know.
...
I wonder what sober me
Would say right now.

Blue smoke, jagged line.
Twitch, fix, no concept of time.
Meanings, meaningless notions
World wide apocalypse.
Black smoke, tight, straight, beaded line.
Headache, stomach-scraping, brain-spaced, no reality.
Concepts, comprehension, unfathomable theory.
End of human life.
Words, communication, expression, words words red lines.
Head, thoughts, spaced, stinging throb
Rotting chest, breath, lungs, smoke.
Get a gun, get a rope.
Black, gray, metal, panic, headache not real
Lines
Words
Lines
Words.
Smoke.
Panic, headache.
Confusion.
Time.
Reality, existence.
Fix.
Gun, rope.
**The end.

You know me too well.
And I'm running out of places to hide.
My mouth can't stop talking
When I only wish you would tell me something about yourself.
I wanna get to know you
On a level that no one else has reached
So your mind separates me from all the rest
And let's me in where no one else can go.
I want you to trust me,
Because I care about you so much
It keeps me up at night.
And I have to lye awake and think of
Your eyes, and the look inside them
When I make you smile, the way only I can.
And I confuse myself
Because it seems like I'm already dreaming.
I feel weightless when I'm with you,
Like nothing else matters.
But I'm constantly worrying about how you're doing,
And if I make you happy.
Just wish you would talk to me more
So I could let you inside my head
And think about your laugh and voice before I fall asleep.
But you know me too much.
And I know that doesn't mean as much to you as it does to me.
Still I wish you wanted to know more...
But you fascinate me.
And I wish you wanted me to know more about you.
I just want you to know
That I only want
To make you
*Happy.

Today would've been our anniversary-
But I'm spending it with my not-new boyfriend,
And you're probably doing something adventurous
With your new wife.
She would've been me,
If I hadn't left you for our best friend
The friend I gave you.
He taught me to free myself,
And you are more ignorant than I-
Because you think you're so ******* holy
And I hope you drown in your self-richousness.
My boyfriend and I
2 years and 8 months later
Were invited to your birthday party last week.
Of course we didn't go,
But I texted you to say thanks, anyway.
I got your number from my friend
That I gave you.
You replied that it was really only my boyfriend
Who would've been welcome
Cause your new wife doesn't want us to "interact."
What is she so scared of?
Couldn't be your cheating lips.
Your wife-
The one who would've been me,
And I'm so ******* glad that never happened.
Because you're a slave to your God,
The God you left me for,
The God I gave you.
I can't believe I'm writing about you again.
But this will be the last time,
And you and your wife can go get ****** in holy matrimony.

A vicious attack* of that crackling brainiac anthrax
To give back to society
Slack then just grab the heat,
Feed it to the needy who receive it thankfully.
Call it *poetry.
Who could see repressed punctuality proceeded
By the kick of a hit or three?
Gimme these retrospective variants
To a counterpoint's last stand,
Or voices
Speaking to a lost cost for freedom
That rips at the rotting veins of humanity-
I stood up for what I believed in,
But the world will too crumble when the sun's light dulls dead.
You can call this rambling for something
To take the brain-scraping ache away-
The pain of the mistaken vacant escape.
Who's to say that we're all just thrown here
To die and to try to believe in something that exists,
And if we can't find it then we're lost and wrong and
Guilty.
Leave me barely breathing  if the seeing is now ceasing
To a state of gray monotony,
And melancholy monsters creeping
Out from under the bed where my habits sleep-
And threaten with a scratch, hiss and  screetch
To
Wake
Me
*Up.