I have a camera.
Therefor, I am a photographer.
I take pictures of whatever I see
And upload them onto my facebook.

Look, I put this one in black and white.
Aren't I artsy?
My mom says I should open my own website.
I took a close-up of this flower.

I have a pen.
Therefor, I am a writer.
I write about the first thing that pops into my head.
And make sure I don't think about it.

I just wrote a poem about my ex.
We dated for over three weeks.
She broke my heart so badly.
I think I'll write a book.

I have a brush.
Therefor, I am an artist.
I slam my brush onto the canvas.
My art is very abstract...

I'm not sure what these paints are.
What in the hell is a "pastel?"
I get my paint from Wal-Mart.
I think I'll put this on eBay.

I'll dive down, my dear, down deep.
Dive down in a dastardly dive to the depths.
Past the Pacific's specific pretty swells and pests.
Placed in purgatory, pressed by pressure in peculiar places.

Be I broken? Be I busted? Be I brought to the bottom of the sea?
Be I beaten? Be I baffled? Be I back broken and sinking to the bottom of the bay?
Sinking? No, not I. I am not sinking, so say I am simply swimming and singing songs.
Slyly say that I swim with swagger, never sadly screaming, but sighing in my soaked sarcophagus.

Literature literally leaps, like a lioness letting lemurs leave her licked lips.
Books beg to be broken open by bored bosses and brothers and all others.
Poems practically pray for people to pick open pages of Poe and other ponderers of personification.
Metaphors make mothers and masters master their manipulative messages.

Similes smile slyly and smother the selfish and selfless alike like a snake or slaughterer.
And on average, only an artistic artificial android with an arsenal of all arithmetic and knowledge knows,
That though they thought that they could think like the theorizing thinkers,
Nearly nobody knows never to neglect knowledge, whether on rope knots or nautical knots, neanderthals or Narnia.

I am sick.
An illness of body, an illness of mind
Of illusion and time.

I am sick of the body,
Weakened and frail
Exhausted from the tolls of my days

I am sick of the mind
Slowed and stressed
Destroyed from the tolls of my days.

I am sick.
An illness of thought, an illness of inaction.
Of regrets and what-ifs.

I am sick of thought,
Because it brings me little good
And only makes me regret

And I am sick of regret
Because it makes me think
Which leads to what-ifs


Truly, without doubt, I am sick.
Truly, without doubt, I have an illness
But there are things more severe.

I am sick of mind, of body
I am sick of thought, of inaction
I am sick.
I am sick.

I pass you in the halls
And it reminds me
Of what we once were
And of what we now are

There were times when we would pass
And your face would brighten
And we would embrace
And the world would melt away

But now, your expression remains emotionless
And we act as if the other is just another anonymous character
And all the nights of holding each other and being there for each other
Just never even happened.

In truth, I have no right to be upset about this.
I moved on first, after all.
And I don’t regret it.
Not one bit

I move on to someone who treated me right
Who listened, and actually spoke, unlike you
Someone who can make me laugh
And I am happy, which I certainly never was with you.

And my mood has already changed
From solemn to serene
For, in the midst of writing, I realized
That you are gone

And then I smile
Because you’re gone, and you’ll stay gone
Oh, how I wish you could see this smile.
How I wish you could see this smile…

This smile is in place because
My brain just realized
That it doesn’t really mind if you're gone.
And all it cares about is that you stay gone

And now my heart realizes that it doesn’t care either,
Because it isn’t beating faster like it used to at the thought of you
And my eyes don’t want to look at you, so they are indifferent.
My entire body has forsaken you.

My arms don’t want to hold you
My legs don’t want to run to you
My hands don’t want to caress you
My soul doesn’t want to know you.

My entire body has forsaken you
As you had forsaken my love
With the coldest of scornful feelings
And no regrets.

And I sit, and think of you
And what we once had
And I know that, if I tried, I could get it back.
And I could have you back to how you once were.

But the thing is….
I really don't care.

Let's break the planet into shards.
Let's do with ease what they call hard.
Let's make a mansion out of cards.
Let's make the ocean burnt and charred.

Let's turn an ounce into a pound.
Let's take a square and make it round.
Let's make it so no one can frown.
Let's go swimming underground.

Let's make a city on the moon.
Let's make the sun go down at noon.
Let's make what never happens happen soon.
Let's have winter on the first of June.

Let's fall in zero gravity.
Let's give away the world for free.
They say it's impossible, but they don't see.
Anything is possible for you and me.

the horn starts sounding,
my head starts pounding,
the whole world's surrounding,
off these walls i'm bounding,
the walls of the city i'm founding,
from this there's no rebounding,
they just wont stop hounding,
my problems they want me expounding,
everything's confounding,
me this is astounding,
their questions are resounding,
until I hear their echoes sounding,
And so,
I let them know,
And then they let me go.