Empty bags and candy wrappers
Left strewn about
From my last attempt
To fill this feeling
To suppress this anxiety
Only for it to fail
And give birth to a different sickness

The rage I feel when I look in the mirror
The body I was given
And all that I have done to it
I want it to be beautiful
But just can’t keep up with the work
So the burning grows inside
I’ve gotta let it out
And I want it to hurt

There’s no one else to blame
No other half
I’ve just one brain
There is no wicked tempter
Only chemically driven impulse
I only lose my temper on myself
I want to squeeze til there’s no pulse
I want to shatter my mirror
And use the broken pieces
To carve the body I wished to see
When the mirror was whole

Evolution has chosen jealousy
To be an intrinsic trait for us all
Even at the top of the world,
Novels and songs are written
About how much easier life is
At the bottom of the *****.
Perhaps this is the reason
For the routine poisoning of ourselves
Just for a break from all the monotony
To finally be someone else
If only for an evening.
Drinking and smoking
To celebrate to become
Someone else…
Nobody, in this life, wants to be
themselves.

I hope you feel like a big strong man
When you only pick the fights you know you can win
Only for the sake of beating somebody else
In your world it’s tactics
But in mine it’s cowardice
If an advantage is an advantage
And that’s all that matters
Don’t cry foul when karma’s work is carried out
And the big strong manly hunter is reduced to helpless prey

Clear
Deceit
Knowing
Life is noise
And the static
Breaks the silence
When thoughts emerge
With violence turning their heads
Are we made to just burn on our knees for the king?
It’s time to stand on our own cliff
Away from their wealth
Embrace the static
Invite silence
Noise is life
Until We
All Fall
Slowly

Can’t wait for the sun
Can’t wait for good rain
We’re pulling fruit off the tree early
Just to get something on the table today
I wish I had the time to let these thoughts grow
But this year demands it’s daily tribute
And so we will bring an offering
Of what we can manage to grow in a day
And mourn the loss
Of things that could have been so beautiful

Who knew
Feeling so fine
Could be so frustrating

Writing has been therapy
A mode of self expression
On my worst days
I can let out all the sadness
And all the rage
Put them into words
Fill another page
But what do I do when everything’s fine?

As artists we strain to capture things
Feelings or descriptions of events
Meticulously obsessing over every detail
So that when you hear that soaring melody
After the dissonance resolves
And your eye catches the little details
Painted in so carefully
And the words like bricks
Build up the image of our mind’s musings
You get it.
It resonates with you.
But what is there to do
When nothing is breaking my heart
Nothing is making me happy or angry
My mind is devoid of curious thoughts
Only filled with contentment

I can’t help feeling
I took those painful nights for granted
Where I cried myself to sleep
Just wishing something would change
Because now I’ve gotten so efficient
At describing the pain
That I’m lost on a day that’s just fine


Seven-thousand words,
And a shining moon in the sky,
Waxing and waning the nights away,
The well has been drained for so long
Every poem so raw,
Unfinished, sparking at the first idea
That lets the stem spread
From the seed.

Today is unusually mundane,
And nothing seems to find a place on the page,
Since nothing seems short of fine.
Who knew that the night could be so peaceful
All alone riding these waves,
With no cloud blocking the stars in the sky
Who knew that the weight carried
Would pile on
Until floating here in the middle
Didn’t feel so difficult all of a sudden,

The pages turn,
The days pass on,
And the weight slowly gets lifted off,
But where do you turn when there’s nothing left
To be said?
Where do you turn,
When the wind doesn’t set the sail
In any particular direction,
And the sun sets a moderate temp?

Trouble and turmoil
Makes the story more engaging,
But the truth is in the calm waves
And the cloudless sky,
Giving a sense of peace
Not found so often;
I’m not sure if it’s worth a lie
To engage more to read,
When I’d rather think about
The gentle breeze
And clear sky.

Dissociation saves, in my soul,
A shard of grief
For the next friend of mine
That leaves.

Hiding away into fantasy,
Pretending when I let mind
Slip from the hinges
Into the foresight.

An Atlas hold on my sky
Before the fall,
Knowing bracing
Won’t save bone from
Shards and splinters.

Fearful of loneliness
And forgottenness,
Shaking at honesty
Taking my fingertips
To write the truth.

Fantasy embraces me gladly,
As the thought of you two leaving,
Takes sanity and peels it
Like a scab.

Please don’t forget about me, my friends.