Who do you call when your brain is on fire?
When sunshine strips
begin to fade from the bed sheets,
And you find, yet again,
That you've allowed a day's worth of stability
To deconstruct itself.
For a while, a silhouette you will remain,
Chasing the origin of light,
Only to fall into the one thing blocking it.

What happens when a brain is burnt out?
Drawing out breaths that latch to the cold air,
When you stand with weary muscles,
A title wrapped around your forehead,
And a frustration festering.
Holding close to the last remaining memories,
Of security, of solidarity, of purity.
Losing yourself to yourself,
Costs less and less each time.

When do you decide a brain needs fixing?
When the ride home is full of regret,
And your legs cannot stop shaking.
A miserable night will be swept under the rug,
So dogear the scripture you spoke belligerently,
And the world will suddenly seem small.
A breakdown happens when most needed.
A breakthrough happens when least expected.

How do you fix a brain?
Probably, the day without questioning it all,
Will be the day you figure the most out.
If we can get a mixed up mind to settle,
Then the first thing to learn would
Be the acknowledgment of a new, better life.
We will all survive our demanding brains,
if only someone will show us the way,
Will someone please show us the way,
Before another brain is ignited?

Tears grow heavy as you watch all that you once were begin to rust away.
You do not feel sadness,
but nostalgia,
as clouds containing past lives and past loves circle the space around your head,
Screaming in your ears.
However, you know that becoming a new bundle of energy and knowledge is a great expedition you must embark on by your lonesome, without distraction of any sort.

Those dust-covered shoes struggle to comply at first,
But without any other hesitation,
you set off towards a door that has now made itself known.
With a hand pushing through,
you turn to look at the carcass of twisted memories and,
not knowing if this is directed towards yourself or maybe something bigger than that,
you ask aloud,
"please, tell me before I go, who was this one? This time around, who was I?"

Someday soon,
under a new sun,
We will sing a bird's song of white and gold hues.
Of beaming light.
Of warmth encompassing all that we love.
And it will be magnificent.

Symbolism set before my eyes was never captured well
Every mitch-match color-washed mistake was one that went unnoticed
Before me now, I have to choose,
Do I stick with the ultra misunderstanding,
Or do I learn to accept the way of the world?
Do I fight for what has been living inside,
Or let fate show things good and new?
These days,
I'm reteaching myself how to form memorable bonds
It beats sitting alone,
Reliving the old ones
Returning to past lives and past states,
When It's tearing out the senses,
And replacing them with tales,
Some of which aren't even my own,
Some of which never happened,
And will never occur

We are all allowed a small sprinkling of sincerity when brought into this world
A gift that many of us fail to see or lose once we have
This is a truth that I have been referred to by my never-ending endeavor
One I wish I had known my entire life and now will never let go
One I will forever fail to let go

In translucent hands
he reads a scripture belonging only to him,
and from memory, he'll rebuild his own illumination.

Themes of my former self are beginning to arouse my brain yet again.
States of dark discomfort are starting to show themselves as beacons of light in this strange season.
Possibly to save me from an emptiness much worse than their own,
Or possibly because it is the price I must pay for trying to rid them from my mind like the body does toxins.

I feel their cold nails ripping into my head,
Running a frozen drip down my spine.
They feast on my self-esteem,
And leave a haze on my judgment.
The days consist of fear and emotional turmoil,
At night, I only hope to make it to the next day.

I find it incredibly horrifying to say,
but I am not entirely resistant to this chaos.
Once they arise, I voluntarily retreat into their catacombs.
They act as a guide through the months of frozen life and tell me I must feel their pain,
That it is wrong for me to feel anything else.
Am I weak for succumbing to the torture they force upon me?
Is it insane to find small comforts in their twisted reality?

Surely, my dear friends, I know the answers.
I beg of you please, do not worry about my safety.
Come the days that thaw my bones,
I will be free once again.
I will have survived, as I always have before.

From the beginning, a trillion little atoms
Always moving, finding their place
Responsive, but not sentient

The flowers of life, the fruit as well
A window into all of us, all of this
Holy, but not indestructible

A yellow primary, each head spinning along underneath
Warming the structures - steel, wood, and bone
Magnificent, but too far to reach

The world full of beauty, only known to the willing
Opening the paths, walking the doors
Endless, but almost forgotten

Walking forward, each of us beaming
Since the day is long, crisis comes on its own time
Anticipating, but not hesitant

A creation so significant, letting one roam free
Glimpsing endlessness, those who use it
Unbreakable, but not against itself

A man aware of his own existence, a coward
Still securing his fate, a fraught afterthought
Responsive, but no longer sentient

Mirroring how the sun falls on cold days,
I can only ever manage faint farewells.
Hands folded across their laps,
and every window left open to hear the rain,
I stumble back to my own safe haven,
But leave scars upon every prophecy they speak.
The truth is I never listened to the wind much.
I never heard the strings ascend,
I never felt the ground move beneath my feet.
I never understood the sweet collections of words
Whispered from a corner of an unknown bedroom
Into the flooded pit stops of my attention span.
I cannot continue to build my own imagery,
Forcing the wallowing, passionless connection
To take ahold my of affection.
Assembling a mixture of memories which
Aren't even my own, haven't happened,
And will never occur.
These heinous acts will allow
Even the slightest amount of aspiration to
Unravel, leaving me with an excuse to deny,
Yet again, All of the bursting white light.
Former lives will pass across the ceiling,
While each new moon phase reveals,
that I am not, and never will be, who I intended
As I grew from innocent, to in control.
The truth is, I am far from in control.
I never allowed myself to listen to the wind.
I have always wanted to hear the strings ascend,
I need to feel for the moving ground.
I must understand the sweet words that will carry me away,
The words that will make me feel whole and free.

For the truth, I've cut my ties with the collective

I find no relevance in this world

I am a mere onlooker, a silent seeker

Conforming myself to the likes of an outcast

Without any regret, however, I find support in my mind,

In a clairvoyant entity I have only surmised,

And a place I can only envision; the one in the sky

My soul belongs to something greater, but elsewhere

I intend to find my purpose, for the truth is all I need

However, as triumphant as an ultimate answer may be,

The world during the course of a search for meaning,

Is chilled and repetitive, constantly threatening sanity.

I keep looking for the inspiration to **** what's picking away at the roof of my mouth
The only words I ever have to say are those relating to:
The irreplaceable,
The irresponsible,
The unfathomable
Maybe that's why the only time I can puke is through others and their drunken lips
My eyes continue to break down because of the oily liquid behind them
Sloshing and leaking through the holes I covered with painters tape
This liquid will soon freeze like the rest of the world around me
I'm afraid with that,
I'll be stuck until the thawing spring
I'm building myself up
I'm involuntarily stocking for the winter
Casting each and every brick with the plaster that is my memories
A wall so high that I can't even get over
I'm scared
Just like everyone else
It continues to get darker and higher and by the time it all crumbles,
I will be blind,
Just like everyone else
A numbing feeling in my fingers will spread to my knees and to my toes and over to the people I surround myself with
Surely enough this is just a prediction,
An assumtion,
A reaction because of the feelings that come with every passing year
I have my friends,
I have my girl,
And I have my life
This much I can say I don't think I'll ever lose
I no longer care about what I have to offer the world,
I no longer care about not caring
For all of the trust I have built within myself,
I hope,
Is enough to keep me sane
And at night, I sleep the same position as I always do,
As if I'm next to her
Warmth from her chest and words
From her arms wrapped around my largening waist
Her eyes to cover my eyes,
Her lips to cover my lips, and hands to grasps my throat
so I don't swallow any more than I should
Or else I will drench all of what I've worked for
And the things I have used to relieve the side effects of a life that once was
A life that still lingers of drunken stoupers,
And infinite wisdom of the good at heart,
Will become nothing more then the dust of a young boy with nothing to lose,
Nothing to call his own,
Nothing but a scared, shirvering blanket full of smoke and strings
And this rediscovering
Of every single time I stayed in bed
Afraid of the things offered
Will soon enough creep its way through the tearing of the fingers tied
Cutting with every time I felt I didn't belong
Losing strength
Gaining weigth until it snaps
Falling away just like every time I've grown

However,
I have more string in my pocket,
The heavy duty kind,
The kind that will withstand the wet, and the cold, and the crooked
For my own sake and for hers

Growing the land on which I have stayed for years, the drought has finally ended
Carved in the passing thoughts of mortality,
I can finally free myself from the future,
And the life I have studied much too often
My friends,
My love,
I can be everything I want to be now

We wake in a fresh sunflower field,

A bright, honey-coated sunrise revealed.


Familiar tunes call to thee,  

“It’s good to see you again, this is a home to me.”


Later, with noon allure rising,  

My open arms grip your sizing.


Like swaying branches on this sunny day,

We whisper warmth in everything we say.  


With quiet, unnoticed time moving on,  

We lay softly on the purple patched lawn.


The budding spices in our evening breeze,

Soon accommodates the buzzing of the frogs and bees.


We dance as serene as how the day flew by,

And rest our backs against the orange sky.  


Eventually, the stars shine above with a spin,

Our next lovely day will again soon begin.