the palms keep vigil over the tired countryside. orange trees bear clusters of golden sun ripened in the red noon. cypress clean clouds from the azure where insects glimmer, sparks born of incandescent sunlight. i listen to the rhythm of silence scented by fabulous blossoms. and my spirit is drawn towards these heavy desires that haunt the coolness of shade.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

T-shirt soaked in blood,
Throbbing pain in his nostrils,
He needs a doctor.

You see the slump in my shoulders
the way I carry myself
the burdens of boulders
that threaten my health.

When you ask what's wrong
I pull up my guard
don't want your pity or sad song
won't tell you why life's hard.

So if you want to know
I'll bottle it inside
wrap up all remains in a black bow
and tell you I'm fine.

Someone asked me to draw
Draw what heartbreak looks like
I finally got tired of drawing a broken heart
And I started drawing you

Even the whitest of lies
Turn blood red
                      after they
                                     have been said