In the mirror I see,
An old vase, full of white chrysanthemums,
Under a sea of emotions,
I imagine the vase in vast hues of blue, red, purple, green.
It changes and morphs into my creation,
but the chrysanthemums persist,
for a vase is a vase, change is change,
but what is inside stays the s̶a̶m̶e̶.

D̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶c̶r̶y̶ ̶l̶i̶t̶t̶l̶e̶ ̶b̶o̶y̶,
you are vain, blasphemous, ungrateful
         an arrogant and flawed poetic braggart.
you are an egomaniacal, cold, self centered fragile flower
          of your own self built malediction.
your heart black, wicked, evil, vengeful.

Don't cry little boy,
    just avoid the mirror,
       avoid the thousand cuts of self inflicted pain.
          as the man you grew into gazes back.

When did I detach myself from the current of reality,
eternally fused to the nothingness that awaits us?
To become a slave of dreams and machinations.

When did I become another heartbeat,
longing for fantasies of love,
only to find the anguish that comes from human desire.
Knowing that we are powerless to our fascinations.

How many days go by, as we long to be remembered?
For art, for name, for doing, for living
only to reach the same end of obscurity.

They call me a deconstructionist, a detester of life.
But are we not worthlessly tied to this current of life?
We are born with no concepts, no meaning, an echo of what is to come.
& that same echo escapes us in the end.

This pain I have carried.
   This pain I proclaim,
        This song I sing,
             This song of love,
                  I can not erase
                    when will
                       I finally
                           be
                             f̶r̶e̶e̶?̶

I have written thousands of poems,
30,000 thousand words and counting.

A quilt of memories both mine and yours,
   quatrains and couplets amongst swaying palm trees.


I wrote about anger, I wrote about hate,
   I wrote about death, I wrote about love,
       I wrote about lust, I wrote about you.

I drew maps in the stars,
   and my words became waves of emotion plunging
     me ever deeper into insanity.

But the words yet left unwritten,
    can not be created or describe,
       each day l̶i̶v̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶

This wave of emotions,
that has invaded with savory harmony of unbreathable anxiety.
Mornings to nights, nights faded. . .
sorrows well achieved and joys badly lived.
Be still my wounded heart,
as it pulls me in.

Have you ever felt the pain?
Not of dying, not of love.
Not of pain, but of a word with no escape.
It's silence is deadly, like an ardent comet full of expression,
devouring your mind, body and soul, never blooming into existence.
Have you ever felt this pain?

@ 3AM
melancholy state of mind,
  wishing you were,
    yearning for this real life simile to end.
      hoping today is the day I do not compare anyone to you.
        for I love you and hate you,
           save me from this ᴊᴜxᴛᴀᴘᴏꜱɪᴛɪᴏɴ
.

NAN
You write about heartbreak, then comedy.
Opening up, only to close yourself in fear.
You write about happiness, then about losing and longing.
As you lie and try to convince yourself, erasing your desire.

ADP
In those early morning hours, I create my own galaxy.
A place free of fear, free of losing, free of loving.
For every moment of longing becomes a star,
tainting my perfect cosmos with memories.

NAN
You create imaginations, mechanisms of coping.
You build your walls high, they make me want to climb it.
You build your galaxy, full of gloom and curiosity,
   a mysterious code I want to decipher.

ADP
Two kids lay in the stars, dreaming.
As if dreams could erase hunger.
Two adults lay in the stars, loving.
As if love could stop time.
Two souls become one,
Until two becomes one . . forever alone.
All that is left is broken, ugly and spiteful what is there to decipher ?

NAN
I want to see . . .
   Each window past, present and now.
I want to see. . .
   The happiness that oozes from your lips.
I want to see. . .
   The dark and unrelenting sea of your depression.
I want to smell. . .
   perfumes, coffee on your breath, and your 1 am scent.
I want to feel. . .
   the pain in your heart and the pulse of its song.

I want you.

- NAN & A Dead Poet ✌

115 degree days of misery,
  under larger than life palm trees.
    Sipping a cold crying can of coke.
       oversized sunglasses by the community pool,
          I hope they hide my gaze.
              lust at first sight, ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ at a glance.