Speaking words,
that can never be spoken,
sending a message,
that can never be said,
body language,
perfectly read,
the taste will last forever,
the flavor still fresh in my head.

To write is to remember.

Write the good,
The pleasant,
The joy.
Then go to sleep.


Tomorrow  when night comes after a long day,
And one looks forward to a long sleep,
Write the good,
The pleasant,
The joy.
Then go to sleep.

Tomorrow when night comes after a long day,
And one looks forward to a long sleep,
Write the good,
The pleasant,
The joy.
Then go to sleep.

Day by day the sun shall set.
Day by day the moon shall rise.
One shall smile and
Write the good,
The pleasant,
The joy.
Then go to sleep.

Then,
The sun shall rise
The body shall rise.
This time,
The mind follows,
The heart follows.

For days have been remembered well.
And the eyes- window to the soul-
Look ahead grateful and trusting.

When all my blood is estranged
Is it then that I become deranged?
Already self-loathing and anti-family
So maybe I can’t stand my own genetics                        
Perhaps I see myself as unequivocally cunty
And maybe I cannot stand the things that made me
Is this what makes one deranged?
Self-destructive and anti-happy
When all the blood is estranged
And the world is just animals
To be coldly devoured. . .
This seems to me quite deranged

I've been told
To listen to my heart,
To refrain from logical comparison.
Because when you heart is concerned,
Emotions don't follow the rules.
That is their strengths,
That is their beauty,
That is the danger.

But this heart doesn't know what to feel,
And when it asks the mind,
The mind only tells the heart
Why either of them can't decide.
Buy when the heart can't decide,
It asks the mind,
Lest it hurt,
Till it give up.

Ever listened to song,
Or sound.
Once liked.
Now festered with new meaning.

Tendrils snaking to your heart,
A piece of the world you no longer wish feel.

Yet it hurts to turn away.
To turn away from the truth.
Behind the song:
A real piece of this world,
You can no longer touch.

A fantom limb,
A cursed itch.
Across your heart,
A deep unhealed cut

I acted.
Harshly,
'Tis true.
But is that all that maters,
When one judges an action.

I let go.
Wrongly,
Of my control.
But is that all that maters,
When one judges an action.

When an intention is sincere,
And an action wrong,
While others condemn both.
What matters.
When one judges an action.

Ay, the action was wrong,
But what of those who condemn for their own benefit.
Is it right to contend their words,
Or should I bare,
For wrong action done.

How does one judge oneself,
When no standard holds.
When,
Nor your mind,
Nor others' mind
Gives you anything to stand on.

Rebirth,
It was not like spring,
Releasing me from winter,
Nor was I winter,
Turning to spring.

So long had I laid there.
Mud squirming around,
The grounded boot;
Did stomp,
Cruelly.

But nature was part of it.
Bare feet,
In the mud.
Toes and mud dancing,
Squirming.

But not for revenge.
For truth in beauty,
In seeing the two:
Toes and mud
Together,
Shape one another for growth.

For nothing feels better,
To walk a land,
Sowed again;
Ready to grow.