Let me poor my soul into you
I just need some time to breathe
My lungs are being punctured by doctors
They are no longer mine
Blood spreads disease and family
It's roots are veins, we are trees
Rotted to the core
A single insect can ruin the water supply
I wish I was told that before I left the house
I would've packed a noose

They were like flowers
all lined in a row
Each one was my friend

Assorted colors
shapes and sizes
So many beautiful friends

Some were wild while others conformed
fancy and fragrant and oh so brilliant
Fitting in with my friends

Cruel and harsh soft petals disguised
bearing thorns, prickling needles
And yes these were my friends

I liked the seeds that grew in one of them
they called her Sunflower
My very best friend!

My grandpa was a proud man
And with his thunderous voice he was a loud man
He'd used to boast about carrying heavy bags
With one hand lifting his pants that sags
He'd brag about how he was as strong as a thousand oxen
But this was all before the toxin.

Now, my grandpa isn't a proud man
Doesn't really have a days plan
Let alone a night one.
He doesn't speak much as his voice is croaky and dry
He doesn't sit at night to sing or to cry
He simply sits hoping to waste away and die.
When once he could carry heavy items
He struggles to carry himself now.
The effects of the great alcohol
Use to make him whole
But now it creates a hole
Within him.
The light that burned inside him
Vanished with every sip of *****.
Selfish affliction
To a selfish addiction
And how I wish this poem was fiction.

I scream and I dream
I frown and I drown
A sea of melancholy engulfs me
The wave caresses my cheek, then passes by
As I begin to make my way down
I remember what I 'd forgotten
And people appear, crystal clear
Faces I knew
Bodies I touched
Souls I explored
They silently muster what I've become
Hollow features and lifeless limbs
They look like dolls grown up
There are more and more, until I lose count
They encircle me, one desperately tries to speak
Only to be silenced by the sea
Now they grab me by my arms and carry me down
to the bottom of the sea, where my feet touch ice cold ground.

Surrounded by statues of sand
your face lights up this dark place
like it always used to.
A confident gaze, a wry smile
you haven't left for a while
You've been here and I've been somewhere else
we've been in the same state, but never the same place.
You open your mouth and words break out
They sound artificial, like they're from a tape recorder
They echo back at me from everywhere in the sea
“He who travels to the bottom of the sea
Has learned oh so many things
But if he ever goes back up again
all those things he will forget.”
And now here I am
Alive and awake
Pouring cold water over my face
Staring in my bathroom mirror
and it stares back.

sometimes I wonder why I bother
to force myself to tell an other
what are my feelings and opinions

why do I struggle to attempt to phrase
words that inhabitants of faraway dominions
might also understand and not erase
an alien text for lack of recognition
of what it tries to say

is it just egomaniacal vanity
born of conviction that my words
are so important that only nerds
would not appreciate the wisdom
inherent in my thoughts

or is it logorrhea   the pathological obsession
to spew forth words without control
and flood the world and every living soul
with streams of incoherent syntax without meaning

I guess I write in order to communicate and share
exchange ideas across all boundaries
learning the thoughts of many different people
and in the process become even more aware
how much we share and have in common

carrying away once more the recognition
that division has always been
      and still remains until this day
the favorite tool of greedy politicians
against which poets   firmly   should hold sway

If you are
not an
ocean
do not
make
waves.

it's nice to be alone
nobody to hurt, nobody hurts
it's nice to be alone
nobody to compare, nobody compares
it's nice to be alone
nobody to bother, nobody bothers, nobody