I got no one to talk to and nothing to do
got a life full of sadness a life full of blue
I want to smile and I want to be happy
but my life is ****** just ******* ******
everyone sees my sadness but they don't care
when I need someone no one is there
alone in this world I shall always be
I just wish someone could love me for me
but that's a fairytale I know won't come true
so I'll just sit here alone thinking of you

Dead flowers are brittle, break
easy.
Dust covers the things you gave me,
mutes them, claims them, overtakes
them, squeezing the pages of books
together until they choke,
clouding the glass jar that you use
as a vase for the dead flowers.

Dead flowers do not need water, live
easy.
You made
the bed this morning
so if memory failed me
I would have no way of seeing today
that you were here last night.
And when I blink my eyes,
for that moment they're closed
I cringe with the sudden goodbye,
every instant turned away from your face
filled with the graceless empty
of having just finished a book.
No longer able to live in its eyes,
burrow into its spine, nestle
into the crook
of its neck.

dead flowers are brittle, break easy,
please, please be careful
with this–

The winter winds carefully arrives with dreary wings, it's negative and pushing through the soft sunlight with relative ease.

My warmth is kept at a minimum at all times, for comfort, and my bones ache. They creak in the winter part of the revolution around the sun.

It will be a a eternity and a expired hour to when the warmth will take its turn. Then I will dip my toes in the cold, dark waters of a fresh water hole in a salt water ocean.

The earth will continue through the heavens as our dependency grows with each death of a star. They stick around for a millennia then alter shape to bring the balance full scale.

My life is not measured in the brightness of my comet tail, my life is measured by the depth of the cold, dark heavens. To see the colors of the tail, you must be in the vacancy of the heavens.

Skills developed from scholars who studied KABALA.

This testimony is lonely.  

As I let loose of this nonlinear noose.

I have pressing matters to attend to.

This all done accordingly.

LEAP years are boring to me.

The future talks to me because the present is ignoring me.

Poetry lost under a blue moon but I never left you.

I always came back with something special.

The poetry they all created was uncultivated

          thus foolish and basic


generated only to satisfy selfish cravings.

I call it Human contemplation.

In contrast to this magik.

My convoluted interaction.  

The clarity of singularity.

                            ¿¿¿¿       My WORDs will always contain a bit of insanity¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿

Hello
It's me again
It's the early hours and I'm slightly drunk
And it's me again

He has the sins of his mind
Which keep him warm inside
Amidst the weary and the wasted
Such warmth keeps him alive

Restless
I've always been restless
I hate to move yet I can't sit still
Hours are endless

There is a thrush inside his head
An agony of wings
Panic beaten thrashing
A cage of singing things

Anxious
Still always anxious
Even though I've slowed right down
This edge is ageless

Laying low and watching
A million sub-plots hatching
Paranoid and paranormal
He scatters to survive

                                    By Phil Roberts