Think of it like this;
Your mind, his mind, her mind
They all make up the universe.
Every mind comes together to make this world,
A world of personality.
Some parts peace, some parts violence
And without you this place would be
Different.
Without you, who knows what would be here and what wasn’t.
And ****,
I never want to find out.

The tranquil chirps of a Robin outside of my window wakes me,
6:00 am,
the bitter smell of coffee finds its way to my nose,
I stumble over to pour the steaming black waterfall,
in to my plain white mug.
I sleep walk over to the bathroom,
to the basin,
I can hardly turn the ****,
after few foggy attempts I grasp it,
the steaming water comes crashing down.
One toe at a time,
into a serene sea,
I step in,
lay back my head into the translucent,
untouched water,
close my eyes,
and pretend i’m drowning,
drowning in the mauve sea,
and now i’m blinded by color.
Goosebumps spread across my violet stained body as I step out,
it drips from my skin.
A switch from off to on,
and my hair is stuck in a tornado,
a magenta sunset lingering in the wind.
Something in my peripheral vision catches my eye,
I turn my head only to find a mirror,
my reflection,
dancing,
jumping,
flying.
Unique,
“time to be something i’m not”
I reach for a treasure chest,
not full of gold but platinum,
beauty,
so all my flaws will be vestige,
a creamy pale paste,
I pat it on my face,
followed by light ivory powder and a rose for my cheeks,
I make my lashes look like wings,
and spread a velvet carpet across my lips,
put the beauty back in the treasure chest.
I look up,
my reflection,
“it’s”
reflection,
fake,
masked,
perfect.
The same as everyone else,
a thrall to society,
“now i’m something i’m not”

And the red flowers will be stained with blood,
like the sunset sleeps at day,
and you will never know,
when I see your eyes,
when I see your smile,
they empty me like a ****** is in the back of your mind.
You have been tricked into becoming an insidious torture chamber,
concealed by a rainbow blinding us with different hues,
the colors are only an illusion placed by society,
no more freedom, forever shackled in your own head,
blankly staring at a mirror placed in front of you,
stuck looking at your own reflection,
the reflection of a mad man,
a lunatic,
what you have become.
Hiding your reflection from the colors by wearing a jubilant mask,
a flamboyant smile,
but I can taste the smell of death on you,
and it only reminds me,
that each day,
is another day,
and everyday is a knock,
by death,
six hundred,
sixty six,
knocks and your mind will fail.
So grab your shotgun,
and out goes,
insanity,
replaced with sanity
like Kurt Cobain,
171,
Lake Washington,
Boulevard East,
Seattle, Washington,
is where he was driven sane by the hues of the rainbow,
the illusions colors.
And like a butterfly that turns to a caterpillar, you will do the same.
So please awake me,
with the dull taste,
of your peeling skin,
cut through my nose,
and travel down my spine,
so I can unshackle you from the chains,
then you can leap,
above the screaming stars,
Akai hana ga chi de somassa remasu,
And the red flowers will be stained with blood.

The moon jumps into the bathtub,
a crystal mirror reflecting the night sky,
black creatures dancing with insects on the surface.
An old man sits on his porch at the earliest hours,
sitting in his sepia rocking chair,
back and forth,
back and forth.
I’m home.

Where the mother sings and holds her ill newborn,
cradling it with a smile, even after the child has passed.
It is where the light eerie music plays in the back of your head.
where you cannot run from what you wish you had forgotten.
It’s where the old man rocks back and forth in his rocking chair,
singing the song his wife had once sung to him,
soft hums mimicking the demons in his head,
and he will hum for her forgetting that she flew to another place.
He runs to the house,
its at the end of the night,
it’s in the back of his mind,
where darkest dark is,
shadows that can touch,
and people with common sense.
The place where lies destroy your mind,
it is where you realize you are broken,
yet saying that means you were once hole,
only another lie.
It’s where you go to get away from screams,
but your own mind is the loudest screams you could possibly hear.
It’s the toilet that you visit after every meal
the blue color of your veins
a house that was never a home
it’s the pain in your chest that never goes away
it is a place where you wait for those words
“beautiful”
“your mind is beautiful”
because beauty is not what you are surrounded by,
it's your soul.
It’s the question
what does your house look like at the end of the night?

Tuesday was when the sun failed
my shin bones were ripped from my legs and made it heavy to walk,
feathers fell through the air and suffocated each one of us,
7 billion curious eyes looked up to the viridescent sky,
then came a flash of emptiness,
the sky went out and so did our minds.
The world was left unable,
we could only feel
only taste
only hear
only smell.
Then they came,
and took everything from us
they took you away from me.
I felt a chilled hand gently touch my neck
and reach to my ear
a distant screech echoed throughout the deserted air  
then a numbing pain that reminded me of death spread over my skin
my eyelids began to close
and as they did I saw more light than when they were open
I saw more things than I could envisage.
A never ending white universe filled with unfamiliar faces flew around me
and once my eyes focused I searched for you,
every single person
hung in the empty air
with thin tubes filled with sapphire gel coming from their ears.
All of their faces were stripped of life and their eyes sunk into their heads,
but the one face I could not find was yours.
I remember day after day hoping I would wake up,
and eventually I did; but if only I hadn’t
I would not be trapped in the silence of not hearing your laugh,
not seeing you grow older
and I would not be stuck in the mind of a hopeless mad man
waiting for “them” to bring your bright green eyes
your soft smile
your small hands
back to me.
So I can only hope that you know
I search through midnight
every
single day
for you
and I will find you
in this blackened world;
my son.

When you reach for the cold wooden board
your hands begin to decay
your skin peels back then hardens and falls off your scarlet bones.
A bright midnight flash struggles to push through to the other side of your mind
revealing that you passed years ago but are stuck in an actuality that doesn’t belong to you.
Life is all just a disorder, dead but you keep on living
a distorted mind trapped in an unborn child's head.
Or it could be a game from the further future that they play
controlling little beings within a screen.
The words engraved on the board now lay in your flesh and you cannot let go
from the reality within reality
but is the concept that hard to grasp?
You believe in God but not your own insanity?
We are the dead ones that are only able to perceive
they are makers of our madness
the creators of an urban fantasy
and they try to speak to us from millions of years in the future through a sharp birch wood board
but the lies we are told and the truths that this “world” withholds
does not compare to the unknown universe outside of this screen.

Your smell is still on the tip of my nose
I can see it
I can feel it.
And your screams still run from ear to ear
Like when I was a child and mommy never came home.
In the night I see my blackened legs and arms
And you sitting on the ceiling
Taking my breath from above me
Holding me down with the force of a million fists
Your fists.
But now I always wake up
Instead of being trapped in the night for eternity
And I find myself so relieved to hear that
You have been gone for more than a year
But it feels like yesterday you got sent away
when I was crying in the corner you sent me to
Praying to God
Who I never believed in before
but then you were finally taken away
And now I thank God
every single day.

But I can thank you
Because if I had never met you
I would still be in that same corner
With a gun to my head
Letter on the bed
Shaking like a wet dog
And wishing I was dead.

Dear Mr. Sunshine,
“When will dad be home to sing me a lullaby again?”
Those words
are stapled to the back of my head every waking day by our daughter
whose pouty lips tremble as she kisses your picture
then slowly looks up at me,
“soon.”
What else am I to say
when I ask myself the same **** question
every day, every night
and every year.
Then the sirens sing,
and we hide under a small table
as a group of men search for explosives,
gunshots echo through the shack and numb my ears
a small girl from across the room coughs up tomato soup
and is instantly tossed out onto the cold streets
of the October blue

Dear Mr. Sunshine,
It is now the end of December
and instead of snow wrapped around our little town like a blanket
there is chilled blue flames
that leave children screaming
screaming at the fire for taking their family.

Dear Mr. Sunshine,
It has been months since you wrote back
and years since I have seen you.
Now it’s March and sky is flooded with silver waste
and as I looked up from my balcony
the door began to ring,
I ran to the door
and saw your bright blue face,
with your soft pale eyes
but your soul wasn’t you
your mind had been replaced by the war.
And as I opened my ears to speak
I saw the knife in your hands and as you whispered
“I love you”
the light that was you
went through the sharp jagged edges
and sank into my heart,
sunshine took over my lungs
and darkness sunk behind my eyes
Dear Mr. Sunshine,
where are you?

No matter how shattered our homes were
or how many times throughout the night we heard our own cries,
we all started off with a grin stretching over our faces
with wide eyes staring at the sapphire sky and the emerald trees,
curiosity always singing lullabies in our ears.
But eventually,
the sky turns to rust and the tree's leaves fall off
and we are left to wonder where we went wrong
and how we got to the edge of the world,
looking down a sempiternal pit of blank faces,
including your own.
And as we grew our hands became rougher
while others got smoother,
so with the same wide eyes
we gaze up at the people who we praised,
for climbing down the border of the earth
wondering how they fell into the world
and climbed off of it into their mind,
and it was only till now that we realized,
separate people conquer different insanities.

I awoke from the abapical dream I was stuck in day after day
no longer a colourless slaughter house that ***** itself like the alphabet.
In the aphotic corner is where I had lived but you summoned me
and like a bloodshot butterfly you fell from the cocoon that had trapped you for so long
finally free of what had held you back from breaking through before
you ran through the halls and out the door and kept running
running

Today is where I saw ***** stained children
that had dolls for mothers
dolls that spent each second of every day on every detail all to please what?
Their kids? Or that strange mans ****?
I saw mothers without fathers and fathers without mothers drowning their future children
our future intelligence
drowning them in a pile of ******* they called beautiful.
I saw the youngest of girls being ***** and beaten by the first love they ever had and will
beaten till bruises covered the pale skin that was once untouched and flawless
beaten with words that turned to red hands reaching around their necks
beaten by the eyes of strangers that would **** her more that he ever did.
And tonight is where my eyes were nailed open
because through the thin walls of my apartment I heard the carnal moans
and again every **** day till the 9th month because the **** child was born
cries all night and every following night because they won’t feed the thing
it is hungry for love
hungry for feeling
hungry for something to look at other than it’s ******* crib!
Last night is where I saw mental disorders that sunk their fingers through people's veins
schizophrenia, identity disorders, depression and anxiety
to them the world is nothing but hallucinations
death hovering over them when they wake
worms in their skin that only razors will get out
but they never knew the worms were veins.
This morning was where I walked to get coffee and witnessed 12 year olds running from a local market with ******* magazines and videos piled in their arms.
And today is where I saw girls starving themselves and spewing every drop that they consume
because the world around them screams in their ears that they are not perfect
they use techniques that are morbid but so common it’s sane
and under their bed is where the demon hides
a bucket of ***** that has sit there for days measuring tapes and diet pills
pictures of girls who are edited to perfection and the lies to their mothers who ask if they ate.
Yesterday is where the children live
crying blood and driving razors on their skin because they thought it was a good idea
because they wanted attention
because they wanted to see what it felt like to have someone care for them
because they hurt inside so bad they hide it in a box with knives and scissors and razors and safety pins.
Last night was where I saw christmas
spoiled children who get everything they asked for
new computers, new cars, new phones and money
money that goes to drugs and birth control that won’t work.
Yesterday I saw parents who worked from AM to AM again
just so they could put food on the table and pay their bills.
Then people who shot down their lovers with ice
and proceed to ask why?
why are they gone, why are they not here?

But today, today is where she saw the hospital for the first time without being admitted
today is where I screamed at the children who took everything for granted, at the parents who are blind to their children, at the world for replacing wrong with right.
And today is where I broke free and said everything I wanted to.

The sky was beautiful,
a million glimmers of light flickered while dancing with the dark sun,
time became invisible,
days, years and empty time has passed,
and I still am gazing up when the world puts on its cloak.
Mother died again so I ran to the galaxy,
it was red and sharp,
glimmering like treasure,
seducing me to take it.
Then father's cries came again,
and the moon stung my tongue,
with the bitter taste of water.
When the moon began to droop as if it were milk being poured in the soil,
I would scamper and crawl into the wound that frosted my mothers stomach,
and the night would begin to spin,
the stars sunk into my veins,
a needle,
that was rusted and long,
stitched beneath the thin walls,
larking in the torn bricks of a broken home.