I’ve memorized my ceiling.
Every unruly pattern
embroidered to the plaster,
ugly and confusing
constellations in the shadows.

My fatigued brain can no longer
differentiate between dust motes and sunlight.

I want to destroy something beautiful.
Some things need to be
written between heartbeats.
To appreciate nostalgia
you must forget it comes
in soul crushing waves.

I want to sleep for a hundred years
arms of silence winding around my head.
My fingers are slow to curl,
every limb weighs me down.
I’m faced with a puzzle

What is origami.
Where can I burn paper cranes.

A relaxed *** of tea complements
the tide that inhales the sand and
all the possibilities
that come with blackberry brambles.
Something about blue
makes you fall in love with the sky.

You look so sad
To me
Why can't you see
I want to grasp your hand
And band together
Against the rest
Of the world
And whirl around
The whorls of the tree of life
Where strife is a myth
And sickness a joke
Where you don't choke
On the struggles of
Your past
Just move past them
And then you breath
The air of free men
But then and only then
Will you feel the emptiness
Of a life all figured out
no doubt no dreary dreams
Of everything coming together
No hope or plans
Or need to make plans
Next time you want it all
To stop
Remember
When life stops
You do too

I am lost in a maze of thought
Even when things seem normal outside
There is too much to think about inside

Every feeling is meaningless without thought
The more you think, the more you feel
And yet the deepest thoughts are made from feelings

Thought is an ever-growing puzzle
You find and put together piece by piece
But the picture just keeps getting bigger

Like who you're with,
And like who you are.
Make a wish,
On a shooting star.

To achieve your dreams,
Don't push or shove,
Love what you do,
And do what you love.

You are not rudderless
but your oars are too small.

(You will not make it across the lake.)


You trail gold stars like promise (potential)(unfilled)(they didn’t say it would be so hard)
a thin trail marks your passage
soon gone
floating (impotent) on the water.
It’s a bit like a funeral; those burning stars
were dead the moment you
stepped into the boat.

(You will not)
(I’m sorry)
(but you will not make it)

What Might Have Been is a salesman
that perches on your shoulders.
He is heavy; he weighs you down.
The boat sinks further into the surface.

You glance at him, he is only shadow;
but you are shadow too.

(No)
(The boat sinks deeper)
(You stopped rowing long ago)

Together you paddle across the lake.

A pencil dive, when you're half way down into the cool deep,
finally realizing how bad you need air.
Then it becomes a struggle, a battle of  pushes and pulls.
It would be some much easier to give up but as your lungs shriek
in despair you know its the last thing you can do.  
So you get over the five seconds of struggle and
you make it back to civilization again.  
You continue this somewhat insane pattern of
deprivation and struggle just to remind yourself
how much you love the taste of air