Sorry    mother,
Haven't written much.

Too busy putting
    poetry and syllables
into overseas and livables.

You are weary, I think

Of endless puzzles and games

And short romantic flames



You have grown disenchanted

With everything

Every stupid girl and foolish fling



You are bored

Of things built upon passing waves

Of all these conformists, these slaves



You have grown spiteful

Against people whining and nagging

And keeping secrets and bragging



And you are exasperated, maybe,

With all your toys breaking

As soon as you take them out of their boxes



It may be you are sick

Of instability and castles of crumbling sand

Of things reeling and getting out of hand



You have grown impatient

With cheaters and capricious ******

Who claim they are forever yours



You are tired, perhaps

Of feeling alone

And things aching through no fault of your own



I may not be

The sturdiest thing you've ever laid eyes on

I am little, and frail

And weak and pale

And I stumble when it's windy out

But I know, without a doubt

That for you I will be strong

That I will never do you wrong

I'll keep you from going off the brink

Because you are weary, I think

I called you early
Because the last time
You
Showed
Up
At
The
Curb
20
Minutes
After
I
Called

Do
Not
­Yell
At
Me
For
Showing
Up
Late.

O, to live in the absence of time
when days are not days, but moments
always begun, never at end
unplanned, uncharted
and remembered

The trees
Behind the checkered screen
Of my window
Are silhouetted skeletons
Against a black and white
Cotton candy sky.
And limp dangling pieces of flesh
Cling to the bones
Refusing release.

Toska reigns.
The chariot is losing control, string by string.
Put my hands in the air and allow my shadow
to take me for a ride.
The horse gallops in destructively attentive strides.
Gone with the wind and I bear my name.
Pain kills my ego once again.
Death is not the same as the living dead.
The phenomenon of the world is a continuously paranormal event.
There are so many ways to die, veiled under unconscious eyes.
Freud understands me, he knows the beast needs to eat.
But I don't have the ability to choose on what the other side
decides to feast.
Polarity is grabbing my arms in opposite directions,
my skin and bones are wearing out.
If I don't burn, I'll drown.
If I don't climb up, I will keep falling down.
Love is a circle and pleasure is a tide.
The Hermit comes out with his lantern,
illuminating everything I have so cunningly
tried to hide.

Addicted to the green leaves, you're a caterpillar crawling in the dirt
Conflicted and sick as he heaves, after looking up a butterflies"s skirt

If he could only see, potentially, what he could be, if he"d simply just look up
I continue my plea, eternally,  to help set him free, have a drink from my cup

I know you waited a whole extra week to finally come out of our mother
But the Responsibility rests on me, I refuse to give up on my only brother

There"s no place like home
Unless its abusive and broken
There"s no chance to roam
Unless actions are outspoken

I'm afraid of success, because I'll finally run out of all the excuses
Many sins to confess, none worse than underachieving all our uses

If you could only fear less
If you could only focus more
Take a hit just to relieve stress
Wake up in a city called *****

You"re still looking down crawling on the ground
With so so many women lost waiting to be found
You should be out up here with me flying around
Butterflies attract without even speaking a sound

We"re born with no parachutes and I'm a frequent flyer
So please stop wallowing down in the muck and the mire
Come flourish with me and lets set the ******* world on fire
You're my only thicker than water, join me before we expire