Opia. Noun. The ambiguous intensity of looking into someone's eyes, which can fell simultaneously invasive and vulnerable.

As you lie in my arms, watching the television, you don't notice that my undivided attention is focused on you. Something I've been dreaming of for weeks, and it's finally come true. Even better, from your angle, you can't see me staring into your eyes, so I don't feel the nervous compulsion to turn away. Whether directly or not, I could drink in your eyes with mine, for hours, and they would be among the best hours of my life.
Then there's the other hand, held tightly by trepidation. I love the prospect of your eyes staring into mine, but it's not without its fears. I'm afraid you'll see all the pain and fears that I've spent the past seven years working to overcome. I'm afraid you'll see all the insecurity and doubts I have about myself. I'm afraid you'll see all the words that I long to whisper in your ear, but can't, because I'm terrified of scaring you away. I'm afraid you won't like the fact that, behind these eyes lies only pictures and thoughts of you. But most of all, I'm afraid that, unlike me, who loves every detail, and lives for moments like these, you won't love the things you see. I long for the day when you stare happily into my eyes, but I'm frightened that you won't enjoy the secrets they reveal.

I knew you would forget, just as soon as the sun would rise,
But your words, cliché and hollow, came as no surprise.
I asked but one small favor, at both break and close of day,
Just to hear you say hello, but now, hope's bled away.

Dying love in a gilded cage,
Imprisoned by my pent up rage.
You never loved me, but neither did I,
The last gift you gave was the gift of goodbye.

I'm too drunk to think,
Still sober enough to feel.
No heart left to steal.

Turn up the silence and block out the sun,
Alone in my room, a bottle and a gun.
It goes click twice, I'll see another day,
Tears start to fall, can't carry on this way.

It's over, I'm finished, deaths already won,
Used only my thoughts, had no need for guns.
The body still walks and the mouth still smiles,
But behind these dulled eyes lies a blank, lifeless isle.

The body's still breathing, but I'm not quite alive,
A soul in standby, simply trying to survive.

The world around me slows to a crawl,
No one around me knows me at all.
I look over the crowd of familiar faces,
From various times and different places.
They laugh and they play, one and another,
All with secret pains, I’m just like the others.

Half of me runs with the lions at night,
Feasting and sleeping on wide open plains.
The other side keeps me safe in the light,
Through the sleet and the snow, the hail and the rain.
Half of me leaves myself open to others,
Ready to spill all the things that I feel.
The rest will only confide in my brothers,
Because before others my heart will not kneel.
I'm open and fearless and quick on my feet,
Nothing can slow me or hold me in place.
I'm closed and concealed, hidden from heat,
No one but me will see my true face.
The right and the left are two sides of one coin,
Two different pieces shall never be joined.

The stars in the sky have nothing on the ones in your eyes.
As I watch the crimson flow corrupt the freshly fallen snow,
I feel you against me, as the bitter winds blow us about.
I knew then, that only you could stop me, and help me come alive.

My heart is a plaything
On a length of tattered string,
Batted at by paws
With unrestrained claws.

The drunk chanting of "chug" has faded away. The liter of jäger is at war with my liver as I take another long drag of a Seneca Red.
Embers in the grill still smolder away, the taste of pork chops linger on my tongue. My stomach feels empty, although we've only just eaten. The hot dogs are gone. So are the hamburgers and chops. I can't just throw some food in the grill anymore. I must journey to the main campus and sate my hunger for heated meat, perhaps some wings.

I check my phone and see the time is eleven. Now is as good a time as any. I flick the **** into the cool spring night and cross the parking lot towards my Toyota. I grab the wallet from the glove compartment and place my headphones around my ears. Roger asks me if I've heard the news. I tell him I haven't. He says the Dogs are dead. I say that must be good news for the Sheep. My walk, or should I say incoherent stumble, from the town houses is accompanied by the sounds of Animals, a truly relaxing atmosphere.

As I progress down the road from town houses to the main campus, flanked on either by side by wooded areas, memories start coming to me through the darkness. I've walked this path almost daily for close to three years now. Sophomore year I'd walk to Francis from Doyle to get dinner, or hang out with friends who lived there. Junior year, it was from the Phase Twos to my classes and back. This year, it's from the coveted Phase Ones, which I don't truly understand. Phase Two and Three are so much better. Why does everyone want to live in Phase One?

These semi-joyful, or at least not totally depressing, memories flood my consciousness, and bring me back to easier, simpler times. I lack liquor, so I drink these memories down, savoring the sweet scents and full flavors my mind is so adept at bringing back to life. I smash the bottles which held them as I finish them, watching the drunken starlight shimmer and dance over the bits of shattered glass.

As I pass by Doyle and enter the main campus, the memories begin to change and shift. Instead of days which were laden with friendly laughter, I now begin to remember my freshman year, living in Shay Hall and having a whole new campus to discover. When I was forced from my shell and began to meet new people. One of those people would become my first real relationship, and would last all of nine months in my life. Her name was Gabby, and despite her undeniable insanity, was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen.

We did everything together, from eating and sleeping to going to our pals parties. She loved me, I loved her, and life was wonderful. Until it all, just, wasn't anymore. She grew demanding and distant, while at the same time requiring more and more attention from me, until one day the dam failed under pressure and let the reservoir flood the lands we'd been cultivating for nine months.

She cheated on me. While this was no new fact for me to deal with, looking back on my history with women, it was nonetheless still quite hard to face. She had the good grace to break it off face to face, but there was still a great deal I couldn't forgive her for. The constant demand she placed on every thing I did, no matter how minor or minuscule. The night she struck me for not putting my cell phone on vibrate. The words she would say, layered with condescension whenever I should fall short.

So I cursed her. Not in the typical sense one associates with curses, but more of a silent prayer that she would one day feel the pain that she subjected me to. I didn't have to wait long, though. The following year, she made her way to New Orleans to celebrate for Mardi Gras. Her new beau, the one she had left me for, stayed behind in New York, and put her rightly on the receiving end of the pain she brought me. While she enjoyed the festivities of Fat Tuesday, he enjoyed the carnal company of three seperate women. When she returned, she was heartbroken.

I never received a phone call. No apologies for what she did. No offer of kind words to soothe a soul which still had yet to recover from the blows it had been dealt. No lesson had been learned. No insight into her own actions taken away. No moment of clarity in which she realized the mistake she had made, or the pain she had caused with her selfish actions. The curse remains, hanging over her head like an everlasting storm cloud, dissipating only when she realizes what she has done to one man who enjoys nothing more than holding a well founded grudge.

Growing flames will turn your name into a cloud of ashes.
A flowing mane remains untamed through whirling dervish clashes.
Beating hearts as hope departs through valleys long and winding,
Burning sun, you turn and run, the path ahead is blinding.
You always knew I wouldn't do, so why'd you even bother?
Pass my time by penning rhymes and double ******* lagers.

I'm never alone, but I always feel lonely,
Surrounded by sycophants and courted by cronies.
My only true value is that which I give
To myself, nobody's willing to just let me live.
Jumping through hoops made of fire and bone,
Searching for nought but a place to call home.

Lovey Dovey had no say,
Lovey Dovey fade away.
Lovey Dovey turning gray,
Lovey Dovey died today.

This can't keep going.
The tears won't stop flowing.
The self-loathing is growing.
The façade has slipped, and the real me is showing.

History's greatest artists would fail to do your frame justice. Their fingers would fumble clumsily, brushes and pens flustered by the impossible request of copying a face which would shame Aphrodite into seclusion.
Those with mastery of the worlds languages couldn't hope to come close to capturing the magnificence and depth of a soul that burns brighter than our sun, papers crumpled in frustration from futile attempts at capturing a shooting star in a mason jar.
Virtuosic musicians can't comprehend melodies which could equal your soothing atmosphere or complex structure. Theorists would spend eons attempting to find an ordering of notes which could sing harmonies fitting the one that pours from your eyes, each one being broken by the realization that no such string exists, that they have attempted to match the glory of a choir of angels, and that God has found them unworthy.
Reality is ripping at the seams in its vain efforts to make room for an immaculate Phoenix which can not be tamed, corralled, or controlled by a physical world, not when its immortal splendor transcends description or dimension. Moments feel like eternity when blessed with the presence of one who's life illuminates nights which previously contained impenetrable darkness, thick as ink and as all consuming as the fires which now burn so brilliantly and with such calming warmth.
A priceless work of art, surpassing the limits of what can perceived with eyes or ears, and must be experienced by the heart, felt by the soul, and loved by the whole of my being. A greater masterpiece has never been born, and can never be duplicated, for she is the universes greatest achievement, and only a fool could think to improve upon perfection.

You're a breath of fresh air in a world of smokestack trees.

I lie awake in bed, too numb to feel my own heartbeat.
Underneath these calm features lies a panic stricken freak,
Broken beyond repair, paranoid of the air around him.
Dead eyed and drowning, without the hope or the will to swim.
Swallowed whole by the darkness surrounding the thoughts in his head,
Survivors Remorse, when he lives, but better people are dead.

Raucous laughter and clinking glasses fill the air, already brimming with the intoxicating scents of ocean air and freshly grilled salmon.
Crab legs crack, revealing succulent white meat and dripping juices down sun burnt chins and salt licked chests.
Seven men, all eating their weight in seafood, happy for the simple joy of being reunited once more.
Margarita, tequila, Corona and more,
I've never felt better, passed out on the floor.

The body stands as tall as a tree,
As the soul inside of it falls to its knees.

When I stand by your side, my skin can melt steel,
When I hear you heart singing, mine starts to heal.
When I look in your eyes, I see the beauty of stars,
Whenever you cry, I wish I bore your scars.

Prologue



MyBar. The first time I heard that name, I remember thinking, "who the **** would name their club 'MyBar?'"

Three months, and innumerable trips later, I find myself thinking, "who the **** would enjoy going to MyBar?"

I am not included in that set of answers. Yet here I am anyway, stowing my ID and half muscling, half falling through the front door. Underclassmen from every clique, packed crack to **** on a 16x16 dance floor, in a dark, dank, dive that even the townies don't bother with. The pumped up pulses of the beat can be felt deep down in the bones, as the neon lights cast perverse shadows onto the throbbing masses. The basketball team stands against the wall as some of the more negotiable ladies in the club line up to publicly proclaim their devotion to our athletics department by very nearly, and perhaps occasionally, riding them like jockeys in a steeplechase. The players, sadly, likely felt akin to judges at the Westminster.

The sounds and sights assault the senses, mingling none to well with the excess of alcohol coursing through my system. Disoriented and dangerously uncoordinated, I slide seamlessly through the tightly packed crowd, the gyrating bodies of my fellow classmen gently propelling me deeper like a living, breathing conveyor belt.

Nothing in my appearance hints at the fact that I feel barely able to stand. Though I was a freshman, I was no stranger to getting falling down drunk, and had developed enough of a tolerance to the strange brew to maintain my composure under all but the most intense circumstances, as I would discover during Spring Weekend.

Despite the oppressively tight mass of bodies, the uncontained volume levels, and the array of lights, I manage to focus my intoxicated attention upon the girl in front me. She has hair the color of a glass of bourbon, and a temperament to match. Dark brown eyes, deep red lips, and lightly tanned skin covered up on this evening by a leopard print top and skinny jeans rounded out the package of the most beautiful lady I had ever managed to gain the interest of. Despite her sharp features, she was actually kind and generous. Most of the time. The other times, well, we'll get to that.

This woman is the only reason I'm here tonight. The same could be said for any other night that I come out here. But there's no saying no to her.  Even if it weren't for the fact that I was raised to honor my mates wishes (within reason), it simply wouldn't be worth the headache to disagree. If she wants something, she'll get it, and it's better to have her come home happy than in devil driver mode. Besides, it isn't all bad.

Most people would call what we're doing "dancing." I would call it "public dry *******." But these are the times we live in, I suppose. In any case, I've certainly had worse nights than tonight.

Later on as the crowd thinned out, I was just about to do the same, smoking a cigarette on the snow covered deck around the front of the building. Clothed coitus can really drain a guys reserves. Especially one who's only nourishment in the past five hours has been Jaegermeister and cigarettes.

Our little group begins it's exhausted yet boisterous journey back to the dorm rooms. My girl friend of three months, much like every other night we drink, is absolutely twisted. Propped up between two of us, she laughs uncontrollably as she sways from side to side, bucking us off balance as she does. By the time we get through the door, she's calmed down enough to be inside of a building.  Stripped to our skivvies, we climb into bed and turn off the lights. My roommate has yet to return from wherever he's disappeared to, so before we pass out, well, **** I was there I know what happened.

Anyway, she's just nodded off to sleep when I notice a smell wafting through the hallway. Were I in the comfort of my own home and smelled this smell, it would simply have meant that I left my popcorn in for a few seconds too long. However, being where I am,  I know better than to-- EEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHH

******* THREE AM ******* FIRE ALARMS!

Welcome to St. Bonaventure.

She lived alone on a plastic hill,
She sold her soul for a bouquet of pills,
I held her close, and felt her fire die.

The room turned red, and began to burn,
You drowned me in the lessons I refused to learn.
Now I trudge back home, feeling dead inside.

A tortured soul on the edge of death,
I broke the surface for a final breath,
And lifeless eyes caught a starless sky.

I heard your voice whisper in my ear,
"Don't drown your love in a sea of fear.
Though my body fades, I'm always by your side."

I can't remember what time feels like,
Or how to form a genuine smile.
I've forgotten the sound of my heart hammering in my ears,
And the sensation of touch is a beautiful memory.
Gutted. Numb. Hollow. Lost.

Beauty and despair hold my hand in theirs,
Hopelessly departed beating hearts without repair.
Repeating words bleeding from your mouth into my soul,
Lie awake at night entreating all the things that keep me whole
To please just stay a while longer while weeping out the words
That keep my body stitched together from the curses and the slurs.
Broken down in tears from all the fears of passing years,
Constantly approaching a future that seems unclear.
But I keep myself intact because, in fact, I'm doing well,
Beauty beats despair, carries my mind out of its hell
On white wings, the choir sings, "it's you and we together,"
Beating back the blackest nights, always and forever.

I'll tell you now, girl, I've never been good at expressing my emotions. I run my mind around and around in circles, seeking solace from the lullaby of loneliness I hear every night before bed.

I'll tell you now, girl, I'm not your stereotypical tough guy. I'm not going to start squabbles for the sake of excitement, or purvey pain like the pimps and the players.

I'll tell you now, girl, I'm not the most confident man that's ever sauntered down these streets. I have a fragile ego, one that breaks like brittle little bones nearly every evening. The few things I take pride in seem insignificant in the face of my follies, fallacies, and failures.

But I'll tell you now, girl, you keep me alive through the worst life throws at me. When the world is whirling and I'm weak and wasted, I wish for a woman to withhold my wild ways. I beg for the beauty that will battle the back breakers and ***-bombs that burst in my brain. I sing for the siren of all things sweet and ****, of salvation and accompanied solitude.

But I'll tell you now, girl, you don't exist. The joyous and gentle girl I describe within is mere myth. A myth, but a mystical morsel of my mind, one I shall seek till I'm sickly and saggy. A soul that sends shivers down my spine every succulent second they're in sight.

I'll never stop my search, fantasy female. When I at last locate you, love, I won't let you leave, and I won't leave you limp and lifeless, from lures and lies.

I can only desire your deliverance, dream dame, and I leave my heart on your fireplace hearth, hoping to hold you.

For an instant.

For an evening.

For eternity.

Intermittent scribbles in a brand new leather journal.
Hoping even just one line becomes something eternal.
Searching for the perfect words, or poignant points to make,
I lay there, thinking, three a.m, and I'm still wide awake.
Pretty rhymes to pass the time, if no soul ever reads,
I write these words for mockingbirds and fun, no thoughts of greed.
The verdant, rolling plains of the space within my skull,
Spill forth in excess on the page when life is feeling dull.
Words give life to drying ink, a pause between each line,
To choose the words which through the years remind me what is mine.

Hazel eyes hold untold sorrow,
Dreams of sleep without tomorrow.
A hopeless mind without a future,
A soup bowl born of shattered pewter.
Hidden away in a heart of ice,
Reignited and snuffed out twice,
A junkyard soul devoid of joy,
Another woman's one night toy.

Greetings HelloPoetry community! Since arriving here, I've found a home I could have never imagined, and a support for my work that fills my heart with more joy than I can begin to express to you. I would like to offer a sincere thank you to all of my supporters, and anyone who has taken the time to peruse my work. Now, I must ask you all for one more favor. As a result of my exposure on this site, I was discovered by a publishing company, and have been included in a compilation of nine previously unpublished authors titled Cry Love (http://www.amazon.com/Cry-Love-More-Voices-Verse/dp/0692392408/ref=sr11?ie=UTF8&qid;=1432052822&sr;=8-1&keywords;=andrew+Switzer). The book costs a mere ten dollars, and all of the proceeds go towards ensuring that we continue to find a venue for our linguistic gymnastics. Now, I'm not unreasonable. Anyone who purchases a copy, and spreads the word to their friends, family, and colleagues, will not go unrewarded. For what it is worth, I will help to spread the word of your works, and ensure that you gain exposure with my circle of friends and family, at the very least, in the hopes that you may one day be able to be published as well. This is a dream come true for me, and it would make it all the better if you would be able to purchase one copy, in support of the arts and the continued love for the manipulation of the English language. Thank you in advance to all who may purchase one, and best wishes to all!

Broken down, discarded dreams,
Slipping through these splitting seams,
Seems to me these eyes can't see
A way to flee this one note scene.

Discordant dissonance of hate,
The fear and pain it propagates,
Weeping mothers, bleeding sons,
A war is waged that can't be won.

Another day, another shooting,
Another factory polluting
Drinking water, poisoned crops,
White collar crimes, when will they stop?

The future never looked so bleak,
Each suture we possess is meek.
But humankind will persevere,
And filter blackened waters clear.

In the stillness of the night, my hands ache to take yours in mine, tracing lines on your palms, facing each other, in lasting calm.

I yearn for the hair that shines so bright, burns like the sun I crave in sightless dark. I run to my dreams to feel your hair, falling around my face as I play the part of your pillow.

My skin, on fire with the desire of pressing against you, caressing your back and arms. Keeping you safe from harm, no alarm creeping towards the breaking dawn.

My eyes long to fall on perfect features in the fading light, the prettiest of all Gods creatures. Locking mine with emerald pools of passion, a lasting gaze to amaze my fasting soul.

Eager for your love to fill my bowl, knowing, as the wind is blowing beyond my windowsill, thirst is a distant, fading curse.

Our hearts intertwine above the sea, parting waves to save romance, so free. No love compares to the one we share, as we celebrate our eternal dance.

Today is not Lord Byron’s birthday.
Today is May 3, and I’m preparing to enter the real world.
Graduation comes in nine days.
Before me like a flag my future unfurls.
Poetry is something I must never give up on.
The class that I took this semester reaffirmed that.
The feedback I gained was something to feed upon.
My poems felt like more than mere lab rats.
Dissected on a cold, steel operating table,
Without hope of being understood, only analyzed.
My mind has always served me well when I demand that it be able.
My work is not something that I want privatized.
So I’ll continue my work in the field of poetics,
To try to make the world understand what goes on between these ears.
The words that I write shall be unapologetic,
As I drift through these forthcoming years.
Graduation is in nine days.
Today is not Lord Byron’s birthday.

Stressed out, ****** up, broken, and tired,
All thoughts of happiness long since expired.
Words are the only things keeping me sane,
In the same breath, praising/cursing my brain.

Chasing after women who can't or won't appreciate
The things I say and do,
I sit alone, deteriorate,
Search for someone new.

Faking structure through the years,
Answers lost in amber beers.
Waking up to each new day,
Hoping I will float away,
High above the reach of man,
His damning, racist, hateful clan.
To a place of deepest night,
Safe from bigots "cleansing light."
Darkness thick as velvet rope
Holds together all my hopes,
And dreams and fears and all desires,
Under stars and nightly fires.
Break away from everyone,
Claim the night, blot out the sun.
When one day the long sleep falls,
I'll journey down those crimson halls,
To crypts of love and memories lost,
Without a care about the cost.

Coarse concrete passes under bare feet while funk beats propel my body along the street. Cars fly by towards ***** soaked twilight beneath the stars and street lights, as the black and whites prepare to patrol and control the night. Clubs packed to capacity hock their swill to the patrons, twirling and milling about in the hopes of not leaving alone. These fleeting moments of torrid romance hold no interest for this bloodshot brother of the night time world as I wander towards Townhouse 124. Fresh air fills my lungs as drunken party songs are sung beyond this aural wall of Clinton, praise be given for the funk has risen! Lying down now, in my bed, are where the sweetest songs are bled. From the wounds inside my mind, the words flow out like crimson tide. When I see the morning light, bid farewell to dearest night. Though we'll be reunited soon, I'll miss the comfort of the moon, bringing with its calming glow, a break from sun shines rays of woe.

In shadows she cries as the weight of the world consumes her.
No one ever cared, they all seemed to stare right through her.
On the wings of the angels she flies through the skies just to be with him.
Trampled by devils, she's dragged underground as the light grows dim.

Torn into pieces, her soul she unleashes in the crimson flow.
The blades sticks fast in the dirt as she gasps in the pale moons glow.
No whimper or whine as she counts down the time till her heart stops beating.
Her skin grows pale as her life force fails and she welcomes his cold greeting.

Fireflies dart through the darkness above us, while I run my fingers through your hair. Shuttered lids belie the most beguiling and comforting icicled eyes.
Spellbound by a soul so much like mine, I suffer when deprived of your soothing glow, the calming touch you provide, even while pinching or prodding to provoke a response.
Between the darkness and the light, you creep into my dreams, aiding me in my conquests as my ally. My muse. My ******.

Outside in a clearing, mere feet beyond the treeline. The bonfire crackles and spits, punctuating conversations fueled by cheap ***** and raging hormones. The stars are bright in the clear country sky. The scent of roasting wood mingles with freshly blooming trees. Spring is finally here.
Tuesday's Gone begins to play. Fitting, seeing as the evenings events seem to be winding down.I gaze out over the scattered clusters of classmates, some familiar, others, un. That's when I see you, sitting away from the group, staring up at the stars.
Your ginger blossom locks fall in folds around your collar. The burning, emerald eyes set deep in your tiny, freckled face widen as a shooting star passes overhead. The moons glow reflects faintly off of your snow white skin.
I rise from the group and move to sit next to you on the log by the riverside. I don't say anything. I simply sit beside you, and stare at the stars above, millions of miles away.

I came on too strong,
and I rubbed your soul wrong.
Now I'm strung along
by a silent, unloved song.

My death will be a masterpiece,
Inglorious design,
Tear away the hope for peace,
The loss of all that's mine.

In this violet hour, as dreams court demons and the seams holding the ocean of your soul threaten to split and spill forth your essence into the sky above, time almost seems to stand still. The space around you becomes skewed as gravity gives way to weightless flight above a world that never made sense to you in the first place. All the pain, persecution, and perils that are inflicted upon such immense portions of the populations of no one single nation, but all races, creeds, and castes, and at the end of the day it all boils down to the search for the almighty dollar. But none of that matters to you anymore. As you are borne on by invisible wings along the waves of the universe, guided towards the boundaries of feeling, you begin to embrace the emptiness that is nothingness. Your once harried mind now free from the chaos of being, unclouded by delusions of grandeur and eternity, you allow yourself all the time you need to enjoy this respite from thought. Time has become meaningless. Eons pass, knowable existence collapsing inwards on itself, only to explode into radiance and vitality once more. The cycle continues, hundreds of times in the space of time necessary to form a few sentences, while at the same time accelerating to such a point that galaxies could be traversed in the breadth of a heartbeat. Adrift in the void, with no tether back to the realm of mortals, the only course of action is to allow yourself to be lost to sightless visions and wordless descriptions of an existence that you can no longer remember.

Naked and broken, half dead on the ground,
Screams pouring out but I can't hear a sound.
You held my heart and then ripped it in two,
I'm shackled and bound, still bleeding for you.

Trapped in a future I never desired,
The heartaches and pain trap me high in my spire
Of grief. Relief is a state which I've never attained,
Through the years and the tears, my mind lies twisted and maimed.
Unbroken and eternal, this chain of my failures
Will adorn my body; no temple, a trailer.

There is no air in the land under the sea,
But that's never stopped us from having our fun.
The fish don't need air and neither do we,
We still get the heat, the light of the sun.
We swim with the eels and eat with the sharks,
We jump with the dolphins and sleep with the fish.
None of us dare to go down where it's dark,
For the ones who have gone shall be dearly missed.
Terror lies down where the sun does not reach,
But they do not come up to the light of the day.
The young ones are those that we have to teach,
For if we do not then they shant stay away.
This is how the future shall be unfurled,
Such are the ways of Water World.

What's a writer own when his mind has turned to waste?
Without the means to mesmerize, we have no spice, no taste.
The elevator's missing and I've fallen down the shaft,
I've lost my life preserver, I ride a leaky raft.
My tongue is twisted, inside out, reversed, and upside down,
I lack the life to give to words, behind these eyes, I've drowned.

Bitter winter winds have broken
into biting rains - it's soaking
earthen muck, 'neath unsure footing,
inebriated lush.
As I took my leave of gathered
friends and spirits, nothing mattered.
My farewell you found off-putting,
Saw you start to blush.

The simple act of placing lips
against your tender fingertips
would find you fleeing up the stairs.
Just turn and walk away.
Unspoken token, affection
of a deepening connection.
Not one word said, not one soul cares,
but I can't look away.

I wait and watch you disappear
through the fading smoke and mirrors.
I thought one day you'd call again,
never ending silence
echoes out the only mistake
that I'd ever admit to make,
for on that night I lost a friend.
Self-inflicted silence.

Nobody really knows
Which, if any, way the wind blows.
Drifting by on fading dreams,
All for one, no time for teams.
Days gone by when we flew high on vapors not of rolling papers but of our playful youthful capers, daring mates as daylight tapers.
Now the times have changed for ill,
When all we praise is Dollar Bill.
Robots set on cruise control,
But what's the purpose, what's the goal?
When the dam will burst at last, cleansing all that was our past,
We'll have the life and riches, too,
But what's the point when you're not you?

Delete every trace,
Disguise the lingering numb,
Retreat from the race.