Children, watch me eat suns. Hello, darkness. I have made peace with your caress. Forgotten leaves falling from the tree. I planted you. With my bare hands I dig away at the black earth flesh. A place to bury you and leave. Beneath the porch I rest panting in the noon day sun. I listen to the children sing and play on the old piano in the house above me. Will you love me when I am rotting here flies and sores. I listen to them stomping on the boards and electrical chords installed buzzing blue colors when I chew through the rotting floors. Until I see the sun and the dining room table she sings and plays the old piano in the corner. Her voice buckles the beams and hearts tumble in the chest of her guests. Though she has been uprooted now. I dig her up with a stone trowel. Whistling as I work. clank against her skullcap. Pulling her up and onto the dark dew covered grass. Her eyes stare endlessly into the star blanketed sky

Sometimes I sit in order to readjust thoughts
I sit to feel nothing, but end up feeling something
Like multiple desires
or scattered emotions that can make me lose my original thought
Where I'm able to hold conversations with myself
Now isn't that something...
Humans as "Transformers"?
We are literally made up with different human beings within ourselves
Optimus Prime
I like that name. *Does everyone agree?

I feel as if I am supposed to hate myself.
It's a ****** feeling, yes I agree
I cry because I'm frustrated
which is beautiful
Progress
It shows that I'm passionate to learn how to love myself.

Y'know there's those buildings you see
when escaping over the motorway and fleeing the country;
those same pitched roofs along the line,
streetlight tall like eager broken spines;
many-a architect's hand has been there with their
continuous ink, connecting that brick to that corner link,
drawing straight edge drain and eye sore pain,
those red doors and white doors and those PVC ***** doors that always
stand rigid,
though their locks stay locked until they're next visited.

Well those buildings are what you see
when you're fleeing from someone who hasn't let you free.

She does have a beautiful face
And eyes that work like witchcraft,
Slow, hypnotic and dark,
And the body of some goddess,
But she’s a rotten one,
Cold down to her core.
And I hate her so very much,
And I hate seeing her wherever I go,
And I hate when she appears in dreams.
Why! Oh why does this happen
When I hate her this much?
Not green nor whiskey work
To drown it out,
She’s a stubborn one,
Refusing to leave me be,
And it makes me hate her
So much more.

i just can't stay
in babylon
all the time
i got to get out or i
forget
which world
is real
i have to sit
in the hut
on my own
crossed legs
i got to light
a candle
beat a drum
or just listen
to the music
of the jungle bird
gandhi's standing
on my head
singing
there's always room
for one more
in africa
and heaven

Something's off.
Something's strange.
I cannot see,
nor Rearrange.

I feel it near
Pressing my heart
Only to wonder
where does it start?

Is it in the sky?
in the trees?
or could it rest
within the seas?

It stares and follows
Without a care;
My eyes go searching
my focus tears

No matter where
No matter how,
it stalks my conscience
Here and Now.

All my trust,
All my hope;
It's mindless talons
with these elope

It nags my sleep,
It nags my wake-
Were I to run
my breath it'd take

When I'm to lie
in my bed
it lies right over
my eyes- blood red

And in my wake,
I stop and think
with every word.
at every blink.

Walking- a rock
within my shoe
pulling it out
so easy to do

Yet this fiend
makes me believe,
No worthy to heal.
never to relieve.

Maybe ticks alone
will save-
Or maybe tocks
help find it's cave.

Never leaves.
never goes.
forever here,
my forever clothes