Love me
with music of the sea
screaming seagules
push ships swimming
lazily  
enjoy me
in Bach's crazy rhythm
with fluttering waves
come
in my immutability

Skies are beautiful
They have clouds
But they still cry

Why wouldn't you?

You are beautiful
You have poems
You can cry too

I'm scared of being a disappointment.
I'm scared of being vulnerable.
I'm scared of what people really think of me.
I'm scared of breaking your heart.
I'm scared of not being enough.
I'm scared of saying "I love you."
I'm scared of being complimented.
I'm scared of people smelling my breath when I don't brush my teeth.
I'm scared of using public toilets.
I'm scared of what parents say about me.
I'm scared of what teachers say about me.
I'm scared of the truth.
I'm scared of not having friends.
I'm scared of breaking the rules.
I'm scared of acting.
I'm scared of having regrets.
I'm scared of my past affecting my future.
I'm scared I'm not worth the trouble.
I'm scared of choking on a necklace in my sleep.
I'm scared of communicating deeply about my feelings with others.
I'm scared of doing something wrong.
I'm scared of not going to a good college.
I'm scared of talking about religion.
I'm scared of talking about money.
I'm scared of causing anyone unneeded grief.

But, I'm brave too.

'Cut, cut, little scratch. I wonder how you got attached. On this skin so red and clear. Like everything could disappear.

When the darkness has fallen on you. When the silence is becoming true. Then you grab your little knife. And cut, cut to come alive.

Then the voices in your head. Were getting silent instead. They did not know what to do. Without that body of you.

In the night sky you lay there. Under the white sheets without air. Forever shutting your eyes, dreaming of yourself in heaven skies.

As you fell asleep and finally got rest. Now they'll know they got your buttons pressed. Though little sister blames it all on herself. Cut, cut, little scratch.'

The cut-away gene
The one that allows you to cut away from a scene
To enter into any dream.
That cut-away gene.

We all have one and none are free
The gene allows us to be
It and me.
Do you see how it works?
How it lurks in the corners of the corners where you stand
And cuts away a tiny portion of each day
Until the day is gone.

I long for the moment when I pass away in the cut-away scene
Of the cut-away gene.
Will it seem so de-regulation
To cut away the strings that bind me to this station
And to float?

Could I cut away these scenes that come haunting me within my dreams
Is that what the cut-away genes are for?
Would I dig away until I'm sore
Until I reach the very core of this existence?
And should I,in my persistence cut away too much
Would I touch the heavens with my mind?
This is a kind of madness that I see
When all around,none are free
And we are the genetic bought and sold
Another kind of gold.

The cut-away gene will outlive me
And see much more than I could hope to see
But whether it can remember or not is the question that I've got
Does it have soul?
What is its goal?
Can we ever be sure that the cut-away gene is truly pure
Or a hybrid?
A get rich trick?
A gene so sick it makes me sick and quick let's run
The cut-away cuts away the sun and we are blind
Another kind of nightmare scene
Dream
Within the night of the cut-away gene.

never to deep
never enough to die
but enough to feel the pain;
enough to scream inside