Just as you go to bed.
when the day is worn and old
and all you want to do is sleep;
take me with you
in the travel of your dreams.

In the late evening
when all the earth falls away
and the world soothes your open flesh
with soft fingers of breath and temperature.
Your open soul is caressed
by the ever unfolding spirits
of love and joy.

Take me with you
In the quiet drift of such places.

You gorgeous *******.
I like you.

thick shackles broken,
lashing curved
together. moons
vanish in those wells,
intent on drying.

suddenly inside
             him

and out, shut
in one second
by stairs unfolded.

left looking, again,
at the warmest hue of chocolate.

I just needed to hear
You say goodnight
My dear
Now I'm left with such fright
That wonderful feeling of fear
You are gone from plain sight
That tone is all I can hear
Gone cold
Dead

If you want one last piece of advice, here it is. When you think life ***** too much, wrap yourself in stories. Don't disillusion yourself with lies about your own life and try to warp reality because you cannot. But wrap yourself up in the stories of others, other times, and other lands. Just don't become so obsessed with them like I have. Don't begin to prefer them to your life all the time because that will only worsen your life and make you forget that you have your own stories to create and adventures to go on.

-L.B.

Sometimes I like to pretend that I don't exist.
   I like to look up at the stars and ignore them.
      I like to listen to the silence for fun.

I pretend I don't exist because practice makes perfect,
   So I just keep practicing
      And practicing so one day I can just stop.

   Stop acting.
   Stop worrying.
   Stop pretending.

Sometimes I like to pretend that I don't exist,
  Because that means my problems don't exist,
      And there is no one waiting for me.
Like I'm floating deeper into oblivion.

But then my silence is broken
   And I am alive again and reminded that someone depends on me
      And I can't leave just yet.
Like its inconvenient for someone else that I leave right now.

But practice makes perfect
   And I can't stop practicing.

I like to pretend that I don't exist
   Because it gives me hope that someday
      I won't.

Dreams have become
Literally
Quite lyrically
Lately
Drifting away
On a bed of melodies
Listening to the songs
Of past memories
Bringing around
An air of clarity
And it seems
The subconscious bleeds
Figuratively
Over into reality
As I find myself awake
Singing songs I've never heard