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In a time of only black and white I am half past colored,
choking on grey.
Relentless in my decent I am sent into the fray.
Sentimental sense gone and washed away.
Clean like our hands dipped in dismay.
Can we interest you in a few "I guess it's true" well that's too bad, it's all that's being offered. And it's awfully absurd.
Can't recall when it occurred but here it is. Inside my every word. Within my every waking moment I am observed in blur and slapped with a slur attached to defining my ability to serve. Smothered in the debris of everyone before me, my book is 30 chapters of the same story.
I break from the mold demanding the ever intensifying focus of eyes wide open as I preach from the curb screaming from within my own skin. But I am speaking in tongues
and these ones, well, they are deaf anyway.
In a time of only black and white I am half past colored,
choking on grey.
If you happen to ask what one half of me thinks of other
I would ponder upon the perplexity,
that to think less of me would mean that I don't think of me at all.

Lonely.
Darker.

Seething.
Blacker.

Slowly seeping,
deeper into the ether,
toward the sleeping creature.

The Keeper of Neither.

I can wash it off but it's all for naught,
It's in my skin now.
Spent too long on the wrong end of upside down.
Never have I ever made
or heard a sadder sound
than when I finally got a grip
just to watch it still slip
and shatter on the ground.

Am I lost or just waiting to be found?

So here I am sitting in my throne of obsidian,
drinking damnation as I dine on oblivion.
Self proclaimed king with a paper mache crown.

Am I lost or just waiting to be found?
Any chair is a throne if you try hard enough.
A&E
You're too high strung wound like a top, but not well spun.
What are you, sprung?
You're too well hung to act this young.
So what if she loves every song that you've sung?
It's just because she's obsessed with the grooves in your tongue,
now,
move in the sun and taste it.

Today is beautiful and I'll be ****** if you waste it getting wasted, let's face you're too content with being complacent.

Your placement and current situation are not your destination.
However,
don't be anxious you know your knowledge is ancient and none of this "ain't ****".
Take note of the double negative.
**Anything.
Is.
Everything.
been a long time since i wrote a poem i guess this is my attempt at a new one.
I fell in love with a girl named Hope,
as she wrapped her cold hands around my throat.
And while I choked, I wrote "let's elope..."
She replied,
*"Nope. Even though that'd be dope,
I only came for what's owed. So, here's your last smoke and six feet of rope."
It is ironically funny,
that in the land of milk and honey I pray for two shots of whiskey.
Tell the devil come and get me,
but, I'm not going gently.
I never met a single sorrow that I was able to drown,
yet, never had a wrong up that I couldn’t write down.
So even though my demons keep following me around,
they don’t talk to me now, they don’t even make sound.
They just lick their lips and then they look at me and grin
while I'm gripping this pen like, I'm never getting it again.
It is almost as if they think I'm writing it for them.
But why would I want to play a game that no one gets to win?
I would like welcome you to my mind; but I'm out of it.
How is it I'm proud of it and still not powerless?
It's simple, my prowess is not made of counterfeits.
And now it gets people to keep openly noticing the potency of the flow in me is known to be overly, thought provokingly, and notably infectious.
My poetry is restless, so, just knowing me is reckless.
The path falls out behind me
Shaking my world into stillness
My warhorse is tired
And I am battle weary
Still we ride, even blindly
Having faith in our fulfillment
Within the shadow of the spire
I can see clearly

Among the flowers, a fair haired maiden
Softly sings my name in praise
But no one else seems to hear
Or notice her presence
Yet to me it is blatant
This vision fills most my days
But is she really in front of me here
Or do I merely feel her essence

Either way I’m left elated
By how we can beget such a paradise
I would sacrifice all of reality
To bring forth its existence
All effort is for naught, these worlds remain separated
Dreams eternally tantalize
Every waking moment of normality
Until the day we share in the writing of a sentence.
Are these poems
Or love letters?
I suppose there is seldom a difference
When it comes to people like us
Convectional affection
Love conceived but left unborn
Never to come to fruition
A mutual decision
At least that what I tell myself
But I dreamt of you again
Laying in the soft grass by the still waters
Like you've always been
Though I have avoided that place for some time
Call this my homecoming
My shining armor now tarnished
My sword and shield worn free of their varnish
Skin garnished with scars
I hold neither regret nor shame
That everything has changed so much
But will you love me the same
Even though I am not such?
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