This muse of mine
Remains silent and invisible
And is no less intense for that
I still write to her
Tell her of my dreams and my pain
And she is part of both of these

This muse of mine
May be no more than a ghost
But she is still my only truth
The one that owns me
For all my ****** and damaged past
For all my pointless future

This muse of mine
May be unreal or gone
Yet still I hold on
And still there'll be no other
Because within my muse
Hopelessness and hope
Have me enthralled

                              By Phil Roberts

A road trip with someone
Driving along the long road
Listening to our favorite songs
Singing in the car
Wearing my sundress
Taking polaroid pictures
Standing on the field of flowers
Looking at you with shy smile
Wearing flower crown
Lying on the mandala blanket
Reading poetry books
Sitting under at the blushing sunset sky
Watching the sun disappear
Candle lights
Sleeping under the stars
Talking about life and dreams
Making memories
Forgetting the world

Are you happy?
Are you happy with me?
Because my thought haunts me
That probably somewhere
There is someone else who could makes you happier than I do
And it terrifies me
I can not promise you today
I can not promise you tomorrow

All I know is...
That when our hearts attached to each other
And our hands holding one another
We could survive the storms together
And anchored in the beautiful islands
Like we always do for thousand of days

Last night I saw you sleeping
Were you dreaming of our dreams?
Discovering our fine days
Looking at the blue sky
Laying on the field of daisies
Because I am dreaming too
On a starry night
Laying on the beach with you
Kissing under the shining milkyway

write from the heart

How can I live brain damaged and disfigured like the lights seeping in through the walls don't trigger frightening synesthetic psychoses that exile my mind from the pinnacle of this oasis to the furthest borders of the existential void?

I copped some Subutex at a dry rooming house up the road from a run down clinic while waiting in a line a mile long and thought to myself, "These people need to hurry up."

I was driving up I95 -- drinking holy spirits with some recently deceased Jesus freak when I looked away.

I heard glass smash.
I felt every bone in my body crack.
I saw all of the light leave my eyes in the back of an ambulance.
I saw a white light -- it said, "Hang tight, everything will be alright." Then asked me something silly like, "Do you know where you are?"

I woke up in my bed in my parents' basement.
I grabbed a page and a pen and I went.
To writing.

I wrote I swear I heard glass smash.
Swear that I felt every bone in my body crack.
Swear I saw all the light leave my eyes in the back of that ambulance.
Swore I saw a white light that said, "Hang tight, everything will be alright." Then asked me something silly like, "Do you know who you are?"

I lay back in bed, and the room starts to spin and I'm back driving I95 again.

I know what's going to happen soon.
I know what's going to happen.
I know what's going.
I know what.
I know I.

Lying between sticky sheets in a hospital bed, contemplating my lifes story. Wondering, "Who could be so cruel as to write it on the ceiling in blacklit fuschia heiroglyphs?" Cooked psychosis crazy. Though that's a little insensitive, I suppose.

Lying between coarse sheets on a locked ward, contemplating two knots atop the door. Wondering, "Is there a place in The Father's Kingdom for the self-eradicated to lick each other's wounds?" Raw reality sane. Though that really isn't much better, I suppose.