Thanks for your connection
To me; it follows through
In the right direction—
An elaborate confection
Of sweets that are actually good for you.
I am moved, yet still moving,
Always moving, as long as I’m believing
And always grieving
For this world that has lost you. Praying now
That you will use me
To reach those who are screaming
With closed mouths and open spirits,
Letting poison flood them,
While professing to be merely swimming
Innocently,
For Satan’s the king of trickery.
I pray to all, but mostly those
Who will never hear my plea;
That you may give them heaviness
And let them into grace and worry
About their souls
Even if they never know
Such heaviness could come
From a minute one as me
For in actuality,
It has come from you.
All has come from you.

Used to mental clutter,
Accustomed to chaos—
A stranger to clarity;
Waiting for it
To become blurry,
But it doesn’t.
I am not colorblind;
I am seeing everything
Ferociously, vividly,
And with a great sense of glee
And I am ready
To complete
God’s will for me,
Never forgetting
What he has made me finally see.

Your scent engulfs my mind.
Leaving traces.
Places.
Faces.
Behind.

My eardrums play a silent tune.
Shadows passing.
Slashing.
Fastening.
Soon.

Your vision—my eye's obsession.
Backward glancing.
Fancying.
Menacing.
Repression.

My touch reclaims time.
Sullen reflection.
Expression.
Rejection.
Borderline.

They ask me why I want to die—I tell them—
I am already dead.
They pump that forceful air supply—no ears
Hear words clearly said.
White drowns the place—all space
Leaves me feeling like an empty face
In the hospital bed.
My family cries, I give them lies,
"Accidental overdose"
Wouldn't want to take the time
To get too close.
The truths I've told have only killed me more.

A life of pain
Is a life of gain.
"KNOWLEDGE."
They say.

Forget happiness, just learn:
Rinse those tears away,
On the coast of another day.
"Knowledge," they say,
"Is pain."

Knowing is a bore,
Reality—a chore.
They say, "Stronger, you'll grow."
Think I'd rather not—well—
Know I'd rather not
Know.

When winter comes I miss the sun.
My tear freezes.

Dreaming of sandcastles
Well into winter.

I build a snowcastle
To satisfy
My fantasy, my misery
And occupy
My grieving
Eye.

Snow castles harden,
As snowflakes grow dearer.

I slice through patterns of sand
Attempting to make
A sandflake
To understand
And heal this (stifled)
Ache.

When summer comes I miss the snow.
My tear melts.