roasted
toasted
and burnt to a crisp
I wish these thoughts in my head didn't exist
my heart
my soul
my fist
I could walk away from all of this
children making other children eat paint chips
my love for any other is fading quick
it is enough to make any sane man sick
I question my reasons for holding on
I have the dead mans hand
and I am about to fold
from the minute we were born
through the period of growing old
we are sold
stripped of our clothes
and robbed of all of our gold

I met you
when you were
just starting to poke
through the cocoon
that surrounded you

those big brown eyes
and those large black pupils
starving for light
attracted me like a black hole
I am spiraling like a pin wheel
will I disappear with you?
or will disappear into you?

I noticed a fray
it blew in the wind
I caught it with my fingers
and the static electricity lingered
I began to unravel the threads
then I was cut short as I fell from the limb
of the tree we were living in
I am a damaged caterpillar on the ground
on my back watching you
flap your wings with a rhythm
as you fly around
landing on any flower
that is in bloom

I am lost, in my back yard
flailing my fists, boxing with god
I want to know why I am content
with living in a private box
knowing I could very well be buried in one
when my thirst for life stops
I live as if I am already dead
instead of growing, I rot
I should be describing ink blots
in a gown wearing sandals and socks
because I am about as understood
as the circles in the corn crops
I am a mushroom growing from
what the bovine creature drops
while people around me seem like livestock

my body is spent
I lay in the grass
and it feels like pavement
I cannot change this
or do anything to prevent it
stress comes and stress goes
my heart is the entrance
and my brain is the outlet

I filter everything
and I am a conduit, a vessel at float
touched by the waves and the breeze
carrying me towards the suns glorious beams
like Icarus with delicate waxed wings
I am sure to fall short and drown in the sea
until then I will learn to appreciate
the commodity of breathing

I am staring out of the window
watching the wind hit the leaves
she is staring at me and talking slow
telling me that I have a nosebleed
I have planted these little seeds
and now they are leaking out of me
grabbing a tissue
she touches my skin
and it feels like something
a non-believer might believe in
seeping into the sheets
wrapping myself in cotton
I am beginning to feel nauseous
she sat calmly and cautious
holding my hand and my hair
as I began coughing
then becoming sick from it
she cleaned up my sins
then became lost in them

I send knives to the sound of your voice
and they ricochet every time
bouncing back at me
but now they bounce off of my skin
with a parachute landing
hitting the floor
like a liquid
bleeding into the grain
and spreading
drying up
and disappearing

focused fumes
filling a dark room
I lit the fire to the blanket
covering you
and I watch the flames
as they are extinguished
by the rain
pouring from the cloud
hovering over you
I could not be alone tonight
and now I will never be alone
again in my life
holding in my hand
a broken robins egg
that I broke myself
in an attempt to save it
the road to sadness is littered
with the best of intentions
and the sky is painted with
the faces of the people we miss
and you are these things
you are what sadness brings

there is an angel on the couch
a special kind of sacred
I am afraid to touch for the risk of breaking
a soul as wise as it aching
I will tread slow and safely
with myself on my sleeve
I can only hope she comes to me

there is an angel on the couch
I can see her spirit vibrating through her skin
she is squirming
hoping no one will notice
but earlier
outside
one of her feathers took off with the wind
and I am the only one who seen it

there is an angel on the couch
and I am a man too shy to open my mouth
failing to display my wittiness and sincerity
the vessels I use to send my love out
but I am floating, vulnerable in the sea
with the over whelming fear that I might drown

there is an angel on the couch
with a stereo and collection of cds
of people I know about
I chose a song
and as it song started
I sat back down unnoticed

"I hear a voice..."

there is angel on the couch
with her eyes closed and moving around
with her hands in the air
disrupting the sloth like clouds
she is in perfect sync with the sound

I am staring down at my knees
just wandering
around in my head
trying to remember to breathe
I am high beyond all reasoning
and the angel gives me an unfamiliar feeling
just sitting there on the couch
still not sure she can see completely see me
I am just a simple mortal peasant
and she has earned beautiful white wings
then without hesitation
I leave
and still, to this day
the reason escapes me

kites bounce around over head
as our skin softens the sand
noticing the mathematics in the waves
the tide nips at our feet then runs away

as the water retracts
the sand starts to look like my carpet
then I realize where I am
on the floor in my bedroom
with a memory in my hand
and it bites like a fire ant
the sting feels the same as the rest of them

birds chirp from their nests
in the trees above our heads
and a spider web on the swing set
the intricate design has me fascinated

as the sunlight bounces off rather slow
the web starts to look like my cracked window
then I realize where I am
looking outside at life happening
with a feeling in my heart
that rattles like a screen door in the wind
it feels like I am walking out then back in again