They never cease to ask
Why?
Why is the sky blue?
Why is her skin darker than his?
Why do they call things what they do?
Sometimes we have answers
But sometimes we don't
Sometimes we're just as clueless
As the kids who ask those questions
It angers us
They're so annoying, we say
When really we know
Those kids and their questions
Open our eyes
To see through theirs

Melted math
Equations too runny to solve
on a paper partially dissolved by rain
A pencil ripped through it
From halfhearted doodles
on the back
Eventually discarded
at the bottom of a backpack
And never turned in
This mess
will not be retrieved
Till the end of the year
It's a shame, too
Would have gotten
an A+

In my perfectly painted room
All my books in order
on my painstakingly clean shelf
Not a speck of dust
Everything is spotless
All of the artwork on my walls
straight and alligned
I look around happily
making teeny little adjustments
just to make sure
it's perfect
And then I realize
everything
is
crooked

I want nothing more
than to
turn my thoughts
into words
To speak the desires
that whisper in my mind
I want you to be
aware
that my heartbeat
quickens
when you're near
And why did I not
say all this
earlier?
Because it can't come out
no matter how hard I try

Sleep clouds my mind
Words I have never spoken
At the tip of my tongue
I am exhausted
Yet I just woke up
Imaginary islands
Off in the distance
Begin to melt away
Colours blend together
Like thoughts heavy with fatigue
Echoing voices, barely whispers
Sound like the sirens
Of the dream police
And all the little god-children
Wave goodbye
As I sail away
To the Waking World
And as I near the horizon
The crew abandons ship
For they fear
What's on the edge
I refuse to look back
At the cowards
Instead I look
Dead ahead
I will not let them know
That I realize
The Waking World is full
Of nightmares

Thin little line
drawin in steel
fill it in red
until it spills over
smears the canvas
that once was blank
And the pain of this art
helps one think
More little lines
not new
but still there
reminders of failures past
and more pain to come
and the red drying paint
helps one think
Criss crossing lines
form odd shapes and designs
I've lost count but I swear
that I don't want to die
Every slash
every line
helps me think