I walk the empty road of hurried days
the dark holds opportunities that the light burns through.
Nerves have been narcissistic
in that self-loathing battering
that I promised you I wouldn't commit to again.

is it different if you're a witness?

Hiding isn't part of the agenda,
if you could call irrationality an agenda.

here's to touching upon a few points in which I don't show all sides.

I'm nervous to talk to the people who make me happy
and I'm jaded to their presence,
because I'm a modern-day gatsby
with a touch of bukowski (or maybe a slam)
and all I want is for  this romantic inside of me to give up on the struggle
and give in.

I want to let her form allude me because it's not important,
she just wants recognition for the fact that she has an education
and knows how to use it.
I'm just going to let my words smash onto the page, maybe edit
before a show, maybe not.
Probably go drink a beer on the local trail and stare at the back
yards of the wealthy and sharpie in an eye ball on the cement
brick on which I set my empty bottle for company, because
flowers don't get far in foam.

Nostalgia here we are again,
this time there's no search for meaning,
I know you completely and ever since we've met
you've refused to let go (somewhat of a curse, yet I love you).

If I want to let myself be free, then I have to let go of others judgement.
If maybe for a second I didn't think of what others thought about me
and I didn't think about them to occupy the empty space, then I would
truly return to the person I was before my self-esteem plummeted beneath
all that I knew to be right and wrong. Before it hurt to write my feelings
because of the fear that what I wrote wouldn't be good enough, or long enough,
no matter how many compliments came shooting through me.

"I forgot, you're bad at accepting compliments."

I don't want that to be true, I don't want to beat myself up
over the fact that someone else has great beauty simply
because I am blind of my own.

Self-love, here I come,
it'll help me live life without tangles.

Floating across a river of blood
in a pool of massacred dreams,
ripples of hope.
The water runs red because of the plague,
to remind of the good and warn of the bad.
Undesirable outcomes
of the ways we've been behaving.
I wanted to take a dip in that forbidden stream
before all this happened.
To watch it run clear and catch flickers
of light across it's ebbs and flows,
like someone had sprinkled glitter into it.
I wanted the beauty,
even though I didn't know how to swim.
Never had I been within something so
natural and crisp.
I was willing to drown if it could wash over me,
and make me feel as connected as it seemed
to everything around it.
How could this be considered erroneous?
It seemed peaceful...
Until lives were slaugtered on its banks.
Others who felt the same,
our kindered hearts,
we wept into the deep opaque water.
Water none of us knew existed until we saw it.
This same small creek,
that I had never been emerged in,
was now a scarlet current infused with tears.
Ripples from the sobbing rain are what remind us,
that it is an ever moving entity,
with a mind and a song,
and will filter itself someday,
with a slow, harmonious bubbling of purification.
I can wait, and let time heal my subtle rejection,
because now I know what I want.
I want to swim in this elixir of life.

I stayed up all night yesterday,
And when the rain began to pour,
I began to float weightlessly, resting on the rising waters.
Forever skyward I was lifted,
Yet still remained in contact with the sea
Gazing down to watch the ghouls below.

At times, they accumulated enough energy
And clambered through the tides towards my side.
Yet the weight of their unrecognized guilt disabled them,
Again they spiraled back down like wisps of smoke.
I was prepared for my persistent pleas of mercy
But the heroic current swiftly pulled them away.
So I basked in the light, Often looking back in caution.
Meeting eager eyes, and visible minds
That jumped excitedly with plans of attack.

But the waters then deeper, absorbed their shocks,
So much that all i felt was a mere nudge.
Their impatient eyes always on me,
Rendered them blind to their inevitable failures.
It was only upon entering my mind, freely as always
Did they hear my silenced voice repeat-
better luck next time, better luck tomorrow.

my father went on a journey long
inside his head and mind
for months he weighed and stayed away
we wondered for what to find?

at last we had to talk it through
the future and what life's about
he said his mission had been to clear out
what he missed... or could live without

it turned out he was uncertain
about many things in life
but me he did not miss a bit
it cut me
                          like a knife...

Smiling, tiny shiny *****
Hanging on a dark, lonely ceiling.
The night dances as the wind sings.
A guest, ancient but unknown
**Has came to steal.

Be my muse,
I'll translate you into binary
and back again.
Lying on the ground,
blue carpet between your ears,
synthesized sounds convey through spaghetti,
hearing aides grow old with us.
Child sized vowels fall off their bicycles,
from between your lips.
Keep me busy; when I'm comfortable, I get lazy.
Your shirts are overlaid grids,
the holes, coordinates.
17.43
Always a poet, only occasionally writing,
I hedge my bets and roll die
with insults open to interpretation.
I don't like your words,
I don't need your hyena smiles
I don't want your degrading remarks.
But I know your skeleton,
your tendons, cartilage and marrow filler.
I understand how you move,
the coconut oiling your joints.
Be a textbook reference,
help me cut apart the paperchain people I’ve made,
I want to portray them realistically.
Shade their features with scrawled adjectives,
resolving to care about typography.
White school glue takes too long to dry
to have hopes of staving off entropy.
Scribble highways into dusty prairies,
be the cartographer that misplaces my world.

Innocent lily on a filthy pond
Young, untouched
Lost in Dark Wonderland
The biscuit, rabbit and drink
All is a trick
Run, take my hand
Let me save you
From the Red Queen's unholy land
The hatter is a beast
Who pays for a kiss
Alice, do not be deceived
It's the devil's hiss.