No one is going to purpose a toast
For ghosts endlessly dwindling
In rooms full of the living
Too scared to live.

To kids helplessly
Drunk on petty gimmick
With an authority of contempt
Held for anyone but themselves.

Taught to fear for love.
Begged to save face rather than soul.
Told that to die is to live.

Not a time for cutting corners,

Confused but at the same time eloquent,
How does she do that?

Under glorious shooting star glow,
Imaginary problems revealed,
Without discretion,
Becoming increasingly intertwined
Was perhaps no mistake.

It was destiny.
It was fate.

Universe has no taste.
With haste,
All runners run the same race,
Winners reaching their last breath finish line.

Could be chance or accident,
Either way I'm happy with it.
So much worrying and anticipation,
Just lifts to dissipate,
On such a long awaited day.

Should it be taken seriously?
I hear fickle people go both ways

Plan to kiss no one without secret intent.
Plan to kiss no one without meticulous method
Plan to kiss no one without a hidden plan.

Now
You know
Who you are.

To think I should speak with you
Is pessimist-dismissed
So quickly
The pen drops
Before the thought
Crosses
The multiverse
Mind
Contained
In paper Cranes.

To think you would want
To want
To talk to me
Is so ridiculous
So out-there
So cover-up
Alien-conspiracy-theory
Secret-society
Cryptic-code
Cart­ography.

The phonetic
Background
Of my throat
Shuts down
Shuts up.
Vowels in my stomach
Bunch.
Curves
Of your face
Shadows of your mind
Overlay mine
To camouflage.

I could
And would love you,
Not ten fathoms
But deep enough
So
We are suspended where light waves
Cannot bend
Breaking on coral
Breaking on coma

Waking up sleeping sand.

Screams like a banshee,
An old love
Outside the bedroom window
Soulful mourn
And nondescript yells.
Small notes with scratch fingernail pattern.

Falling asleep in the spiral
Green, because of trees.
Not friends anymore,
Moving onto better things
Better things are bigger.
Better things are important.
Better things are meaningless purpose.

Giving up on a lifestyle
Because of a paycheck
Into a hotel full of the dead
Where it is most hospitable
Until the realization,
That you’re sleeping in an incomprehensible lie.
Not happy
Not content.
No peace.

Only War.

War never changes
In deep voice
It climaxes
With knives
With grenades
And
Atom
Bomb
Fission love.
Leaving behind
Ruby
Sky
Death.

Silence
Is of ghosts
Until
We
All
Become them.

Everything being the way it is doesn’t make sense.
A slight isolation from the world is synonymous with vacation.
Hard to believe in innocence,
When society insists it will be lost anyway.
Anyway, everyone ends up in the grave;
File away the papers and let’s have a parade.

Will humanity again retreat to a cave?
Will the debts of nations remain unpaid?

Midnights on  Fridays,
Not even in the company of strangers.
Just fictional characters seeking real life stories;
The kind with hooks that never let go,
The kind that gets ghosts to gawk in awe,
The kind that speaks of change and new faces.

New locations begetting expansion and undiscovered harmony.
Self-centered, wondering what this means for stubborn habit.

Disillusioned sage.
Sleeping cynic.

A bird that walks instead of flying.
A fish that tries to fly instead of  just swimming.

Sometimes feeling lonely.
Sometimes feeling free.
No love doesn't mean no worries.

As if I had the patience ;
to become the faceless replacement
to endure hollow transformation.
Another ghost in Void Lust's engagement.

Much to awkward arrangement;
two hands clasp adjacent,
two mouths agape in amazement .
Two souls surprised to find that
Together they are satiated.