The painkillers in my pocket rattle
with each step
toward the unreachable moon
in strange harmony
with the untainted snow
crunching
beneath my feet.

Two or three
aren't enough to numb me
anymore,
no longer enough
to shut my brain off
for a little bit...
to quiet these thoughts
that stalk me
and whisper
how no one would find me
if I just lay here
on this nameless road
with a mouth full of pills,
face to the stars,
and die in the arms
of a snow angel
who'll carry me away to a heaven
I only believe in when I'm high.

I squeeze the bottle in my pocket
almost to the point of crushing it
as I turn away from the wind
and look back at the light of
my grandpa's cottage
drawing my attention
away from my midnight daydream
and the moon
that hangs like a sliver bullet
stained with the blood of monsters
from my mind.

How many times
have I walked this path high
praying to God's gleaming eye
for death,
as it winks slowly
with darkness
as if indicating something
beyond my comprehension...

All I know is
the cottage is warm
and I should go back.

Eyes cast upon the creation,
Its a stirring Invitation.
Words cooked in a spoon,
Drawn to the Pen soon,
Tied off by punctuation.
When the Ink hits the Blood,
The rush is a total Flood.
And the Poets elation,
Is the rush of creation.
But on days of frustration,
You beg for inspiration,
Just to feel the Poets Fix.

A vast Land, dotted with thoughts and Ideas,
Scripted in Hand, Penned with Altruist Zeal.
Paragraphs Written in Hills, and in Valleys,
Taking a Path through Drama and Passion.
Leading you through Dark City Alleys...
To Scenes of Crime and Dark Actions,
Cowered in Fear, Shadows Causing Reactions.
You feel your Skin Crawl at the Draw of a Knife,
Shocked at the Sight of a Passing Life.
You Cling to the Arms of the One you Love,
The Feelings between You from Heaven above.
The Pleasure you feel at the Touch of your Lips,
As the Wind ***** the Sails of a Yar and sleek Ship.
True love Flares up at the setting sun,
And Finally the Poems End has Come.....JMF 1/12/15

In the vast corners of the room was a telephone that read broken. Poets are really deep because they can turn nothing into something. To me, the telephone meant that us as our generation have broken communication. We get rid of our problems over text like ending a relationship or quitting a job.

In the dark of night
When you're out of sight
But never out of mind
There is a silence
The kind of quiet that
Causes the fissures
In my mind
To swell and widen
Just enough for sanity
To disappear into the abyss
Into the labyrinth
Of a cracked and shattered psyche
In the silence of nothing
Where the world could have ended
As I lay here oblivious
To the truth, the reality
Of the outside world
This place, in the deepest recesses
Of my twisted mind
This is where the waiting
Breeds nightmares
Steeped in the real possibilities
That cause my heart to break
In real time
In the midst of unknowing
Somehow I know
I know something is amiss
The world, my world is off kilter
Just enough to barely notice
To wonder if it is my reality or my shadows
Traversing the cracks in my facade of sanity
Trying to find a way back to peace
Leaves me drained of the desire to breathe
As every breath breaks my ribs
The panting, painful, dry, and useless
As there is no living in this place
That ***** the life out of my eyes
And the stagnant air of what-if out of my lungs
Gasping in vain to **** it in
Because what-if is all there is
In the dark of night
When you're out of sight
But never out of mind

Illusions are both perceptions and deceptions.........
We allow ourselves to believe them
..........to escape problems
We wend our way thru a care free day
And consume the .........perfect love
And all that we are capable  of,
Emerged in Fantsy, we create reality,
To insure our denyability and
Preserve our culpability,
In the hopes that the perception
Or deception, avails the....ILLUSIONS.....       JMF 1/7/115

illusions are both
perceptions and
deceptions.........
we allow ourselves
to believe them
to escape problems
we wend our way
thru a care free day
and consume the
.........perfect love
and all that we are
capable  of, emerged
in Fantsy, we create
reality, to insure our
denyability and preserve
our culpability,  in the
hopes that the perception
or deception, avails the....
ILLUSIONS.....       JMF 1/7/115

She is a perfectly ripe orange, juicy inside,
he peels the skin her mind, thickly wraps around,
with the alchemy of his words, see! how well
she reveals, her true essence for him to consume,
one segment after another, he wants to experience
her leisurely; it's her turn now,for her he is a peach
she impatiently waited thus far, to put her hands on,
he is patient, at her disposal, till they fully merge

What’s to become of a setting sun that cannot be with you always even though it will return in the morning to ask your sleepy eyes if you made love to the moon?

What’s to become of a solitary moon adorned with my kisses to be sent to you each night in remembrance of the past and a hope for a dream that is so old it has borne children that have taken their place in the heavens?

What’s to become of a dry creek bed that once ran wild to your seas in anticipation of becoming one in a mating ritual that can no longer move even the smallest pebble when once boulders shuddered to think of the passion play that ruled the night?

What’s to become of the lone wolf who howled each night in your forests that have now burned to the ground with not even a remnant of smoke from a fire that consumed our past lives and is merely ashen powder with no resemblance to the beauty that he once devoured?

What‘s to become of a stone tied to a leg attached to a body that once had a heart that was held in your hands and instead is drowning and decaying under the weight of oceans that will make quick work of its flesh leaving only the chain that mercilessly did your ***** work?

What’s to become of the abandoned sailboat with clanging hardware on a mast that stands alone without a sail to catch the wind; instead left to drift aimlessly while you walk away from the dock where you dropped the knife next to the cleat where you cut it loose and set it free?

A “rich” serving of honey
With lemon garnishing
Sprinkled atop.