My thoughts are coalescing in a web of frustration,
I linger on the walls that are as blank as my memories
of a happier time. I write in tipp-ex, white washing the
words wrote in red pen that bled from my finger-tips.

Syllables verse so much when adhering with word and
reflections of who we  are. But mine are shallow puddles
of nothingness that are only filled with tears,
consolidating my hollowness crumbling within my tears.

Collect the words like breadcrumbs, they weren't fresh but slightly
past a sell by date of needed listening. I've died inside so many
times to be resurrected each morning devours me a little bit more,
the pills fall like raindrops in the puddle of my mind.

I'm collapsing within a void less sunset of disputes
that were once bright as those in the nights sky.

But now are dimming upon the sunrise of eventual
failings, subduing the emotions that get absorbed.

Can we ever escape the pull of our collapsing intentions
that were bright, but now pull us into oblivions grasp.

I cried in to a vase of flowers to let them blossom
in my pain and they flourished continually.

Pain
        is
           life

In the tears that fall, stories blossom of our struggles,
but we are petals that descend into a vase of continual droplets.

I touched upon her, piercing sorrows
                 wept upon my memories.

She said nothing but her silence
                           spoke volumes..  


*Here Lies.....

Are you just going to stand there and
Watch me peel this garlic, she asks.  
I shrug with a slight smile.  

Beer to my lips, and I catch her moving
The way a dancer does when she doesn't
Dance.

What is art?
This.
The juggling of seconds that contain

Something more than all of those
Without her.
We could be on a midsummer

Balcony in Venice, or
In a barley field in Provence, mid-
Kiss and laughing so soothingly the

Sun doesn't even feel like it takes.
Red skinned by sun-down, sipping
Local wine and asking ourselves

How the Hell life became so
Liveable. But she's in my kitchen, *not
Dancing across the worn down linoleum

With a freshly peeled piece of garlic in
Her hands, and I just found the key to
The treasure chest that contains

All the reasons I have to keep
Breathing instead of not
To.

My thoughts are transparent balloons
unattached from others, singularly
caressing the river of the mind.

Only visible when musing forms
on the exterior, like dewdrops of
syllables coalescing  do they rise.

I observe these tiny reflections
drifting on there own, in forms of
vocalization that collect in verse.

do you ever feel lonely?
they say that it's healthy
but I'm unsure of that.
Despite my liking alone time
too much of it can hurt me.
It makes me feel so lost, and empty
until my tears fall endlessly.
After crying I usually find solace,
but this time I just want to cry more.
Which makes me feel *pathetic.

Florescent scales shimmer from its being,
a disco ball of motion
                                       in a watery tide.

Prisoner of subdued surroundings
                     Darkness within light...

Impassioned verses are adorning
the lullabies of our hearts.

You are the  
            lanterns
                     illuminating
in my twilight,

Releasing them upon our exhales of yearning.
They arise lightening up incandescent  moments
like stars in our eyes.

My thoughts
are a random playground,
                    

         that seem to like the slow slide to derangement.

i continue to update this page
to exclaim to something or someone
how i'm feeling,
whether it be about him, her or me...
depression, love or feeling happy...
sometimes i need an outlet.
without one, i can become tragic.

I sit quietly next to the window,
          only opening it ever so slightly ajar..
My bones they feel the whispers
of age clinging to them.

Have you just listened to the
           outside world?
So much happening yet
never is it really heard in silence.

I exhale memories with each breath
                        seeing that which is now past...
If I could capture everyone to give
me that little bit longer, a net into reflections.

Hearing the footsteps, I  gaze wearily
                      they are false hopes walking by...
I was once as you are now, I had a good life.
But know I'm just so lonely, fading into a background.

I turn and listen to the life that is so vibrant
                      but I'm a forgotten picture frame...
I'm still alive so why did they just leave me here
deceased but alive, I'm a memory that's fading inside.