the clouds write a novel in braille
down the back of my arms
if i could set sail without alarm
i'd be peacefully at sea
without signal so nobody could reach me

go ahead
open it
there's holes in the box
so it can breathe, silly
yeah it is my heart

your cold nose pressed to my cheek
as you kissed me in the street
i said
i’ll be with you for forty years, love
you said
i’m sorry, that’s not long enough

all my thoughts had gone to riot
so i set out to find some quiet
but even way behind the city’s lights
the silence here is not as bright

the roads are crowded with noisy cars
screams and hollers, the sounds of bars
pool tables, beer bottles, the music loud
relinquished solace in fiery cloud

despite the throbbing in my walking legs
my steady stalking refused to stay
and my soles engulfed in a blistering heat
could not stop me from seeing every street

cats in the trash and moths and bones
the racket i heard was mine alone

a jealous shadow
from the dark side of my mind
creeps its way through the crevices
eager to remind me
that i’m not and never will be
worthy of your time
i’m just a filler for any other thing
the next to catch your eye

an invasion against the sky
by the monoliths that rise
man is the tread that's evident
intricate prints of the heaven sent

but little to none have we ever known
of the schemes that steam our wins and woes
our dreams at night and oceans below
the fires that burn
the winds that blow

i started my car today through denim sleeves.
thwarted all the evil dreams you had of me.
thought it was easy to pull away my seams.
take the thread and weave a web for us to see
of insecurity.

finally, looking up from these pages
written by satan, demons impatient
seething with anger and waiting
for me to be complacent and eager
to hate everything.

replacing the fallen leaves with fragments
of feeling complete. i feel elated. realization
that nothing is what it means.
i’m becoming what i want to.
triumphantly defiant in the face
of the tyrant. and the tyrant is youth.
disappointing the evil spirits appointed
to me sews the seed of a feeling of freeing
myself from me.