There is a water bottle
on the side of route 3.
It's blue and it's plastic
and it's ***** and old.

Reusable, but unused.

Just a piece of garbage
lying on the side of the road.

I look at that water bottle every day.

I take comfort in knowing it's there.
Through every season of
the last year and a half it
has remained in the same spot.

Sun beating down on it,
leaves gathered around,
covered in snow,
it stays where it began.

Whatever music I'm listening to,
whatever emotions I'm feeling,
through elation from a grade
or depression from a breakup,
the water bottle is there.

What a concept,
what a constant,
what a weird thing to notice
on the side of the road.

But there it is every day,
a ***** blue water bottle,
unmoving,
and unimposing,
but such a big part
of my daily routine.

The subtle undertones of the a.c. provide my only company this evening.
I've become accustomed to the white noise it provides.
In a life where everything is the sound of chaotic musings, uncertainties, and the untrusting capricious mind, I welcome the peace inducing thrum.

Yes I am sick.
It comes from the night.
The pain comes from the drowsiness of nothing's alright.
I'd wish for quick release, I'm dying so slow.
Unless you are next to me, my face you don't know.
It wears a mask of the tired, an expression of cold.
A face saying, "yes, this is my emotional low".
Here my will does not break and my will does not fold,
and all I ask is that I die now if I die alone.
The beauty of the world is hidden in darkness and shallow.
The streets are lit with the windows with doings so foul.
Yes this is the poor, and here lives the shallows.
Who's responsible for this madness, shall they go to the gallows?
There's still so much to do, and so much to be done.
All under the span of the lights before the sun.
The stars are so quiet, they must be too shy.
Or maybe, just like me, they're waiting to die.

Layers of man
Bricks upon stones
Swirling sand
And ancient bones

Broken in piles
Have we lied for ages
While the sun grows dim
And the world rages

We can see into the past
Yet never too far
For what was is darkness
Before our star

That darkness so sweet
Protecting our minds
From the horrors that were
And may yet in time

I walk towards you―
till it hurts.

In moment of nemesis
I set you free,
and deceive me.

You look beyond me
and become blind for the road.
Life starts drifting away from
each other to discover the meaning
of truth.

We may not meet again,
behind the faulted moon,
groping for light.

You always knew―
I was not you. A miniature
vice― religion apart,
had become a river between us.

I won't swim again.
Buddha smiles with alacrity.

ShareShare In Quiteude

Make sense of this please
when does the earth stop spinning?

Raise the dial a few degrees
let the old time keep spending

Low down and the throat grows cold
Lost nobility slowly sifting

Toes curl for impact in the rows
Brown bagged and stunning

Slow roll and dig another hole
No love lost inside this room

Cold steel and a mind slowly folds
Watch the confines come into bloom

Grow new molds for the choke
Isolate this profound confusion
Pick the crows off weary bones

Someday
we
can
create

I say goodnight you revamped insanity

I leave the best for you

Take the stones and start throwing
Hate is fuel for something true

Nobody knows where the conclusion lies

Best we just keep running

Slow motion makes more sense when fast forward keeps confusing

Pull grime from the bristle

Go ahead and brush away your grinning

Someday it's all going to make sense....

I like to be left alone sometimes
But I get lonely
Sometimes it's a good thing for me to think
But too much time alone is bad for me

I don't mean to be selfish
but I need you at night
To keep me
from getting trapped in my own thoughts
Your voice is the only thing
that keeps the monsters away
Your the light
in the dark recesses of my mind