Tires gripping in the wet.
I am slipping.
Somewhere not here I am waiting for myself.
Tear drops the size of entire oceans rain down.
Can not see past my glass windshield.
Stop.
Break down infrastructure of existence.
The premonition of my future.
The orchestra in me.
There is a dust in the air.
I am slipping.
What ever happened to me.
Resume.
Immediate **** forward.
Off the cliff into the sea a thousand feet below.
I am weightlessly suspended in my golden light memories.
Way up here in the silence, the people down below carrying the weight of their problems.
All my life I have gripped the earth,
felt the power of the tree of life.
Life.
Is powerful and it breathes.
Stop.
A flood of blood pours out of me.
Glass and blood tucks me in forever.

I'm death defyed by you
Your warm skillet
Of afterthoughts
And tongues

The sweet taste of
Teardrop and bubblegum
The *** from the nurses
Cabinet

The stairwell
We had a good habit

Only to lash out
Of many times like this
When I kiss the cheek
Of a monster
And steer down
A road less inhibbited

One we want to know again
One that taste of teardrops and sin
And fun nights of running
With guns down
the streets of Adalie

And once again
We find this bliss
Somewhere between
Heaven and who gives a ****

Where the stars kiss our toes
And wine fills our holes
From valinquished unrelinquesed love

Replaced by sweet current aftertaste
Trying to perfect this flow
Is a hell of who knows
Why must I travel down it again alone

let each leaf in the forest
be a love story that anybody can walk through when
they feel alone.

let each late night car ride
carry sonnets, starlit whispers and murmurs
in case it feels a little too much.

let each poem in this logbook
be able to reach into your longing heart and empty hands
for whenever you thought you weren't loved.

i am always one poem away from saying "i love you."

She dreams in yellow waves.
In summer time she wishes that she were asleep than awake.
Eyes shut.
Weightless but not for long.
A shot of blood against the windshield.
She regrows her roots into consciousness at the speed of darkness.
She thinks.
Over contemplating the smell of burnt rubber and musky metal.
She watches her dislocated broken body wash from the ocean cliff into the abyss.

It feels as though life is just a modgepodge of thoughts drifting like autumn winds in a China shop.
These endless thoughts that carry the weight of fallen birds.