It seems as though
I always want to talk to you
But our conversation comes at a cost
Because every word spoken
Puts me one word closer
To the last words I'll ever say to you.

With hope I could forever speak
With reason and love aimed at your heart
Taking your ears and making them listen
To what I need you to hear
Before you cannot hear anymore.

Carefully I select the sounds I speak
As not to choose the wrong ones
Picking silently in my head
The memories I would like to leave behind
In every moment I spend with you.

I know the last words I will say to you.
They are in my head now
Dancing on my lips
Teasing your ears
But I will not say them.
Not now.
Instead,
I will say them when it is time
For them to be true.

I do hope, however, that when that time comes
You will have already said them
To me.

Jealousy grips my stomach
       Insides twisting with thoughts I can’t think

A longing away from this moment
       A longing for her

Deflated

When will I find my goddess?

She steps in silence
        Across the snow
The lilies love her
        Her laugh they know

With patient pride
And delicate care

Sloped lips of red
And luscious hair

Smile,
spreads symmetry;
Through,
entropic chaos.

Looping
Laws
Like
Light thread

Her mind at peace
Her pond so still  

I’ll wait for her
My source of Will

Birds gather on tree,
Innocent as morning sun—
Cat bleats by window.

I've seen introverts become the center of attention
I've seen extroverts go ignored
I've heard complacent well-adjusted human beings
Cry out for something more
And there's a million and one things to do with life
So don't you dare be bored

Because there are three types of people in this world:
Those who do
Those who don't
And those who didn't, but wish they had

At times it's wrong to do what's good
Sometimes you've got to be bad
So don't you go on second guessing
Lest you end up with regret
Follow your instincts
Don't look back

'Cause there are three kinds of people on this earth:
Those in the future
Those in the past
And those in the present, so make it last

At times it happens all so fast
You forget to examine the extent of the impact
But don't you worry about forgotten things
They'll find their way back to you in your dreams

And there are those who will tell you that it's false
They'll comfort you with broken arms
To drag you down to into the swamp
Trying to stop you before you even start

Now there are three sects of people on this planet:
The leeches
The dreamers
And then the true believers

Examine your head to find the truth
Don't worry about what you can or cannot prove
Nothing matters nearly as much
As the way it all matters to you

You see, there's no right or wrong way to live a life
It all depends on how it makes you feel
The miraculous fact that you exist at all
Gives you the right to determine what is real

And there are but three animals in this pen:
The sheep
The wolf
And the Golden hen

Every inch, every fiber, every morsel of me needs you.
Eats, sleeps, dreams, and breathes you.

I know you said you have them too,
these feelings that make you untrue

But to who? Yourself? Or the idea of a love you once had?
A place back home with your siblings, mom, and dad?

A place where you dread to go,
With somebody that you used to know.

I am here, I am now, I am real,
Though that won't change the way you feel.

Confusion surrounds you, us, her, and me.
All I want to be happy.

But that is so hard to do, so hard to be,
when everything I want is you, but you can't want me.

He was tired of the ordinary and he wanted something new.  
He wanted to hear the sound of the moon.  
He wanted to taste the tides.
     The sound of the cacti growing in the desert was like music to his ears,
but he could not remember anymore exactly just what it sounded like.  
He wanted to go back to when he did not have to remember
because he could hear it always,
but he could not go back.  

Time had put him where he was
and he could not turn back time, but it was not just a matter of that.
  He knew that somewhere he had lost his understanding of himself, and with it
his conception of the world
became skewed.  
He did not properly understand
the instrument with which he experienced the world
so he was not appropriately situated to judge what he experienced.  
Once he understands what he is
he sees his flaws.
he sees other things too.
    
The rays of the sun fell in a multitude of rays through the trees,
the canopies acting as a colander; taking up most of the rays
but allowing some to slip through
where small trees and shrubs seemed to congregate.
One of the rays fell on the boy
and as it did he opened his eyes
he was no longer a boy.

how much poetry is in a person?
and how much of it comes out?
enough to bring up the pimples in your personality?
the ugly bumps you can learn to hide
but can't stop people from feeling
when they touch you

how much poetry is in a person
and how much needs to come out
before i am better
how much before i get over this *******
that's calling my name

how much poetry is in a person
and how do i get rid of it
i either speak cynically
or with the malice
and blood
that seeps out of me

how much poetry is in a person
and is it ok to have it there
and when will these pimples go away
and when will i be
alright again

does the poetry have to be gone
for me to be ok?

You smell like cigarettes and old books,
Taste like the salt of regret.
Eyes as brown as your leather jacket,
Silence as cold as the night we spent
Laughing and kissing.

I should have known-
The night was so cold and you
Covered my shoulders as if to
Distract me from the ice behind
Your warm embrace.

I should have known-
You only looked me in the eye
When physicality transcended
And you had me in your grasp.
Lust is the only emotion
Eyes don’t betray.

I should have known-
Brown is so warm.
Yet you love the snow.

I remember the night you swore to the god you don't believe in that you didn't love me anymore.
The way your brown eyes morphed into a deep pitch black.
Blacker that our sorrowful souls combined.
I didn't think I'd ever hear those words.
But they crawled from my ears into my barely beating heart.
Stabbing every inch of it, naturally tearing it apart.
You see, we could have had it all but, the the god forsaken demons came back.
They crawled back into your mind..
and filled it like the the tears filling my small round eyes.
I almost drowned in the ocean of emotion.
You were no longer my lifeline.
And you swear you're fine.
Oh how you repeat it, that you're getting by.
I write and write every miserable thought.
My pages filling up like the darkness filled the sky as the days turned into nights.
Woe is me, woe is me.
I repeat those words so miserably.
The thoughts of losing the only thing I had choked me.
The thoughts wrapped their evil around my neck.
But the noose I'm making is going to be a lot tighter.
As my love grew deeper, my heart grew lighter.
Losing feeling, losing it's rhythm.
I wrote and wrote until I ran out of ink.
Now I'll make my way to the bathroom sink.
I'll peck and scratch at my skin.
I'll peck and scratch at the thoughts that I think.
My black ballpoint pen became my red ballpoint pen.
And I now continue to write again.
Eventually I'll run out of pages.
Oh my soft tan skin will make a beautiful canvas.
I ask and ask if you're absolutely certain that you don't need me.
And the answer remains the same.
You don't need me.
You don't need this.
So I scrapped together every memory, every kiss.
Oh the sweet bliss of pretending they stayed in place.
My love.
But the thing is, you're not mine.
Love.