Can an artist live in a place without hue?
When the celestial cerulean should swirl tenderly overhead
the heavy grey covers all instead
I must paint my canvas with the mud on my shoes-
Caked cracking crud that makes up the place I call home
Where the sun never shows
And the wind always blows
And the crow ever crows
And my mind always slows
From the dulling dank smoky relief filling my doped dome
With the seductive delusions that away
             I
                  have
                                       flown.
To a place where marigolds can color my sun
Where the hills with peridot run
And the rivers swirl in the lively dance
             of
                   Sweetest
                                      Spring
who shall not stoop to show her face.
Not in this place.

Where the people lie
Where the innocent cry
As the rivers run dry
And
          inside
                       I die.

It glistens, descending slowly before it catapults itself at my heart.
That one shining window into the vault holding her pain. It scalds me.
The glare of that tears trail down her face is too much to bear;
I must look away before I too break down and weep.

Why do we put ourselves in this position?
At this point I can think of nothing worth her tears.

My body's full of toxins,
My head is full of smoke
My liver's decimated,
And every night I ****.

The little girl you left behind
Is still somewhere  inside of me,
Tucked beside my one night stands
And alcohol-induced debauchery

I still love to sing and dance,
But the innocence is gone
'Cause it's ***** grinding now
On some random's back lawn.

I'll always have the manners you taught,
How to say thank you and please,
Especially around officers
As I'm hiding my bag of ****

My choices may not be the best,
But better they are by far
Than a life inside a cubicle,
I prefer my stool at the bar

But I count myself  lucky to know
That whenever this haze clears,
I'll be facing the path I need to take
To face all of my tears and fears

The future is a scary place,
Hard to face without an escape,
But growing up means no more games,
No more shots or **** to vape

So goodbye to my old comforts,
I must face this world head-on
With friends by my side and a goal in my head
I hope my past isn't completely long-gone

Would you care to take my hand once more?
To guide me down this road?
Or is it a new hand I should seek,
To help me bear this load?

Lover beside me, help to guide me
Questionable past, please last
Moral light, please remain bright

But first,
Just one more
Puff, puff
Pass

Apple Cider,
pumpkin Pie,
reading books
by the fireside

Changing leaves
and a numbing nose,
a little bit of this,
and all of those

Time with family,
more with friends.
chilly breeze
mother nature sends

Scarves, gloves,
and raking leaves.
hug and couch and
sweater thieves

It’s my favorite
time of year.
Summer’s gone,
but fall is here!

I go to bed early and am quick to rise,
my room is tidy as can be.
Heaven forbid I should ever tell lies,
I have no faults, or can’t you see?

Whenever my parents wish to speak
I turn an ever eager ear.
Never would I give them cheek,
that is too brash for me, I fear.

My teachers’ words are my priority,
never would I cause them duress.
I must bow to their seniority,
and never will it cause me stress.

Juggling six demanding classes
is such a simple thing to do.
That’s six straight-A passes,
a 4.0 is nothing new.

Exercise is an important act,
all the leading physicians say,
So tennis, soccer and varsity track
are how I fill the rest of my day.

But as each evening wears on,
after days that were just too speedy,
I am constantly drawn
to serve meals to the needy.

I always speak grace before we eat,
in the most humble and catholic way,
so for food, light and heat
and for God’s love I truly pray.

This is my third square meal
that I’ve enjoyed today,
with portions small so I don’t feel
that I’ve increased what I weigh.

Now to homework I must run,
with adequate time for all.
Equations and essays are so much fun,
and studying history I would never stall.

On the weekends my friends and I
have more fun than you could know.
Root beer and warm apple pie
bring us from sugar high to low.

Despite my perfect SATs
I am more than intellectual.
My drawing skills, if you please,
are much more than ineffectual.

And on the stage I am a riot,
My singing voice is like a bell.
My pirouettes and leaps are oh so quiet,
Is there anything I can’t do well?

Mediocrity would be such a drag,
why would anyone choose it?
I wave perfection like a flag,
it has always been the perfect fit.

Why do some make it seem so tough?
Isn’t this everyone’s goal?
The pure exhaustion isn’t that rough.
And all perfection cost was my soul.

“Death is not a lover”
It cannot make my heart pound,
or cause my ears to ring with its sweet sound.
It cannot partner my dance upon the sand,
nor feel the rhythmic beat of the smooth jazz band.
None of its tender words shall play through my mind
for Death is not sweet, Death is not kind.

“Death is not a lover” indeed
But it can take my breath away,
and kiss me with sweet silence everyday.
It can lie with me, caressed by warm ground,
embracing the nothingness that does abound.
Its powerful arms can hold me close and cool
for not sweet, not kind, but Death is not cruel.

Begin, start, go.
It shouldn’t be this hard
my nemesis beckons,
I shall not comply.
The interest is mine,
I am quite capable
little effort is needed
I will not comply.
I will not give in,
It stares from afar
I lose, although still
I do not comply
It does not win,
and neither do I
this failure because
I cannot comply
In this stubborness
neither benefits
It is the deepest loss
I did not comply
and here I stand,
holding on to a bittersweet triumph.
while crushed by  a loss