I am Dagogo Michael Dagogo Hart

Son of a man

Great to some small to some

I am a man, with an hour glass for a heart and a ticking time bomb for a mind.

And lately I’ve been struggling with the words

How can I explain happiness and sadness at the same time

that my mind is both at peace and at war.

But I know I can count on french fries and pancakes to catch me when gravity fails

I know I can count on my hourglass to always fall side ways to buy me more time.

And I know I can trust my ticking time bomb to keep ticking and even when it blows up, to leave shrapnel in the basement of the earth so the world would always remember me.

This year, breath is currency, and I’m not as rich as I used to be.

I have a closet full of more cheap thrills than skeletons and I wonder if Heaven takes refunds.

My souls shadow keeps dragging me into these nightmares where the moon stops following me, there’s a trail of honey and shackles and a cemetery of others that tried before me but there’s one more breadcrumb in my compass, there’s one more feather in my ankle and home is a paper cup and cotton string away.

So I’m building a bridge of hope and doubt, praying the shoes I’m trying fill are large enough to fill the spaces.

He says that if you walked long enough in one direction, you’ll only end up where you started.
He says that bullets and escape shuttles share the same address and veins are just smaller bridges. so he leaped off the edge of a knife and even though he felt like he never made the cut his wrists didn’t always feel so.
Good times are just cushions we try to rack up to fall back to when the bad times come. He’s been falling on the same cushion for so long it’s not different from the concrete.
The world is a dark room and he still hasn’t found the light switch.
On days like today, he tries with all the walk that ******* has left him.
On days like today, when the world is trying its hardest to prove to be black and white, he tries to be a gunshot in the spine of a rainbow.
When you die we’ll put two money stacks on your eyes cos heaven has to be far from this hell hole that we live in
But you know better than most that you know nothing about what comes after death.
So sail, sail on a canoe of timber and broken dreams on a river of your own blood. Cos maybe heaven is better believed than lived

The first is silent, it is don’t make eye contact, it is the keep walking. It is the sound of pins dropping next to tears and elephants tiptoeing around bodies swinging in the room.

The second is the sound of body parts, of gut, of back, of heart, every time I say I’m ok…today. Everytime I have to say I’m ****** because your an ******* not because I’m crazy.

The third is the sound of crazy, it is the banging behind closet doors, it is the bruising of skeletons. It is the hide your kids, it is the "help this kid" clawing it’s way out of my pride.

The fourth is the broken plastic spilling pills from it’s side, it is the swallowing of the lunch break dose hiding in the bathroom. It is the familiar rattle in my bag.

The fifth is your voice, it’s your “just get over it”, it’s my “why can’t I just get over it”. It is the giggle of my broken brain mocking me. The fifth is the end of the rope, where nooses are grown and bodies swing, trying to avoid elephants.

Ours is a story only fit for the drunken lips of old gypsy women

something loosely bound to reality

I stop my flirtation with words just long enough to say I love you in the simplest way possible

But it’s never that simple

Hearts don’t always recycle emotions and tongues don’t always have the words

so lay here with me, under willow branches and whispering winds

let heart beats speak the things we’re too afraid to say

I fear with us cupid used the moon as target practice and you carry a little too much sun shine in your smile.

I fear that numbers carry too much meaning and distance is a monster under the bed waiting for night time.

I don’t know a lot about her, but I do know this.

I know she has a face made of broken mirror pieces, but once in a while she’ll let you see through the cracks. Once in a while she introduces you to her closets skeletons and the kidnapped emotions in the basement of her soul and once too often I've been caught trying to set them free.

Sometimes I catch her in the darkest corners of my heart trying to plant stars, other times I don’t, and only realize it when the sun rises in my nightmares.

So hold my hand, lets dance to whatever song life is playing now, and see where the night leads us.

They are both fire
He was a flame stuck to a candle wick and she was a forest on fire 
Licking the lips of the sky trying to burn heaven.
But he knows that Gods always used burning bushes to show himself.
So when he says that you are proof that God exists, he means that your lips have always been too nectar and the butterflies in his belly are just junkies trying to get a sugar high.
When he says that you are proof that God exists, he means that your lungs make air both breeze and wind so kiss with caution.
Your skin has always seemed like the place where sunsets come to practice eternity.
But they are both fire
Both flame
Too hot to touch 
Both fire
Both flame
Daring God for rain

He says that if you walked long enough in one direction, you’ll only end up where you started.
He says that bullets and escape shuttles share the same address and veins are just smaller bridges. so he leaped off the edge of a knife and even though he felt like he never made the cut his wrists didn’t always feel so.
Good times are just cushions we try to rack up to fall back to when the bad times come. He’s been falling on the same cushion for so long it’s not different from the concrete.
The world is a dark room and he still hasn’t found the light switch.
On days like today, he tries with all the walk that ******* has left him.
On days like today, when the world is trying its hardest to prove to be black and white, he tries to be a gunshot in the spine of a rainbow.
When you die we’ll put two money stacks on your eyes cos heaven has to be far from this hell hole that we live in
But you know better than most that you know nothing about what comes after death.
So sail, sail on a canoe of timber and broken dreams on a river of your own blood. Cos maybe heaven is better believed than lived

The sun had dipped into the ocean and sizzled out its bright. And the sky was a bipolar devil trying to glow in the dark.
He was an old man filled with regret, and I a young man filled with dreams. But there was no wisdom or foolishness in the air, just the memories of the past; words of light that cast shadows of the men we used to be. And imaginations of the future, like seeds coming out of their shell, learning to trust the earth.
We were two sleeping dogs chasing dreams of grey and grave. And it did not make us bitter, somehow we both knew that death was our only proof of life.
When he said "If I am ever lost in this world, I will take care of my soul, but someone please take my body home", all I could say was "I will".
He was a solemn whisper kind of man, and I was the angel on the wrong shoulder telling him that every second Friday we have chicken in hell. But sometimes every bite is a basket of regrets you're hoping are small enough to slip through.
Sometimes silver linings are lightening and thunder is the sound your body makes when it hits the ground.
We were two cups of water, he was half empty and I was half full and even though people tried to convince us we were the same, we both knew that tomorrow he'll be less full and I'll be less empty. So today we spilled, guts and skeletons and keys to closets we've long forgotten where we buried.
He said his biggest regret was the wisdom of age, because an old man doesn't have a lot of days, so what's the point.
You can bank on the rising of the sun but if you have just enough yesterdays you can tell a wind from a storm, but it's too late to run for shelter.
But you are not me young man, you have the foolish of pride and the wisdom of time so stumble in the dark a little longer, don't wait for the sun to rise to find the light switch.
Don't wait for the smell of rain to build an ark.