walk with the wind,
against the water's current.
trudge towards your gutter.
***** others in blind hope,
hope to high godless heaven,
that you're mad enough to pass as a purist.
...---...
find your gutter, close the shutters,
hide until the heavy wind deadens.
let your safe haven cave in,
bask in the mindless clutter.
become a fallen angel in your own armageddon.
-
...---...

-
sometimes i get tired of working,
i'd like to be more free.
not spilling paint,
dotting i's or crossing t's.
so i take a walk, make some tea,
stretch my knees and try to breathe.
-
the warmth of this unsteady breeze,
puts me at ease, it could put me to sleep.
i feel at home among these sad, sleeping trees.
i wonder what gets them down,
or maybe they're just having bad dreams.

dear weeping willows,
of what do you dream?
a cold night of lonely moonbeams,
or of dead tiger lilies floating downstream?
i hope you're happier than you seem.
dear dreaming willows,
why do you weep?

I've got some bad habits.
I always feel bad,
My family hates me,
And I've never been rad.
Most my friends have been to rehab.
But I like my bad habits.
I'm made of bad habits.
Waking up once a day,
Wasting all my talent,
Sleeping all day,
Thinking all night.
They're all bad habits.
I've always been made of bad habits.
Never had a reason to feel glad,
Too empathetic or apathetic.
Had to quit school cause I went mad,
I tend to love being sad,
and I've never had a dad.
I have some bad habits,
But I love my bad habits.
I love too much,
I'm too alone to have a crush,
And I'm always out of luck,
But I still try anyways.
And they're my bad habits.
I am my bad habits.

i'm getting tired of it,
waking up once a day,
feeling dead and forever unpleasant.
i love too much,
i'm not much pride to swallow.
let your roots grow into me,
feel yourself waste away.
we wept, sea between beds,
always but a dream never to be seized,
nothing is forever.

I've never liked role models.
I don't like people,
or those who tell me how to be,
or what to do.
Honestly, I'm me,
not you.
"Be a role model, you've got to!"
So I set myself as an example,
of what not to do.
Found myself becoming,
a goal that you shouldn't pursue.
Tattoos,
torn shoes,
and a couple loose screws.
I might not be much to aspire to,
but I don't regret it,
there's nothing I'd undo.

feel the teeth sink in,
rip word from bone,
crush heart and tear through skin.

put down the phone.

let the words sink in.
narrow down the voices in your head,
force yourself to feel alone.

don't let the pain show.

put pen to paper,
let your mind pour out,
from word to world.

inhale-
1 2 3 4

open the back door,
smell the dying plum blossoms.
take a few steps, or try to.

exhale-
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

gaze up at the sky.
do the clouds still look red?
no, but that one looks like a wishbone.

keep walking.

smile at the single dad,
he could use it, you know it.
plus his nirvana t-shirt is pretty rad.

keep smiling.

falling leaves make little ripples,
in the puddles in the road gully.
overcast days always make for the best reflections.

-
this shouldn't need to be routine.

i'm just a blip,
just a glitch,
an oddity in a system of regret.
an event that someone's trying to forget.

-
with dark brown eyes,
you searched,
for someone,
for god,
for light.
with deep brown eyes,
you saw me.
in me you found,
cold hallways,
broken tiles,
but never light.

with tired green eyes,
i searched,
for someone,
for warmth,
for you.
with vacant green eyes,
i found nothing.
all i ever wanted,
was nothing.
in you i found,
something.

with boring, sad eyes,
we pondered.
on death,
on love,
on us.

with wide, bright eyes-

we awoke from our own dreams,
in messy sheets far from heaven.
we wept, sea between beds,
feeling dead and forever unpleasant,
from too many words and antidepressants.

smile at me, please, say cheese,
with stained teeth made from weathered piano keys.

frame the picture with duct tape and cardboard,
an ode to what our love could once afford.

snap back at me, guide me to terminal three,
say goodbye, freeze time and beg of me to leave.

smashed chances, we burnt our last connection to ashes.
now flashbacks to past plastic passion is like paying back taxes.

I'm living in squalor.
It'll be summer again soon,
And I wish that I could call her,
But I've gone from prince to pauper.
With every silently warm night,
Her memory fades red,
Like a doppler.

I can't write poetry anymore.
I'm not much pride to swallow.
I'm a mended heart gone sour,
A paper maché shell, now hollow.

She can't really be blamed.
Lovelessly alone with my bones,
Blood long gone, long drained,
That fault is my own.

I can't really be blamed.
Now she's all alone,
With our bones.
That fault is her own.

Your constructive corruption,
Wrapped me in, like a soft cocoon.
And with every day without prosper,
Your memory grows blue,
Like a doppler.

hair tied with
a nitrile glove cuff
carved a sacred space adorned with muffled tile
porcelain throne pod amongst the ruckus
hohumdrum gods stampeding towards
a visionary empty meeting with screens
greeted with massed bodies, butter, and dust
the divine light behind the porthole still shines
even as crowds continually shuffle forwards
backwards and past, that bouquet of projection rays
remains sheening with eye to light machè heaven
until thunderous overstrokes over indulge and begin
to over and undertone every feather upon ears
resignation of a certain kingship upon standing
and yet wealth of ethic remains demanding
so, stand.

i love to scar,
with a heart too soft,
and lost thoughts too far-off.
on ripped paper,
i think too endlessly.
with a mind bursting at the seams,
longing for a heart full of gold,
to rip me from my daydreams.
to open my view, to see,
with eyes far too cold,
to see anything we could've been.

i see saggy cargo pants, marijuana and at least three mall grips.
some pseudo outcast cool kids carving out skidmarks,
painting the concrete waves with wheels and their bloodstains.

hey look at that guy in the corner,
he just bought two burnt spoonfuls of a score.
it doesn't look like he can take any more, though.

or the guys playing six tricks roulette,
on a quarterpipe, on a bet,
for a cheap pack of cigarettes.

scattershot strikes as a shattered damocloid
sending warning ripples through clouds
glimpses of sundered villages atop cumuli
not a gasp among the crowd

You can hear the break in his grown up voice,

You can feel the cracks in his weathered skin,

He can see the solidity of his most painful choice.

He can sense that his mental end is about to begin.

a kiss
a cry

i'll miss
your smile
i loved
your eyes
such sweet
designs

i fell
you climbed
drop by
sometime

we kissed
we cried
i'll miss
your smile

this is
goodbye

i love the universe-
but she makes my conscience hurt.
she turns me around,
and she pins me down.
it makes me feel like dirt.

i try not to love her,
but she whispers such sweet words.
and when she starts to flirt,
i start to convert,
and it makes it so much worse.

i hate the universe-
she's someone that i don't deserve.
she starts to get manic,
and i turn panic,
and every word starts to sound rehearsed.

she is my universe-
and every time that we converse,
my thoughts turn perverse,
her mind inverts,
and my fragile heart starts to burst.

All you had to do was ask,
I've almost left.
You're almost here, ethereal.
It's all in your head,
I'm sorry I'm no longer in your bed.
But can I get your numbers again?
It was only a few words I said,
Sorry that I was mistaken,
Can you banish them from your head?
In the morning I'd make you bacon,
I'd even serve it with toasted bread.
It could be a perfect meal when you awaken,
But that's an If Only, because you're already dead.

A talk,
With someone,
Whom you love.
Always turns sour,
But only for you.

A cake,
Imaginary.
Only two files,
And a coat of paint,
Deep blue.

A drink.
Maybe two.
Caught up,
Remembering regrets.
Maybe a few.

A smile,
A day saved,
Pasts destroyed.
Heart enslaved,
By an open world view.

maybe you wanted it,
maybe you didn't;
to split.
i tried to keep my hopes hidden,
for a thoughtful misfit,
and a dancer from britain,
to just admit it.
but it seemed so forbidden.
and now they're both sad hypocrites,
so it's been coincidentally omitted.
so i'm done with it,
for the sake of the ransacked
musings on stagnation,
the hex-codes,
and the hopes of damnation.
the things i miss most,
are simply our conversations.
~

I've never wanted to leave.
I've never wanted to come back.
I've never waited to stay here.

You've never wanted to stay.
You've always wanted to come home.
You've always waited to leave, though.

every time i stop and think,
every time i split my seams,
every time i fall asleep,
i see enemies in my dreams.
i lie awake at night.
to keep away,
from my fate,
to hide,
from my inner face.
and every day,
i doze off.
to alien places,
with evil eyes,
and wicked faces,
to try to stay away,
from my head's unwelcoming voices.
sleep, please keep at bay.
i'm already well aware,
of how afraid i am of the day.
my daydreams turn to nightmares,
and night terrors to reveries.
lines blur, visions cross,
asleep, awake, alive or dead.
and these days,
when i daydream in my head,
it's never felt like such a prison.
at the rate i'm wasting away,
i'll feel more safe,
when i'm closest to dead.
but never, never ever,
asleep in my bed.

Left lost after love's deep virulence,
Leaving me in deep need of a metaphysical therapist.
Her heart harder than the blindness of erebus,
But the relationship was based off of panic trusts,
So forever until never it was, a manic driven worldless wonderlust.

it can be hard to assess necessity in a cesspit,
calculating and scouring different ways to find respite.

it can be hard to commit time against the heart.

finding access to hiatus just to breathe,
it's never been easy to be lazarus.

unsure of consequence, skirting bereavement,
reborn doesn't necessarily imply previous demise,
what's almost new cannot be considered unwhole,
nor can it be trusted as a reprise.

it's an artful venture to learn the cadence of presence,
not an effort or a movement, but something of a lucid sweven,
something nestled in the stitching of the seventh heaven.

autonomously authoring my perception,
desecularizing my intense intent and conception.

understand that the brain is a somatosensory mech pilot,
no shame, no rhythm, just an absently-go-lucky organism,
chasing imaginary crystalline butterflies into the background,
thriving in the quietness, malaprop to say forever semper-vivus.

i consume my need to separate ideas as fuel for philomathematics,
pioneering new tactics, new habits, through acts of active practice,
emphatically denouncing the topical, the maladroit, the labels,
let me sing my own mantra,
humming to the hymn of my own humble tantra.

What I can give is more than you can take.
I love you.
Alone in life, we've only made a few mistakes.
I hate you.
All inside, a gutterpipe dreamscape.
Love *****.
My ***** mirror has never looked so clear.
Love rules.
For every denial, grow two checkmates.
I love you.
It was just a gutterpipe dreamscape.
I hate me.
What we made, an inkling of what we could create.
Die young.
Eyes never locked, our stares were blank.
Live forever,
Together. In our gutterpipe dreamscape.

why do i bother writing these words down,
when all i get in return is a lost soul and a self roll.
write on and write black and white swan songs,
on and on, all for someone who's already gone.

you're scared.
you're scared,
why are you so scared?
there'd be no problem if you didn't care.

i seat it in the back row
and i try not to stare
but i know that it's there

i'll blame it on the front row
when i don't even care
but i know that it's there

it's creeping in the back row
and i try not to share
but i know that it's there

i guess it's just who we are
i guess i'm worse for ware
and i know that it's here

it takes a seat in the front row
and i can't help but to stare
because i know that it's there

red bathwater
momma's gone
never gave her daughter
that gift she bought her
doesn't make her a monster
she thought she was stronger
but she just couldn't take it any longer

terrible forest
crystal pillars loom over
ancient are these peaks

Roll the dice, do it twice,
The rules of paradise are never nice.

upon becoming a nestling sans nest,
i decided to make a half-baked plan of mandates,
stating how i ought to quest, trough to crest.
egesting the presently unpleasant facets,
i adopted a policy of empirical puerilism.
now a newly groovy pluvi-dendrophile philomath,
a counterbalanced feng shui caricature,
promptly finding rapture bereft of culture.
plundering the dysfunctional,
worshiping the digressive.
anything is adjustable,
everything can be lovable.
finding bravery in regret,
forever simply vincible.
basking in the ebullience,
bringing passion with my presence.
learning to rhapsodize my sentience,
projecting admittedly confusing ontologisms,
concerned with not much else than pleasance.
my means of conception have become my heaven,
and with no evidence of the clandestine,
i simply stepped in.

Even when we're lost we can still see.
But the store of human kindness is much like the Aral Sea,
So let's speak humankind's long due eulogy,
And be the best of the last beings we can be.

In my heart I often find,
Sleepless nights and,
Seedless flowers,
Cloudy skies and,
Memories that were ours.

The best way to immortalize a piece of pain is to forget how to feel it.

i've given in
to your selfish pride
i don't know
how to apologize
for my selfless lies
i never meant
to make you cry
why'd you even
let me
try