i need a way,
to say,
good bye.
cause i'm,
giving up tonight.

i need a way,
that i ,
can find,
a sense of peace of mind.
cause i'm,
dying from inside.

i want a place,
to hide.
cause you,
and your heart,
are far too close to mine.

you need to run,
away.
far away from me.
so please,
do this just for me.

i need a place,
to lay,
tonight.
so i,
can dream of you tonight.
so please,
don't beg me to stay.

i'm not waking up this time.

-.. . .- -.. / -.. .-. . .- --

I see a dull rainbow,
in the bright black sky.
I see your dying face,
with my crying mind's eye.

Black are the eyes,
Brutal are the kin,
Blind are the unwise and
Bruised is the skin

flip the script,
try again.
don't condemn.
try your best to make amends.

when i see you,
it's all i do.
when i think,
of how i loved you,
it was all i knew.

so remember,
next i see you,
i'll always love you.
it's
all
i
do.

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 find myself content within torment,
i feel bright when i'm blue.
i'm not broken, just bent,
and without wanting to,
that's something i resent.

you left my heart much like yours,
smoldering,
like a boulder turned pebble.
tumbling,
before settling,
in a space between bass and treble.

i love your rose hair when it's rushed.
maybe it's a crush, maybe i'm just entranced,
but i'm in love with your blush,
and every chance i get to exchange a glance.

from trust to crush,
chances to advances,
your eyes look like stardust,
through my amber tinted glasses.

i hate my shyness,
stuck in my nervous trances.
but i love your inner brightness,
every time we engage in our verbal dances.

from lust to dust,
passion to ashes,
i find myself hopelessly romanced,
by amber tinted glasses.

..     - .... .. -. -.-     ..     .-.. --- ...- .     -.-- --- ..-

in your sights i felt thunder,
glamorous, humbling, coloring me.
the cadence of your feet, upon icy sheets,
up was a flanking stare, sundering me.
upon winter flowers, a warm blanket, at the apogee,
bundling, a sparkling picnic with kindling.
hungry and spent, still leveling, revelrous,
disguised instincts as misgivings, querulous.
dalliance abiding, an abode-esque semblance,
and many silly kitchen grown sentences.
buttered up, rapt and clasped in exchange of gaze,
laconic at most in lieu of pleading.
twain unsure of meaning,
volition.
twain apologetic,
for teasing in lieu of stealing.
prohibited mission,
reciprocation solicitation.
when left bereft, left shaken.
perhaps cages were staged,
built beside mistakes,
forgiven if forsaken.
one of these days, then.

transcend underneath cacophonous birdsong,
not in the flowers or trees,
feeling more at home in this less than urgent morning breeze.

feeling my fingers flutter, hammer to paper,
i penned my own nail.

didn't know until now quite how childhood tapered.
now finding no logic in subscription to faith in the future tense,
whether that happens to be through hopes or through dreams,
i don't seem to bring myself to expect anything.

contrasting prior maxims and beliefs,
i am preemptively eating every single word i speak.

in terms of uncertain worship the question is not whether to;
the cogs bear their teeth when queried via how, what, and why.

naught to seek, adorn in a figment of pseudo nautical chic,
my face betrays, it may misspeak.
i don't need a place to stay,
i don't have a place i seek.
coquetting with myself,
i am ever at my peak.

the sequence requires a temporal pretense,
thusly prescribing time to thoughts that i tend to frequently frequent,
learning to liken my notions to pen strokes, ascensive.
harmonizing with the world, instead of agonizing over it,
prosperous from this defective preemptive pension.
remaining aggressively pensive, and peaceably gamboling,
towards a dangerously receptive conscious-less contemplation.
never unrelenting with the questioning, iron-****** in the leavening.
perpending, then comprehending viable praxis and cognation.
flirting with what i initially anticipated, practicing diurnal satiation.

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.

Skin stretched like a drawn canvas over an empty rib cage where my heart used to beat.
It wandered off, and fluttered away, as if it had given up all hope on getting better.
Much like my mind is slowly but very surely losing grip, losing faith.
My poor mind isn't getting better.
I sometimes wonder if it can, or if it will, ever.
I'm only hoping,
That hope is a glue strong enough to hold the pieces of my shattered heart together.

they are beautiful nectar collectors,
they're busily pollinating,
viciously cooperating,
and skillfully propagating from petal to petal.
as they flitter and hover,
acting as ambrosia vessels.
from marigolds to foxgloves,
and even to blooming nettles.

my pillow is smudged with bleach,
from your painted cheeks.

as are my shoulders,
as are my sheets.

my bed reeks of you,
and all the words you speak.

and with every stay, every week,
the scent seems to stick,
and seep deeper while we sleep.

i flatline my way through life.

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.

being in the way
of absolutely nothing
is the way to be

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

Now, I've heard of writer's block.
But is there such a thing as thinker's block?
Creative thoughts and habits have suddenly stopped.
Past securities and emotional bombs have been dropped.
Now all my thoughts have stopped, everything has stopped, as if blocked.

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.

-
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.

torpedo ink, some doubts to sink,
another mouthful, bruising to bethink.
without lexical integrity,
they're solecistic towards pedagogy, amusingly distinct.
basking in the blasphemy, armed to the teeth, blameless and bruised,
putting on another comical skit, guiltlessly bemused.
but don't sit next to me at this ball,
i'm pensively perusing the aisles of protocol.
baffled, more putrid than pellucid,
this hobnobbing appalls me, the exclusively reclusive.
a nuisance shindig, conversations far too allusive.
enough with the palaver, and this shallow vernacular,
far too stupid, far too human, forehead now growing vascular.
make way for me to make hastily for the exit, please,
my apologies, but i'm far too pedantic to revel in this cesspit, jeez.

so, off with my head.

all i want to do is sleep,
until i try to go to bed.

again,
relive all the words that you said.

all i want to do is die,
but i'll keep living on instead.

we shared spaces
as limping spectres
with manifold directions
looping ghost based conversations
amidst ***** portholes and boxes of dust
learning to bow to spirits in the dark
reaffirming treaties on yet another trek through projection
witness to recurrent episode arcs of radio subterfuge
server rack haven stroll invoked as a heaven, often,
flashes of weathered piano keys atop enemy remarks
wraiths propping heathens into ornate frames
should've been more careful with the strings
expected effects
dart fletching, inevitably dented, bent,
stains from water specks waging war with hints
splattering countless tints of humane intent
constellations gesturing in the mirror
flecked for the better
riot gear graced in paint
place to face, delayed
stone ship sailing away
similes rippling in the wakes
faceless groves of streetlight cones choking
albeit in the stakes it felt the same
retreating, twin searching for testing
doodled a giraffe without intending to
and threw it away

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.

You know you,
No better,
Than I know myself.
Infatuated.
With the dying ideas,
Of glimmers.
Not of hope, but,
Impossibilities.
I don't mean to.

Builds ups.
Racing hearts and,
Escalating chests.
Precursing,
The death of everything.
Not made.

Hectic clashes of empowered,
Godlike forces.
Torrential.
All within,
The unsteady beating of my heart.

An innocently wise girl once taught me,
How to know that old souls die young.
Then the bridge offered to throw us into the sea,
We could've drowned brightly,
But we chose a different perspective and reality.

You'll be okay with me,
And I with you.
Set ablaze, burn the sea.
Eyes bright, an indigo hue.
With the crushing weight of nothing,
Fallacies are born,
Setting fire to your words, never bluffing.

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.

hey man,
it's me.
your son.

it's okay if you forgot.
i'm just that scratch ticket,
that you never won.
just a ***** scab,
that you never even thought about picking at.

oh, the introductions, i almost forgot.
i was going to ask you,
what your name was, and whatnot.
but that'd take more patience than i've got.

i'm done waiting,
for a half-assed misfit *******,
who doesn't know how to commit to his kid.
i don't know if i'll ever be able to forgive you,
or any of the things that you never ****** did.

but hey man,
that's just my piece,
and i've only got one.
so write back.

sincerely,

your son.

black in my mind,
darkness in sight,
i've long gone blind.

to me you were bright,
beautiful, unrefined.
harsh, but always kind.

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.

I walked alone.
Ran apart.

Here we go,
That's what I'd tell myself.

I'd run in,
Throughout puddles,

Into heartlessness.
But that's fine,

I'll be just alright.
That's what I'd tell myself.

Until I learn to die,
I'll thrive, in the cesspool of my mind.

After I learn to shine,
I'll realize that the stars never tried to align.

What won't **** me, deepens.
Shattering what's left, sending me off the deep end.

I'll never learn to condemn it,
And you're sheltered by my effort to transcend it.

riding highs and moral fences,
wasting their senses,
until they're senseless.

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.

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

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

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.

pried from my chest,
with tooth and stone.
i knew it would fall apart,
flesh from bone.
i knew that from the start,
i knew it'd fall apart.
sins now atoned, it's gone,
i'll never again miss my heart,
it's dead art, a sad swan song.

Hold my heart close,
It believes it's sleeping,
But you sung it to insanity.
Now it's too dead,
To realize that it's screaming.