I am my own heads aching

I am still-framed fire

and roaring ocean

I am sky height

and grounds nadir

I am children; cower from thunder

I am fervent visuals

that linger on your tongue

with sour taste

I am soft-spoken

with shrieks and screams

I am bitter

I am content

I am ill

its days like these
i wish my life was an ease

do i only make it harder
harder on myself
allowing all thoughts
to stutter through my day

its days like these
that every thing goes wrong

do i only see it that way
that every thing ruins my day
when nothing has tremendously gone wrong

its days like these
i wish i could easily take a walk
to make all the racing thoughts stop

do i only let them continue
letting the brain’s juice stew

Friend that had been
kidnapped and paid
the ransom in a
*** of cash

The Big Guy called
and called but His
angel's on lunch,
not answering

Warming
amen -rarely-
to the things that
live outside of you

Warn to you,
armed I
Warm to you,
worn I

I wear my watch on the inside of my wrist keeping time by the pulsing of overfilled veins.
If I'm honest, the seconds pass blurry when you are around, red pounding at the blue surface reminding my life of it's vigorous momentum as the watch face marks it's disappearance.
I can do nothing about it's circular cycle, nor the manner in which I mirror it, recycling threadbare thoughts and feelings in ostensible new purpose.
I am a walking contradiction formed of practical mysticism and coffee stained teeth, spinning poetry from numb fingertips onto the ghosts of birch trees, fleeing from my wildest dreams.
Meet me,
half way between belief and reality at the junction of duality and I'll reveal I have no true identity - no creed no name no history,
only chaotic shifting and angry bumblebees drilling sinkholes for visitors toes to curl into as they fashion temporary homes in me.
I am solar soliloquy.
Astrological antiquity curses me to orbit you habitually.
Eye of the storm, hand of the beast, souls of the many downtrodden and hungry, asking for shoulders to stand upon shaky.
Grant me your three wishes, and I will conjure infinity from our palms clasped tight in secrecy.
Tell me,
neglectful lover,
when did my beauty become a pleasurable void, to be touched
yet left unseen,
when did my spirit become matter
buried under the mind of desire and empty chatter.
Humor me,
say that the meeting of our skin is more than physical proximity say,
that you dream of my flowers growing from your ribcage say,
that the gods granted us an opportunity for greatness,
say that our kiss is a portal to Andromeda and that you could get lost there forever - I know I have.
Yet, even light years away I hear the tick tocking ticktick of my heart bleeding into itself.
I am fleeting.
I am deafening.
I am a forgetful timekeeper,

late to my own re-birthing.

I write in the trance of triangular years
whose reverse-osmosis has done but clear
the last memories I held dear

and somewhere along the line of
perpendicular feelings, Love
found its nesting in my heart like a dove
seeking the shelter it was deprived of

because maths and science concretize
my malady. Brittle beings, they vaporize
like mist exhaled for exercise.

These faces I try to exorcise
are the only ones I recognize

Friends stay for the good and bad, They're
Rambunctious but rational,
Intellegent but idiotic, Always there
Even when you push them away,
Nobel and irreplaceable, they're
Devoted to you one hundred percent, They're
S*omething special to us all.

We will always call them friends