It pains me to say so honest,

You've come to the same sudden and shocking conclusion as the rest,

No matter the amount of love you have for me,

I am ****.

A door I slammed and sent accross the sea,
I told it,
"Lock yourself I never want to open you again"
Now I fumble around in the dark corner where it used to be for the doorknob.
A flower I found and picked, not thinking far enough ahead to realize that if I truly appreciated its beauty I wouldnt pick it but let it blossom. Even wilted and withered ive never found another like it.
A bump in the road on someones ride home from work that they didnt even notice as they sang their favorite radio songs.

OK,
my shine bright, but my mood chill,
got my mind right, its time to build,

Looking bsck its like a dream,
So many sunsets,
So many blunt wraps,
So many moments taken for granted I could write 5 books with the memories that slipped through the cracks.
All I think I want is to read that book

It's like a cold,
Or a sinus drip.

An ever present itch in the back of your brain that somethings off.

A quiet droning from somewhere too far to be loud but too close to be silent.

Burning Parchment screams the kindled words as each letter sparks to life,
Leaving their meanings lost somewhere in the wind, is it the same online?

Each day new cracks appear,
My image though distorted,
Reminds me were both still here.

I cant articulate my thoughts the way I used to be able to.
My brains connections have swapped from word obsessions to ambience and aesthetic obsession,
Certain patterns and flowers and shades and tiny parts of really large scale beautiful things.
My brain is no longer the same wordsmith,
Forge raging night and day as with each disruptive bang he straightens red hot words into sentences with which to turn to blades to rend his foes and cut his binds,
Now he is a word weaver,
One who sits silently at times, piddling with the different threads in frustration,
And at times feeling the path the words would like to be drawn down and around each other, forming pictures from the fragments with the dreamlike ease similar that of a stingray gliding across a glittering moonlit seabed in search of treasure he dropped while chasing the moon.
But words,
No matter the arrangement arranger or arrangement process,
Can fall short of the pure raw power to make someone feel the way a sunset can or the glistening blur of running water.

I just want the same thing as everybody my age,
I want out out of this place,
My hometown feels like a cage,
That my spirit is in
But I'm convinced the keys disguised as a pen,
I'm trynna make this music make this money carry my family and friends make these dummies see the light and make the movement begin
This our planet as earthlings
were aware of the damage but somehow we do worse things,
Power plants get hit by tsunamis and you think that won't hurt things,
On our coast?

where the sun cant reach tehre are things light couldnt create the beauty of so darkness had its way with evolution,
those things know more than we about the warmth of frigid water and we more than they about the suns loving embrace, but I dont long to feel the sun lap at my closed eylids, nor do I long to taste the suns radiation like the oceans salt and nor do I prefer any sensation but her touch to that of the oceans and never will I find an embrace as widely accepting as the waters

The total futility of life and its end  is unfightable,
The only perfect form is fluid,
Proper posture to avoid catastrophe is complete relaxation,
Be the corpse before rigormortis.

I still remember days as sweet as sunset snowballs,

warm summer air on our skin,

A Vance Joy CD on the radio.

Those days feel like a dream now.

A story someone told me,

or a book I read in middle school,

an ant,

Lured into a pitcher plant by the sweetest scent,

Drowning in the unexpected excess,

Bathed and enveloped by bliss.

y

The location has changed,
Ive seen it before,
There no mirrors here,
The suns Glare in my eyes every direction I turn is stirring panic in my heels.

What a drop,
To fall from this height what a drop indeed,
To fall from up here would be foolish.
Mortal, perhaps.
As just before u splat u remember exists those imaginary boot straps,
And that knot you learned in 1st grade way after everyone else,

And those wings you grew yourself.

You flapped those little wings in formation with your mother and brothers goose by your side till one day by some miracle you stood on one foot per day and danced a Macarena around a cage of crawfish.

I think that somewhere in our past there is something tying us together, maybe you were my wife in the holocaust and as we were ripped apart one final time in front of the auchwitz gates I shouted "WEAR WHITE SHOES SO I KNOW ITS YOU",
Or maybe even better,
Maybe you were english royalty and I an irish farmer and every day id see you on my way to market and offer you a smile that you still remember.
Maybe when the atoms that make us up came together they couldnt all fit into one body, so they decided two bodies in different places with unique experiences that can come together to strengthen each other and help each other grow is the ideal use of their conundrum.
But maybe im just rambling....