The stain on your chest
A mess I left
As if
For something for you to remember me by.

It is where
My heart
It sank
Caved in
And then exploded.
It leaks out
In hopes of saving itself.


Contorted by your magical look
It had me hooked
I’m still wiggling.


I do wish
But never expect
A reply.


Hanging out
On the wire
Obsessed
With the idea
That a simple spark
Could start a fire.

The dark early mornings
Where all is still quiet.
When the cities aren’t cities yet.
And I’m driving,
Like you were then.
I remember the feeling of safety
Enveloping me as I slept.
Even though you drove fast, reckless, irresponsibly.
With my eyes closed I felt nothing but comfort.
I am transported to that now
When I am behind the wheel.
Seeking that comfort.
Though the dangerous nature has been exposed
I still doze off.
It’s all I know.
All you’ve taught me.
And it hurts to be so far away now.
But I know our habits,
Not trying to suffer the way you are now.
In the guise of pleasure.
Trust was placed.
You made me this.
Through our experiences.
The soft glow of streetlights illuminating.
As you traveled up and down the mountains
Like nothing.
But really you were struggling.
I’m higher than you now.
Depressing but true.
I think of you.
But choose to keep my distance.
To not be apart of what you always were,
But I never knew.
But we will always have these near death experiences
And all the events that took place, while I was awake.
And how we both see them so differently now.
You were set on destinations.
I was lost in the scenery of anything
That presented itself.
The varying methods of heads just slightly apart.
I’ll think of this morning
Like I think of you.
Fleeting and unfortunate.
We drive on.
We get to where we are going,
Eventually.

The dust layers have fell.
I am under.
The white of nothing traps me in.
Sitting in place
But still moving.
It’s amazing I’m not
Motion sick.
All the unnatural turning.
The tuning of finer pieces.
The precise ear.
The delicate tone.
Annoyed, we sit by the phone.
Hoping the ring of opportunity presents itself.


We are too good at pretending patience.
The cold bites us repeatedly
We stand firm with the intolerance for it.
It backs down and we win.
It is harder to completely change the situation.
Make it come for us.
We just don’t think it should.
So we wait.
So many of us fall asleep.
We never hear its surprising tone
Ring out like from an angel’s mouth.
I’m wide awake.
Sick of waiting.
Trying to break the world
Pierce time and make it mine.
Force the situation to come.
But I know not what I am looking for.
A certain contentment in how I suffer.
Never losing sight of my anger.
Justified but plentiful.
The black silence never suits me for long.
A quiet mind is unheard of.
Its quick before all the sewage is released.
Into the streets.
Clogging my airways.
Released out through as many pores as I can find.
But it still builds up.
How to clean out for good?
How to take advantage of something you wish
Didn’t exist at all.
My downfall.


I’m working on coming up.
Keep putting me down.
I will not absorb you.
I am too comfortable
Absorbing further parts of me.
Maybe how you can affect them, appropriately.
I don’t discriminate.
Love is love
Recognized only,
Wholeheartedly.
No brain involved.
Disconnected
Perfectly caught up in the moment.
The dance on the air
As it blows you further up
Then down,
And all around.
No sense meant to be made.
Betray all humanity
Left in your soul
To amplify the senses
And drink them all.
Just because you can.
Just because it made you feel better
Than ever
Than everything they prescribed.
There isn’t much left to hide.
We hold onto scraps of shadows
All been given in to the light.
Transformative reasoning
Progressing.
But not fast enough.


Ground beneath the tires of the rebellion, slowly surfacing.
Dying for nothing
So that something may one day be.
But never for me.
I am meant as the in between.
The place from here to there.
Not very glorious.
But our names will shine perfect and loud
Out on the otherside
To wherever we are marching to.
Whatever they paint us as.
We will be better than we are now.
We will exist.
At least collectively
The way they write us in.
In sin, or in stars.
Always knowing we were the latter, anyhow.

The kings and queens sit upon thrones
From the balcony they gaze upon.
The peasants smell up the seats all around.
Some ones that feel lucky are seated closest.
At least their sound is pure
And of a place of good nature.
Celebrating
Their little victory.
When the kings and queens celebrate
It is unjust and ugly
They triumph with wealth and know no real pleasure.
When something plays out
They smile with dollar signs
Stuck in their teeth.
They built this house
Sullen with gold array,
Unfortunate display
Of power and pigheadedness.
We sit and enjoy the fruits in which they’ve sprouted.
We do not see through the curtain.
We come to see,
Leave.
The money has already been counted.
Nothing has changed other than time.
We’ve cushioned them in such ways we will never know
This side of satisfaction
Ringing out in clearness.
Our happiness is theirs
And we can’t escape from that.