My light eyes only see the dark
immune to clear blue skies,
indifferent to a bright spark,
and the bloodshot lines in the white
reveal my own confessing script,
the things I couldn’t say that I write,
I couldn’t walk away so I tripped.

You’ve broken me into small parts
reflections of which I no longer resemble,
I’ve looked for replacements in cars, boats and go carts,
but there’s no use to try and reassemble.
If you have my mind, my heart and soul,
tell me what does that leave over for me?
You know I showed you my scars but hid my mole,
but I still don’t know exactly what you see.
Because it starts where it will end
and finishes with infinity,
the primary colours were made to blend
but I’m lacking all creativity.

Your blank stare is elusive as the wind,
sometimes I question if it’s even there
but then I think I catch sight of a grin.
And while I’m drowning in your eyes,
trying to catch the ocean in a glass,
I’ve underestimated the size
and forgot the impact of the last.

I’ve been plagued with a sickness
one that’s lacking any small remedy,
poetic justice sees complete bliss
always inevitably evolve into tragedy.
My eyes are shrivelled, lacking tears
something had to overflow the canal,
still the boat floats and it steers
avoiding reasoning and all rationale.
Because it starts where it will end
and finishes with infinity,
and I’m too beat to pretend,
that I wouldn’t ’t rather be lost at sea.

Life, life has always been too long
but it seems forever with you is too short.
While I reflect on the choices I made that were  wrong,
I’m told it’s now too late to abort.
Life, life has always been too long
but I only started living when I found you.
Because it starts where it will end
and finishes with infinity,
you’re word was broken, it could never bend,
but it seems I’m the only one that’s still fighting.

Because it starts where it will end
and finishes with infinity,
there’s nothing in this world we can’t mend,
but I think it’s time that I stop investing.

I never feared much,
I had a recklessness about my own life.
One day I tasted fear, and decided I preferred invincibility.
I couldn’t fight it,
God knows how hard I tried.
and I was slapped with realization:
I gained a gigantic fear;  being without you.

But now,
my biggest fear,
the one that keeps me up at night
and chokes the little air from my lungs,
is that you’ll live your life not ever knowing
how very much I love you,
and how every work of art in this world
pales and insults the perfection
that radiates from you
straight into my heart,
embracing my soul,
and overriding my mind.

I love you so much,
it’s a kin to daggers stabbing
every single inch of my body.

You’ll know now.

Years ago I closed that door,
my mind absent and I forgot to check the lock.
What came knocking, the same as before,
with the repeated conversations where I could never talk.

How did I come to this,
it’s like a loop repeated in time,
but it’s the only one I want to end.
Watch tragedy stem from bliss,
no lemons so life tossed me a lime,
I’ll keep stirring but it won’t blend.

Today I singed myself with a cigarette
in question if I could still detect heat.
No pain, no burn, no reflexes or regret,
no warmth for I to ever greet.

How did this take over,
I saw the path in front of my eyes,
with weeds and fences blocking the way.
It’s all crimson and clover,
painted and blended in the skies,
and I hope the landscape will stay.

I made a list last night
of the things I want in life,
and you’re at the top i’of the chart.
The other numbers have grown trite,
and they’re blank with strife
because everything else has come apart.

Darling, what do you think of me?
and how often, how frequently?
I’ve been comparing and relating,
Lovely, do you still have your key?
To my breath and heart beating,
I’ve been longing and debating.

The cold winds are now rising,
the night has only grown more dark,
avoiding destruction appears tantalizing,
but my eyes remain fixated on that one spark.
It has the potential to set the world ablaze
though I only wish to warm up my bones,
and after all these years you still completely amaze
you’re unlike anyone else, no match to any snowflakes or stones.

In terms of matters of the heart
there’s only one truth that’s gotten me by:
That something this strong and unique,
could never be anything less than mutual.
The world is cruel, but it’s not evil.

I’ve been struck down again,
fully aware it’s my own doing.
Do you have a heart you can lend?
Mine’s drying from the taping and the glueing.
Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my sweet Clementine,
are you smiling or are you snarling,
more importantly are you mine?

Outside the window seasons blend,
the temperature holds no meaning.
I notice the change and the trend,
to ignore the withdrawals from weaning.
Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my sweet Clementine,
you’ve been avoiding and been barring,
but you can’t severe this line.

The stronger the initial fear
usually means the most is at stake,
and trying to prevent a single tear
can lead to the worst heartbreak.
Those who leave the best memories
usually leave us with the most hurt,
you know we can’t just live life with ease,
there needs to be some blood on a white shirt.

You can try to completely forget someone,
but putting that effort in means you’re actually fixated more,
and after all is said and done,
honestly who do you wish to be behind that door?

Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my sweet Clementine,
is it cleansing or more harming,
to live in denial all the time?

Oh my darling, oh my darling,
oh my sweet Clementine,
when it’s finished it’ll be starting,
and I’ll stand under the Montauk sign.

The thing about human rights is
that they are essential,
they are intangible.
They cannot be bought,
they must be fought for.
Most importantly,
they cannot be weighed,
they cannot be passed back and forth,
and they cannot be ranked.
No one, technically,
owns a monopoly on human rights.
You cannot take one of mine away
because you decided to expand
evolve and magnify,
your own.

So while I would never wish to
hurt anyone’s feelings,
a person should not be censored
from having opinions and thoughts.
I probably won’t share them with you anyway.
Cause while you have the right to be offended by something,
someone else has just as much of a right to offend you.

We can hold friendly debates
and discussions,
but personally I’d rather not ruin
interactions with clashing ideals.
It won’t accomplish anything.
Everyone should be able to do what they wish- as long as it doesn’t hurt someone.
Physically and mentally, that is,
because a human right cannot be
made void because of feelings.
You see, everyone has feelings,
ideals, morals, standards, expectations...
and everyone is different.
My life will not be completely altered and restricted,
for you to have more privilege than anyone else.
What and how you say something
is just usually based on levels of
intelligence, learned behaviour,
manners and common sense.
Some people, unfortunately,
just can’t be helped in that aspect
and will give you their opinion
blatantly oblivious to your perspective, no matter what.
But both parties are guilty of that.

If you don’t like what you’re seeing
hint: don’t watch, don’t read.
If you don’t like what you’re hearing
hint: don’t listen, or ignore it.
Spend less time getting offended
and placing your personal feelings
on a pedestal,
and more time living your life.
Believe me, we’ll all be happier that way.

I can no longer paint pictures
my hands are trembling and broken,
even though I arranged directions in the fixtures,
you know there’s much I’ve never truly spoken.
I created a simple scavenger hunt
and drew out a map to my only treasure,
my clues are obvious but clearly not blunt,
but what I have cannot be weighed nor can it be measured.

You should know me well enough
to know there’s nothing you can’t say,
go on and call my bluff,
I’ll remain feeling this way.
Kiss me gently or slap my face
give me breath or finish me,
stay connected or disappear without a trace,
I’ll still love you unconditionally.

I’ve never been one to give a speech;
words have weight and I hate my voice,
but with time and support it’s not impossible to teach
where there’s a will, there’s a way and a choice.
It feels like I’ve made it easy to see
I can’t help it, it’s plain as day,
‘cause even as I’m locked; you’ve got the key,
and your lips can read mine for what I don’t say.

I’ll never forget the smile on your face
when our lips slowly first met,
the skin that my fingers ache to trace,
a face that even death could not make me forget.
Burn my skin and scrub me raw,
or lovingly bathe me in the sea,
you can part the rules and break each law,
but I’ll still love you unconditionally.

I believe you can pull the stars
straight down from the skies,
cause I see past all your scars
and see them twinkle in your eyes.
I know everyone has their role
and everything is a two way street,
but Darling if I’m going to bare my soul,
it’s only fair that you show your feet.

I can’t gurgle out a love filled poem today,
even though so many of you have been dedicating work to Valentines Day all week.
All I’ve been thinking is;
almost everyday I write a poem
for the girl I love with every inch of myself,
and she doesn’t even seem to know it’s her my words come to life for.
So today I take a stand,
‘cause who writes love poems
for the poets?

Every waking hour, I’m battling insecurities
they turn my mood sour, and I’m begging anyone to “stomp them please.”
Boiling and ice, so hot then cold,
a mistake now made twice,
I should remember the lessons I’m told.

Please stop feeding me that riffraf
all the way up the *****.
Part of me just wants to laugh
‘cause I’m not sure what else to do.

It’s the little things that compile,
and create the big things,
still work to find a smile
and return back to the swings.
Boiling and ice, scalding to freeze,
a mistake now made thrice,
the right answer’s just a tease.

Please stop feeding me that riffraf
all the way up the *****.
To calm myself I run a candlelit bath,
but the tap is just pouring glue.

We all keep walking with broken legs
and keep carrying on bleeding wounds
Even the proudest person still begs
for life to grow from ruins.
I want to solve the mystery,
travel through time and space,
‘cause this reality is misery,
when I’m not in my rightful place.

Please stop feeding me that riffraf
all the way up the *****.
The ups and downs shown on a graph,
and the statistics are painfully true.
Start by telling me everything,
as I’ve got my own show and tell,
I’ll expose myself to your sting
as long as you promise to make my heart swell.

Woke up drained wishing that I was dead,
this life has meaning but only in my head,
I give her every part of me, and she asks me to repeat what I just said.

Now how does she not know
which direction my mind will go?
Her veins and my blood flow,
and a pair of hands to row.

It’s taken a toll and far too many years,
back and forth shuffling blame and our fears,
she lets me think I drive, but we both know she steers.

Now how can I stay strong?
Always repeating that one song.
She’s right until she’s wrong,
but I’m not where I belong.

I accepted a truth and made a lie stick,
covered and layered it over so outrageously thick,
she keeps me alive, but I’ve always been sick.

Now how can she not see
just how vital she is to me?
Giving priceless stock out for free,
but I’m never where I should be.

Woke up drained wishing that I was dead,
my heart breaks as often as she breaks bread.
I give her every part of me, and she asks me to repeat what I just said.

I always hear the old saying
“cut off the limb.”
Unfortunately,
my heart convinced my mind
to allow the infection to evolve
and grow into a whole new limb
that became a toxic person.

Come waltz between my ears
they’re more sensitive than they seem,
slip and step between the gears,
that are working so hard they cause steam.
For someone who never stops thinking,
there’s still far too many unknowns,
but just like breathing or blinking
I love you down to the bones.

Stay standing behind my eyes,
perfection radiant in my mind,
toss away all of the starry skies,
I might as well become blind.
Say that I’m “one in a million”
there’s doppelgängers and there’s clones,
but you’re one in seven point seven billion,
and I love you down to the bones.

I’ll be red and you’ll be blue,
let’s mix together; create a colour new,
maybe some type of violet hue,
and speckle the world with our dew.

Put up posters of our memories
on every single pole and wall,
caress me with the summer breeze,
and give me the final warmth at fall.
Nothing could ever fill the hole,
not seven kingdoms and no thrones.
Just embrace me through the soul
‘cause I love you down to the bones.

You’ll be day and I’ll be night,
two passing ships still stay in sight,
the tide will pull but we’ll remain tight,
we’ve become accustomed to this fight.

Come carry me back home,
I’m already there if you are too,
though you think that I stray and roam,
darling I never even tied a shoe.
We’re meant to be compiled together,
but I made myself out of sticks and stones,
but I promise you that forever,
I’ll love you down to the bones.

When in doubt for my thoughts and feelings,
just look at your own and you’ll see mine as well.
After all, that’s how these things work.

On Memory Lane with too much to give,
and in each block and cul desac  it’s all more exquisite.
Sometimes the place where you wish to live,
is only meant for a quick intense visit.

con-spir-a-cy
Noun: a secret plan by a group
to do something unlawful and harmful.
Verb: the action of plotting or conspiring.

Conspiracy theorists,
are actually theorists of conspiracy,
while those in charge conspire.
While it’s easy to shrug off
and dismiss as “crazy,”
if you do the research
and dig down the rabbit hole,
you might start to question things
as well.

Take neither the red or blue pill,
as the pharmaceutical companies
will profit more from slow treatment,
or placebo effect, than they ever would from curing you once.
But open your eyes, and squint
to see, truly see, the world around you.

Why budget more into a military
than a healthcare or education system,
if you don’t intend to profit from it?
Industrial Military War Complex
is a real term and it’s definition
is dollar signs and blood.
The government is no longer politicians, but investors.

Sure some of us get a bad rap,
and we’re grouped in with the
eccentric or uneducated,
or just flat out theatrical.
But we’re the believers.
The ones who know that a society
is not just a structure, it’s a well
oiled, well designed machine
to keep the bottom on the bottom
and the top on the top.

I can’t say for sure that the Queen is a lizard,
and I’m pretty certain the world is
not flat,
but can any of us truly know?
Besides the Queen and those lucky few who travel to space...
how do you know for sure?
Even astronauts can be put into
a stasis, placed inside a simulation
and not know of it.
They would think they’re floating
in a satellite above our planet,
up until someone broke the
airlock, and they weren’t killed.

You see what I did there?
I took it too far.
And that’s what gets us the reputation of being crazy.
Would it be too crazy to believe,
those who take it a touch too far
are government plants to provide
an illusion of insanity
and discredit us completely?
You’ve heard of crisis actors,
but are their theorist actors?

Just know that the American government and CIA did once
(that we know of)
mull over the possibility of a False Flag Operation,
but on paperwork they rejected it.
The fact that the idea of attacking your own citizens to justify invasions of other countries
and create warfare was even on the table,
are the things that keep me on edge.
And should keep you on edge too.

I could go on forever about the
inconsistencies in testimonials,
footage, and Warren Commission Reports.
About common sense and intuition,
cold hard facts and brutal realities.
But, it’s not my job to pop balloons of blissful ignorance,
and those who don’t wish to see
the truth will forever stare at a counterfeit world telling themselves
it’s the real deal.

Anarchy would never work,
and communism could never be fair.
But democracy is made up of
well known names and popular
faces, of occasionally publicly approved personalities,
who are in turn overcome with
greed and then bought out and controlled by corporations and the big banks we entrust our salaries to.
They have our money, but not our
best interest at heart.
It’s like paying for a therapist
who will disregard everything you say, and then tell you to get back in line.

If someone aspires to have a position where they mediate and alter a group of people’s structure,
don’t you think they might have a power issue?
That if money makes the world go ‘round,
we’re all just numbers and barcodes?
And that maybe, it’s just safer for
those who make the world turn
to tell us what we want to hear
while showing us images of how
much worse it could be?

I think it’s far past the time,
that I go and change my full name.
It’s not that I’ve committed a crime,
It’s just I’m done playing this game.
It’s a waste of my time and energy,
and I’ve become aware there’s a closet in my skeleton,
it’s moved from where it’s meant to be,
I guess it’s not just my will power that’s made of gelatin.

I took a power drill to my right temple,
to create a hole and install a switch.
To erase my thoughts I ignored the detrimental,
but every memory slips it’s way through the stitch.
Sometimes it’s not the change you want,
but maybe it’s the change that you need.
Don’t hide your wounds, they’re battle scars you should flaunt,
and praise that you still have the ability to bleed.

But I’m a hypocrite of the worst kind,
as I encourage others to embrace the pain.
My worst enemy is my own mind,
and I’m plotting havoc against my brain.
I’d do anything for a clean slate,
I’d give it all up to once hit “reset”
The best I can do right now is just wait,
and hope one day I can be blessed to forget.

I tried to go back home but the doors are all locked,
and someone’s in my parking space.
There’s a sea of debris on the roads that I once walked,
my existence in my own home has been fully erased.
It’s almost so tragic that it’s comedic,
that the only two things I want slipped through my grasp.
A concept is invisible, so how do you beat it?
If you never held it how do you reclasp?

But I’m a hypocrite of the worst kind,
as I encourage others to embrace the pain.
I’m tired of being ******* within this bind,
like a cartoon character on the tracks awaiting an oncoming train.
I’d do anything for a clean slate,
I’d give it all up to once hit “reset”
Am I starving even though I cleared my plate?
Am I swimming in riches while drowning in debt?

Eternal sunshine of a spotless mind,
speaks more to my state, praying to become blind.
Atleast I wouldn’t long and yearn,
for the spot where I once stood,
‘cause how can you ever return
when you know how it used to be good?

And I raised her up on a pedestal so high,
that her fingers could brush the heavens.
She replaced the sun and became the sky,
and I wished for her at all eleven-eleven’s.

I savour the coffee taste on your tongue and on your lips,
it’s reminiscent of my throat when a word slips, or when each pill drips.
The less and less I sleep,
the more secrets I keep,
whisked away in stolen conversation
but all the thoughts; lost in translation.
Squeeze the trigger, pull the plug,
I now figure you’re just another drug,
I won’t get clean; this time I’ll overdose,
I couldn’t hope to wean when you’re still this close.

So turn up the boiling scalding water,
you know that it’s time to come clean.
Submerge yourself or don’t even bother,
appearance doesn’t matter when you’re never seen.

I was worried I’d be trapped on a different side,
resulting from the bleaching of the darkness that I tried to hide,
covered in a soft pastel portrait of a stranger,
who balanced pleasure and pain with no thoughts of danger.
I admit I’ve written letters before
as a safety net,
at the time it meant more,but you’re still upset.
“I’m cautious while being reckless,
always nauseous but please respect this,
I’ve been done for years,
and now it’s gotten too trite,
my lip quivers from the tears,
where once I just used to bite.”

So get out all of the soaps and the oils,
you know that it’s time to come clean.
Replenish the lukewarm with water that boils,
and continuing scrubbing and lathering inbetween.

They all ask the five W’s and one H,
and expect a definition on abrupt command.
In my bath the purity saturates,
I only find bubbles and water spill from my hand.

It’s hard to describe in written word
the completion that was suddenly felt,
it was my first sight and first sound heard;
a power that could make the galaxies melt.
She threw a blanket statement over me,
but it failed to cover me up whole.
In the corner of her eye all I’ll ever be,
is frozen feet walking out of control.

So let yourself soak until you dissolve,
you know that it’s time to come clean.
It’s within the water we’re bound to evolve,
and if all fails we’ll glisten and gleam.

I’ve dreaded this imploding moment
my entire life unknowingly,
if there was a way to avoid it; I have blown it,
growing pains should end when you stop growing.

I’ve got speckle scars on my palms
they’re always kissing my fingernails,
there’s only one thing I’ve found that calms,
but the road collapses or the guide always bails.
“This is your brain”, but the egg doesn’t crack,
no sizzling grease rain, no white burning black.

It’s the things that feel the best that also cause the pain,
as you can only enjoy the sunshine when you’ve had a spout of rain.
Just like you can’t have a fire without an initial spark,
and you can’t bathe in the light unless you’re drowning in the dark.

But what if I’m tired of obvious consequence,
Hell, I’m tired of everything these ******’ days,
where self medicating was once used in past tense,
I think it’s time for me to revert to my old ways.

So fill a rig until it’s completely full,
and shoot me up with some false hope,
it correlates your method of push over pull,
but it’s still not as good as actual dope.
And let me rail a line of pure nirvana and bliss,
if you’re the one to cut it atleast you gave it to me technically,
if something was never there, how can it be something you miss?
I’ll keep feeding the habit until I can no longer breathe.

Destiny lost when fate found a wall of defy
to change it I would sell all of my remaining soul,
and I think I now know the reason why,
a bandaid won’t ever cover a bullet hole.

I’m a written and published open book,
you just have to read past the first chapter.
You skimmed the pages and took a look
at the last line to see if there was a happily ever after.
But like most things it’s up to interpretation,
left open ended in way for a hopeful sequel,
‘cause like all things true it’s plagued with complication,
but our story has no end and it has no equal.

And you, you were my favourite memoir,
your depth lined the thesis of a never ending essay.
I became inspired so I held an impromptu seminar,
a whole panel to if your picture was sepia or artistically grey.
I memorized every single thing you said,
every cryptic metaphor, every perfect rhyme.
I’ve lost count of how often that I’ve fully read,
and I still don’t understand after all of this time.

You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
but you need a title; what should it be?
I’ve been writing you so that the whole world can see,
the way you shine bright effortlessly.

You were my own personal thesaurus and dictionary,
providing different words to dress up each thought.
You’re a first and only edition; what a rarity,
laced with metaphors and satire that’s barely caught.
You’re what Shakespeare aspired to always write,
and you accomplished it simply by being born.
I’d translate you to brail so those without sight,
could hear about you and the beauty they now mourn.

You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
no need to proofread, no cause for editing.
I’ve been writing you so that the whole world can see,
the way you shine bright, always illuminating.

I’m a prologue,
and we’re the conclusion.
My authors note; the words of a demagogue,
but the details still lack any illusion.

You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
I’ve memorized every word and dissected them cautiously.
I’ve been writing you so the whole world can see,
and once they skim the synopsis; they’ll never stop reading.

I have never considered myself weak.
Physically, I have nothing to fear,
I believe myself capable of defending myself from any violent attack that may ever come.
Believing in your own strength is half the battle, after all.
I also rest on the assurance that I will die fighting if need be,
where not many would risk that chance, or persist to have to ****** someone.
I will die on my feet, I will die fighting,
I am afraid of nothing that can hurt my skin.

But,
and there always is a but,
I am terrified of that which can hurt me internally.
You can’t fight feelings,
you can’t hold your own against
love, or sadness, anger or betrayal.
I loathe being vulnerable,
especially when no one attempts to convince you there’s nothing to be afraid of.
Atleast they haven’t lied about that.

I have had women who have left me abandoned in glass boxes,
who have turned on a tap and let the water flow and fill up the space,
promising me they would return when the water touched my chin.
Acting as if it was an a show of affection, providing me with a warm bath to soothe my soul.
But they’ve left, I drowned,
and once discovered, not one could bother to administer CPR.
They gave no condolences to what family I have left,
nor show up to the funeral,
they did not even shed one tear.

But yet, years later they seek out my headstone,
hesitating at the wrong plot because they couldn’t bother to learn the correct spelling of my name.
But they would dig me up, pry open my coffin,
and gently part my decomposed eyelids so they had someone’s eyes staring only at them.

If you **** someone,
atleast have the decency,
to let them rot in peace.

Is there room for context at this table?
We can move some dishes and shuffle chairs.
I’ve checked all four legs and they seem stable,
but choosing a placemat is like splitting hairs.
I notice the candle’s flame is getting dim,
and my fingers pirouette in the puddles of wax,
my hair needs a cut but I settled for a trim,
and I’m donating my salary and spending my tax.

I’ve told you every thought in my head,
except the ones that matter the most,
the facts that scald my cheeks to red,
now they’re burning up like charred toast.
I’d promise you whatever you ask for,
and I’d drag myself to deliver each time,
but I’m ignoring the truth at my core,
and I’m confessing to you in mime.

Sit across from me with crossed legs,
see magnets becomes our eyes,
“come closer together” both begs,
but we’re determined and polarized.
There’s no world existing around us,
and there certainly is no group,
you listen while I ramble and make a fuss,
over the death of Lipton’s Alligator Soup.

We turned Heaven into a Hell,
we took a skeleton and made a shell,
We dragged our nails down the walls
scribbled ephiphanies on bathroom stalls,
and silenced a story we could never tell.

And all the things that have driven us apart,
in truth have only made us stronger.
and my love you are actually my heart,
I won’t question it’s beating any longer.

If you’re stuck with a choice
you should flip a coin in the air,
then listen to your mind’s voice,
‘cause your answer will be there.
When it comes to heads or tails,
you already know your favourite side,
you’ll pray for it as the coin sails,
ignore the outcome but absorb the ride.

My demons and shadows are placing bets against me,
black is heartbreak and red is destruction.
They watch the wheel spin so intensely,
holding their breath so strongly that it’s creating suction.
The winner of the jackpot round
will play Russian Roulette with my life,
it’s inevitable, fated, destined and bound,
‘cause I brought a pen to a knife fight.

I’m winning in a debate,
on a topic for which I don’t care,
it won’t change the structure or state,
for a system that will always be there.
Who are we alone? Who are we together?
Drink the marrow straight from the bone,
so you can savour my blood forever.

I lost all faith in my last name,
as a MacKenzie- “I shine; not burn.”
But I feel the heat from the blame,
and the scarred mark I was born to earn.
The funeral pyre is already lit,
the flames flicker and engulf my strife,
I’m too stupid to halt and call forfeit,
‘cause I brought a pen to a knife fight.

Empty hands, and broken fingers,
hanging strands, clings and lingers.
Sunken shoulders, and lifeless eyes,
a name in my folders, alphabetically organized.

You can’t decipher a word’s meaning,
if the word is never actually spoken.
The tree never fell but it’s slightly leaning,
surprisingly roots just can’t be broken.
And sometimes I’m scared to blink,
even though I’m unimpressed with this sight,
I’ll be bleeding out in colourful ink
as I brought a pen to a knife fight.

You know sharks don’t sleep
and sadly neither do I.
But now I’m in too deep,
“you’re gonna need a bigger boat”
just to get by.

You told me to put on my dancing shoes,
and I strapped on two concrete blocks.
You asked me to relay the news
but I went for the thrills and shocks.
Now my oxygen is running low;
my heavy head is finally feeling light.
I’ll still try to give you a good show
but I brought a pen to a knife fight.

I want to tell you that I love you
but it feels almost insulting to us,
as we have discovered a feeling
that is new and uncharted;
something that far surpasses
the conventional and widely known
concept and notion of just “love.”
We have created a new word,
a new feeling, a new experience,
a new connection,
a new world that’s all our own.

The word love;
it just doesn’t do this justice,
as when I first met you I realized
the reason the sun rises and sets.
It rises to compete with your beauty,
your natural radiance, your light
and your warmth.
When it sets, it gives up;
desperately craving rest as it
spent many hours trying to outshine you, which nothing in this world could ever hope to do.
At very best it could try to match your breathtaking sight,
but still it sets every single day, because it could never even come close to your effortless luminescence.
My darling, you have exhausted the sun,
a basic necessity for all life to grow,
and the centre of our known universe.
But to me, you are what causes growth, you sustain all life,
and you have me spinning in circles
in your gravitational pull;
twenty-four seven, three sixty-five.

It sounds cliche,
but the moment I saw you everything both stopped and started.
My heart stopped,
my breath stopped,
even time stopped.
But my soul was birthed,
my mind was resurrected
and then, my heart was revived.
Within a split second I felt everything; all at once.
Everything in this world suddenly made sense,
I found the puzzle piece to the incomplete picture I had decided to settle with,
I discovered an ***** I never knew existed, but now that ***** is so vital, I could never live without it.
I became a new person that day:
I was finally made complete.
I never knew what happiness was,
but that day I basked in.
I inhaled as much as I could,
even if it would drown me,
because I was absolutely terrified
and paralyzed with the fear
that I would never know that feeling again.

You’re my first thought when I awake,
picking up where I left off the night before,
and you sneak your way into my head all throughout the day.
No matter how close you are to me,
you will always be too far.
It’s frustrating to have two hearts and two souls so intertwined and locked,
that the barrier of our bodies almost feel like a nuisance
as they create a thin wall separating them from meeting
and melting together as they should.

If I could list off my biggest accomplishment,
it would be any time I was the provider of your smile.
If I could list off my favourite hobby,
it would be the times I make you laugh.
If I could do one thing
and only one thing for the entirety of my life,
it would be to look into your eyes
and listen to your sweet voice;
it always leaves me so intoxicated.
And if I was given the choice;
see you hurt or be gun down with a barrage of bullets;
I would tell the firing squad to start loading their guns.
I would die for you; without hesitation.
But the more impressive thing,
I think, is that I live for you,
even though it hurts so badly some days.
Pain goes hand in hand with love,
but it is also tantamount to it.

So you see, I want to tell you that I love you,
every single second of every single day for the rest of my life,
but the words are just words,
and no words, no matter how descriptive or beautiful or powerful,
could ever fully articulate what I feel.
Just know that I am yours,
even when you doubt that I am.

Dear Mrs. Frouin,
(atleast I think that was your name.)

For as long as I can remember I’ve always wanted to be a writer. Actually, I don’t believe I wanted to be anything, especially when I was younger,
but writing chose me.

For you see,
I conditioned myself unable to verbally express my emotions, or my thoughts, since I was old enough to have them.
I know the words I want to say when I want to say them,
but I never felt anyone wanted to hear them.
I believed my constant analyzing and emotional dissection to be a burden.
I knew most people wouldn’t understand, if they even bothered to listen at all.
And so I taught myself to alter the disease of emotions, and the curse of memories into dressed up words.
I turned my pain into similes, allegories and metaphors,
whether hidden and veiled or transparently exposed.
My pen became my bestfriend
and paper evolved into a therapist.

It didn’t always do the trick, I admit.
Especially when I was fifteen, the year you taught me,
the year I tried my first pill
and found an alternate reality I could escape to where everything felt good, all the ******* time.
And that’s where you caught me.

It seems petty, immature and egotistical to still remember this fourteen years later,
but when someone attempts to crush the only aspiration you have,
the only thing you really have felt good at,
it tends to stick with you.
Especially considering I remember everything.

As per usual, I had shown up to your class ******,
there wasn’t many classes I showed up to sober.
There wasn’t many classes I showed up to in general.
I had zoned out during your lesson, probably doodling, talking,
sleeping, listening to music, writing or staring at some pretty girl.
Everyone had left and you asked me to stay behind, and as much as I was a professional **** up back then, that wasn’t common.
You sat across from me and asked me what I wanted to do with my life,
immediately I answered “I want to be a writer.”
We talked about fiction, journalism, poetry, song writing,
the things I “excelled” in according to you,
but with softness in your voice you stated,
“I believe you have the talent, but to be brutally honest, I think you lack the motivation to do it.”
I hear that sentence every two weeks or so.
It haunts me.

I can understand your reasoning,
as I said above, I was a professional **** up.
But you didn’t bother to talk to my media and film teacher,
who personally tracked me down one day when I was cutting class in the woods getting high with friends,
pulling me aside to beg me to start showing up to any class more often,
that I had missed 84 classes in one year, and that he personally,
intercepted to principal to discuss me and stuck his neck out for me,
“You are far too unique to not make your mark here.” he said.
You didn’t bother to check that even then, when I wasn’t attending 90% of my classes,
I was still on the honour roll for English, History and Math.
And that even after your words,
and even after more partying
and attempting to **** my brain cells
I came back that next year and stayed on the honour roll,
adding 16th Century History to the list as well.

But I do see your original point,
maybe I do lack the motivation to “do it.”
Whatever that might mean,
because like all things in life,
it’s all about perception
and personal expectation
and interpretation.

You see, I can confidently say that
my writing has evolved,
and dare I say, at the risk of sounding pretentious and cocky,
it has gotten better.
And while I may not be getting paid a dime for any of it,
I have people reading my work,
for some reason,
and most importantly, I have people relating to my work,
experiencing it, and above all,
feeling it.
That’s all I’ve ever wanted to accomplish from writing;
it may have started as free, comfortable, liberating therapy, expression and self reflection,
but all I have ever wanted is to know I made someone, anyone,
feel something.
That’s all everyone should aspire to accomplish,
an act that touches a person,
makes them feel less alone.
There’s nothing more noble in this world than helping another person,
no matter how you do it.

Whenever someone has tried to show positivity or support for my writing,
they make comparisons of being the next (insert famous female writer here)
and all I ever think is that I would rather be the first me.
Almost every artist wants to “famous,”
but I have always thought that I would rather be respected than famous.
Maybe one day I will be,
but maybe I won’t,
that really isn’t the point.

You believed that I lacked the motivation to become a writer,
but I always have been one.
My motivation is used everyday to get out of my warm bed,
where dreams are the only plane of existence where I feel peace and bliss.
My motivation is used to create something from everything negative,
instead of letting it beat me down
and turn me into the kind of person who would look at a
troubled teen with a glimpse of aspiration,
and tell them they couldn’t do it.
My motivation is used to support others and if I’m lucky enough,
guide them even half a step closer to the path they want to take.

Mrs. Frouin, if you read this,
and I doubt you will
because you probably don’t remember someone who you thought you read so well to make assumptions on their potential,
please laugh at the irony at the
fact that you failed me in your “creative writing” class
and I’m still a writer.
And maybe, if you’ve read this all the way through,
the student “lacking motivation”
just became your teacher.

Rest the sterile smile plastered falsely on your face,
eyes set to the mile while mind is not in place,
place self on cruise control and be astonished by a crash,
anything to leave the hole that is filling up with trash.

A landmark embodiment of mundane reality,
I built an essential pyramid but not of food groups or of needs.
It resembled a tomb, but one far too good for me,
but I ensured that it suffocated all potential seeds.
I blame myself and my own hands
for whatever I unintentionally create,
but lacking blue prints or floor plans,
it’s impossible to have a clean slate.

Erase the transparent barriers that line all the small talk,
they say “the more, the merrier” but it’s getting hard to walk.
Greeting sad dark skies when I sleep and when I wake,
so I’m rubbing my eyes hoping it might give perception a shake.

Anonymously me,
it’s clear and everyone can see,
neutral yet so angry,
is there anyway else to be?

A landmark embodiment of mundane reality,
I built an essential pyramid but not of food groups or of needs.
It’s still magnetic North, but it’s South I wish to see,
as downwards is my destination due to my deeds.
I shame myself and my own hands
for whatever I unintentionally create,
and when you’re covered up in brands,
it’s impossible to have a clean slate.

You asked me to write how I feel,
or atleast my every single thought,
so my fingernails made my skin peel
and my organs were exposed with rot.
My flesh lost all it’s remaining elasticity,
but true to form it provided struggle and I had to pull,
and imagine you had the audacity
to tell me my decomposition was still beautiful.

Atleast I can thank you for that moment,
admittedly it came extremely late,
no matter the present, I’ve already blown it,
you know it’s impossible to have a clean slate.

I’ve been counting stacked bricks
running my hands over the grout,
tracing each corner with my fingertips,
building them up to cover my doubt.
You could marvel at the beauty in the stone,
completely ignoring that it fully insulates
it keeps all out and ensures you’re always alone,
can’t even slip through the cracks or the grates.

I was dying to get out from where I was in,
oblivious to my own paradise,
with a tongue in cheek and **** eating grin,
ignoring all the ways words can slice.
I’m always left with empty hands
and your court is overflowing with *****,
a simple truth no one understands;
there is no life beyond Verona Walls.

I’m inspecting crumbling support beams,
running my hands and my skin catches a splinter.
It’s not as structurally sound as it seems,
but the continuing construction it does not hinder.
What do you even label an impenetrable wall,
is it a friend or is it a foe?
Do you judge it on it’s length or if it’s tall,
I guess only the person on the other side will know.

I was waiting to escape my own dwelling,
unaware of the safety it always could bring,
could I ever return home, there is no telling,
but the consensus is a no that can sting.
I’m aimlessly drifting among the sands,
and you mistake my pleas as cat calls,
a simple truth no one understands;
there is no life beyond Verona Walls.

How can you know if the grass is more green,
if you cannot even glance to the other patch?
It could be more vibrant, or just more clean,
or it could just be a perfect match.
When you know every corner and every nook,
you can’t help but feel that you’re Iocked in a cage.
Maybe I’m dismissive and should take another look,
I mean sometimes you have to re-read the same page.

I’ve seen that time keeps going on
and that our lungs continue to breathe,
but the blue skies and sunshine are gone,
I’ll never forget the day it chose to leave.
I’ll cling to all crumbs and strands,
ditch rivers and streams to chase waterfalls,
‘cause no one ever understands
there is no life beyond Verona Walls.

You’re undecided whether you like me better blonde or brunette
it doesn’t matter as my hair is dying and coming loose.
I’ve abided to the unspoken terms of complete regret,
I made my bed, I’ll lie in it, tucked in tight as a noose.
Lifeless eyes that are overwhelmed with saggy lids,
so very tired but they’re still searching for a spark.
Feeling unwanted and rejected but still accepting bids,
but I belong on the sidelines and kept in the dark.

We can talk to each other about anything and everything
as long as it’s spoken in non corresponding code.
I’m at a dinner party fasting with nothing to bring,
at the wrong house on the wrong road.
You’re trapped in the maze that is my mind,
and that place may just become your home.
I’d direct you out if there was an exit I could find,
but even breaking down the perimeter reveals a dome.

Won’t you please be kind,
and please rewind.
Travel back and find,
the roots where we bind.
Stained from tear streaked flushed cheeks
and shredding through each line,
months became years but first days became weeks
and I still reply “I’m fine.”
It gets weaker every time.

She said “if your scared of ghosts then you’ll hate falling in love.”
It’s like an empty house and you’re the host
but there’s noises coming from above.
Every single door is closed
no matter how persistent you knock,
and you’re left feeling like you’ve imposed
on the person who convinced you to walk.

You can keep repeating it,
until you start believing it,
but my dear, we both know the real deal.
And I’ve been retreating in,
pouring out and bleeding in,
I’m already dead but when will I keel?

Won’t you please be kind,
and please rewind.
Travel back and find,
I’m half deaf but fully blind.
My home’s become the floorboard that creeks,
and my heart’s a vacant gold mine,
months became years but first days became weeks
and I still reply “I’m fine.”
It gets weaker every time.

A star never falls the same twice
and each week the moon has a new face,
I’ve been treading carefully but still slipping on ice,
I thought it was the tortoise that won the race?
And now my heart is booming
and beating straight out of my chest,
cardiac arrest is looming,
it’s been too long since it’s had a rest.

In all my over thinking I’ve never had a wishful thought,
this will be the last time I’ll wait around to see.
In all my over thinking I’ve never been satisfied with what I’ve got,
this will be the last time you can explain it all to me.

So my teeth grind, please be kind and rewind.
Maybe I was blind, please be kind and rewind.
Yes I’ve lost mind, please be kind and rewind.
Made beds to which we’re bind, please be kind and rewind.

If you knew this was your last day on earth,
would you spend it wisely with complete worth?
Honestly I’m scared of what my answer would be,
If I’d wallow in regret or just check out early.

Once you’ve breathed fresh air,
how do you go back to drowning?
In my youth I could never care
but lately I’m always frowning.
I tried to **** every single brain cell,
I no longer wished for feelings of thought,
no one asked so I never got to tell,
all these lingering regrets that I’ve got.
Dawn of the final day.
the sun arrives but will never stay.
Twenty four hours remain,
my death rattle will be in vain.

Long ago I lost hope in salvation,
and my dreams were trampled for belief,
so I dressed it up in mindless intoxication,
oh, how well it decorated my eternal grief.
How do I explain that the reason I’m leaving,
was the same reason that I stayed?
I’m tired of starving and done with dry heaving,
it feels like my internal organs have been flayed,
and put out on display.

Once you feel the sun rise,
how do you return back to the night?
When defeat’s visible in your eyes,
‘cause mind and body are both done with the fight.
I tried to **** every single brain cell,
yet there’s still more than enough left to haunt me,
will they survive the fall out, only time will tell,
I have a feeling one will remain only to keep taunting.
Dawn of the final day,
knees were made for grovelling not to pray.
Twenty four hours remain,
maybe time can fit in some rain.

I’m never happy with what life gives me
though I admit I haven’t been given much.
I feel only coldness in my surroundings,
but have felt warmth from a strangers touch.
Everyday I think “this is the end
I can’t possibly keep on going”
My spine broken before it could bend,
and I was plucked before I started growing.
So drag my corpse to the ocean
‘cause it was always my dream for there to rest,
I’ll die drowning in every emotion,
but only sadness will fill my chest.

Tell me Pluto,
how does it feel
to be told you’re a planet for years
and then labelled as an accessory for our solar system?
But also, to be reassured, that although you’re small,
you’re just as good as the rest,
and endearingly enough,
someone’s favourite planet?

And while you sit on the outskirts,
in the far, vast, pitch black
edges of a far brighter galaxy than you,
do you marvel at the beauty and size
of every other planet judged more
legitimate and important than you,
and do you make friends with the microscopic stars?

You are told you aren’t what you are,
and you are what you aren’t,
I wouldn’t blame you for drifting further,
I think I would probably do the same.
But know some are very passionate
about your state in our galaxy,
many people believe you to be of importance;
whether it’s nostalgia, empathy or just fear of change.
Regardless, you have a small army
of people who are very vocal,
about your right to be alongside with all the other planets.

Just because you’re small
and not as visually appealing as the rest,
or because you’re pushed to the coldest, darkest regions of space, does not make you deserving of isolation.
Infact, it makes you more worthy of adoration.
For you Pluto, for all the hardships
and all the abandonment you have felt,
you have never told another planet they themselves,weren’t real,
and you’ve never drawn anyone close to you,
to suffer in your loneliness.

I’m straining my arms and I’m pulling my shoulders,
from pushing each line and carrying our shared boulders.
And my hands are burned and skin’s scraped,
knuckles cracked and broken fingertips,
a few careless words escaped
and I wished to push them back behind my lips.

I’ve got the motor warm and running,
and the waves have settled as they should,
I write down just how I find you stunning,
I would voice it if I only could.

You ask if I’m confident and I tell you I don’t know,
can I make an impossible jump,
oh holy Holly, I don’t think so.
I’m no Henry, no Fonz, no Winkler,
I’m not a stunt performer on T.V,
I barely run through the sprinkler,
I sure as hell will find death in the sea.

The rope’s as tight as a fresh noose,
and my ski’s barely fit my bottom soles,
my hands are clenched just too loose,
I would prefer to be sleeping on coals.
The crowd’s cheers become a lashing,
blood dissolved into the water and salt,
an angry tail’s now thrashing,
my situation is entirely my own fault.

I’m jumping the shark,
without a trial run.
Leaving an infamous mark,
just before it’s all done.
I’m jumping the shark,
it’s the end to my character arc.
I’m jumping the shark,
desperation has never stood so stark.

I’ve glimpsed shadowed empty sets
and walked among great ruins,
I’m tired of swimming in regrets,
pretty please, can I hide in your flesh wounds?
I’ve been taking theatre classes
to act like I’m not terribly bothered,
but every beach goer casually passes,
my body that’s been brutally slaughtered.

I want to feel the water the way that I once did,
with carefree wonder like when I was a kid.
But I always hated the sand, and the way that it encased my toes,
but they’re calling me to set to stand, to see how this final shot goes.

The hoop is placed ontop of a mild wave,
I wish that they engulfed it first in flame,
they praise me for being so brave
but it’s I, not the shark, that is tame.
They’re calling out the term “action”
and I look for my highlighted script,
I only read a small fraction
before I thought it best to rip.

I’m jumping the shark,
without a trial run.
Leaving an infamous mark,
just before it’s all done.
I’m jumping the shark,
it’s the end to my character arc.
I’m jumping the shark,
cut camera and roll credits in the dark.

The stack of stones in my throat
lodged firm since my youth,
The ship sunk but I missed the boat
my lies are soaked in truth.
Every remaining image has been erased,
I miss it more than I admit,
maybe it’s just been misplaced,
in an area left forgotten to sit.
Scribbling an echo down
my notebook’s incomplete,
lacking adjective to a noun,
description’s too discreet.

The road evolves into an ice rink,
snow piles now a wood board.
A crack comes and down I’ll sink,
time lost I can not afford.
The cold embraces that replaced heat,
radiation poisoning from the sun,
but still the rays felt so sweet,
I thought I was it’s only one.
Translating from a heart,
the message is unclear,
a sentence that could never start,
and one we could never hear.

Now I see all the fires lit,
playing chance with a flame,
this round I don’t wish to forfeit,
but I’m not ontop of my game.
The breadcrumbs I left as a trail,
are far and few inbetween,
and so far they’ve gotten stale,
blue mold blends in with the green.
Reciting a favourite memory,
one I wish I could forget,
replace the plot points cleverly,
and rearrange the character set.

Praying for a dedication
from any soul to stop,
but I’ll take my medication
until my eyes drop.

Heart fire,
all admire.
Heart fire,
it will never tire.

Scribbling an echo down
my notebook’s incomplete,
lacking adjective to a noun,
description’s too discreet.
Scribbling an echo down,
my notebook’s incomplete,
to the words forever bound,
feelings wedged in concrete.

I read a disturbing truth someone questioned on the internet,
“the world didn’t end in 2012, but since then have you truly felt alive?”
I don’t wish to presume, but I would be more than willing to bet
that you feel the same, that you’ve fully lost your drive.
Marking calendars like clockwork, each box an imposing X,
but you’ve lost your absolute and essential favourite red pen.
We live as NPC’s but I’d like to believe we’re far more complex,
though we make the same mistake over and over again.

No sun burnt out, no moon fell,
but I swear the galaxy has changed,
we’re dazed and living under a spell,
our lifestyle’s completely deranged.
There was deviation from the reservation
that fate held out for us.
Abandoned salvation for sedation
the golden pastures have turned to dust.
But there’s got to be a link between worlds.

I know there’s growth in destruction
instead I loathe interruption.
Can silence be considered a confrontation?
I know there’s redemption in healing,
but I take each hit without showing feeling.
Can violence be considered mediation?
Decipher every word’s meaning
while performing spring cleaning
we’re all the same; we just want a good purge.
Ignoring every clear right sign
but complain about the fuzzy line
the one that’s crossed when you can’t resist the urge.

No sun burnt out, no stars died,
but the dimensions sure are blurring.
Auto pilot’s on and gravity’s been defied,
and no one sees this all occurring.
There was deviation from the reservation,
that fate held out for us.
I trade motivation for inebriation,
the golden pastures have turned to rust.
But there’s got to be a link between worlds.

Time isn’t so strong when you can break the clock
you know it’s possible to push back the hands.
For fate is chosen but destiny you can mock
from the deep seas to the hottest sands.
The past is already written
the ink is already dry.
The fire’s already been lit and
the flames are reaching towards the sky.
I’ve explored every emotional cave
and I’ve trekked through every lonely field.
When you’re scared it’s the only time you can be brave,
so grab your sword and don’t forget your shield.

No sun burnt out, no seas ran dry,
but the world suddenly stopped turning.
the world’s a game and life’s a lie,
but we must keep internal fires burning.
There was deviation from the reservation
that fate held out for us,
I replace meditation with self deprecation
the golden pastures I no longer trust.
But there’s got to be a link between worlds.

A tango of two souls
and they’re dancing in the stars.
She spins around and down black holes
while my left foot backs onto Mars.
A tango of two hearts
they waltz back and forth within the flame,
each forgot their parts
but they carry on the same.

Two to tango, two for tea,
it’s a sad truth but I’m feeling that three is company.
Two to tango, two eyes to see,
I’m surrounded fully but I’m completely lonely.

A tango of two souls
and they’re dancing in the dark,
hiding all their freckles and moles
unaware they’re simply just a mark.
A tango of two hearts
they waltz back and forth within the flame,
subsequently all ends with all that starts,
and we’re just shuffling the blame.

Two to tango, two for tea,
it’s a sad truth but I’m realizing I’m not who I used to be.
Two to tango, two eyes to see,
the horizon is in the distance but the sun is lacking.

Hearts hold no dancing shoes
but mind hears only song,
against both I must refuse
both choices equally right and wrong.
I would see all distance erased
and forms pressed tight together,
but the beat is too fast paced;
I swear next opportunity I will do better.

Two to tango, two for tea,
it’s a sad truth but I’m accepting I fail to view clearly.
Two for tango, two eyes to see,
that I was never cut out for this type of dancing.

Tell me I’m not stupid for allowing myself to feel,
searching out for the next wound before letting the former heal,
I’ve been convincing myself that the invisible path is real,
but it’s not wide enough for two; one can stand and one can kneel.

If there’s anything in this world that tightens my chest,
it’s the moment I am strangled by vulnerability.
I keep it chained away to the very best,
to the very best of all my abilities.
Take all those thrown away phrases
and piece them back together to hit my ears
it’s funny how the long silence still amazes,
amazes me after all these quiet years.

Are you Sonic the hedgehog,
‘cause this is a chaos emerald.
Wipe away the tears to see the fog,
my world shakes when once it trembled.
I’ve got an easy road ahead of me
where the path could be so easy,
but I’m drawn to walk into the sea,
I wish that instinctive pull would leave me.

We humans are such destructive creatures
we turn soil to scorched earth with just one touch.
It’s the curse of emotions and all it features,
makes us decline a cast and accept a crutch.
We fall prey to our monsters like a disease,
do I pick life support or a clean cut cure?
A solid steel spine or weak and shaking knees?
Toxic lungs or a gasp of air too pure?

Should I swallow this gulp of mundane routine
conform and erase all individuality?
The white picket fence in photographs is so pristine
but it’s covered in dust and mold the naked eye can’t see.

My storybook ending is incomplete
as I didn’t much care for the ending.
I traded in tragedy instead of something sweet,
‘cause I’ve never been so good at pretending.
All along there are holes both in the souls and plot,
and I wish to roll but can’t afford the toll as empty hands are all I got

I’ve been wearing a mask and telling lies
to anyone who will listen in this town,
and sunglasses can hide your tired eyes
but they can not hide your frown.
I’ve been saying all the right words
every day and on repeat,
the song blends in with the birds
and the traffic on the street.

I’ve been lying in bed,
arguing with the silence in my head.
Every book I’ve read
just says the same things that you said.
I’ve been lying in bed,
thinking I’d be better off dead.

I’ve been walking with a limp and a crutch
even though my legs are working just fine.
And I’m always thinking but never say too much,
but I will never turn down a line.
I’ve been speaking all the wrong thoughts in my head,
but no matter what I do they seem to never go away.
I’ve tried replacing them with the righteous ones instead,
but it’s tantamount cause the instinctive ones just stay.

I’m lying in bed,
arguing with the silence in my head.
The sunlight I dread,
I much prefer the nighttime instead.
I’m lying in bed,
starving though I’ve just been fed.
I’m lying in bed,
thinking I’d be better off dead.

I didn’t get to choose the colours for my painting, but I swore that I tried my very best.
And what do you do when you hate your creation?
Do you hang it up with the rest?
I packed for a trip with no return
but skipped bringing anything essential,
I had to walk a path just so I could learn
that every action is consequential.
And I’ll tell you now that even the right type of misery can be happiness
it all depends on what you yourself choose to feel.
Nothing is perfect so it’s best to embrace the mess,
it can be imaginary but we both know it’s real.

I’m lying in bed,
arguing with the silence in my head.
Every single layer I shed
is consumed by ink and lead.
I’m lying in bed,
hoping for a second chance with each med.
I’m lying in bed,
thinking I’d be better off dead.

I was born innocent, lacking brand
from a mortal only womb,
but my glory walks hand in hand
with my own impending doom.
Though I have a body of immense vulnerability
I have a mind of never seen before power,
and I could call a truce of no hostility
but only keep it up for an hour.

There was no cold there was no heat, there was nothing at all.
There was no winter or spring, no summer or fall.
There was no sky and no clouds, no darkness or light,
there was no choice, no consequence, there was no wrong or right.

I once had wings but clipped them to fit in
and I wore a halo but it went dim with sin.
I wet my appetite tasting bliss
but before I knew it was all done,
I guess I’m cursed to be Icarus
‘cause I flew too close to the sun.

I inhaled sweet nothings into a golden lung but quickly lost my breath
before my head never truly hung,
I was oblivious to life, love and death.
Though I have a skeleton that can easily break
I have a spirit that is stronger than gold,
and the only thoughts that now keep me awake,
are if I’ll keep my young heart when I grow old.

I once had wings but clipped them to fit in
and I wore a halo but it turned to rusted tin.
I glided over the darkest abyss
because I could never run,
I guess I’m cursed to be Icarus
‘cause I flew too close to the sun.

My only mortality lies within my head and my heart,
I attempt to numb the first, the other has been torn apart.
Lounging on light clouds that weigh a ton,
it was always my home plain,
‘cause even though I’ve been destined for the sun,
you know deep down I’ve always been the rain.

I once had wings but clipped them to fit in
and I wore a halo but it faded with my grin.
When I return to the sky there’s something I’ll miss,
it’s my soulmate, my one,
I guess I’m cursed to be Icarus
‘cause I flew too close to the sun.

Of all the words I never got to say
there’s still three that haunt me to this day.
They’re plaguing my skies to turn them all to grey,
I wonder if you ever would’ve felt this way.

I’ll make this cryptic so it stretches it out real long,
less descriptive but the message still stands too strong.
But it sounds so light that it’s become a song;
You were right, you were never wrong.

Of all the feelings I still have these in my chest,
weighing down the muscle slightly above my left breast.
First I thought it a lesson but now I believe it’s a test,
to see if I can beat my head and get some rest.

Read between the line,
when I say that I’m doing fine,
and try to translate my foreign sign,
if you care enough to devote the time.

I’ll make this cryptic so it stretches it out real long,
no intent to be vindictive but the time has come along.
My fear; I’ll fight, even though I’m too headstrong,
you were right, you were never wrong.

She said to always look at the stars
especially the ones that shine so bright.
I’ll keep the memory for my reservoirs,
but the constellation was her in my sight.
You weren’t wrong, you were always right.

I had a wall so high, the top you couldn’t see,
and in front there were trenches in the ground.
It had stood there strong for all of my memory,
no one could lift it or break it down.
Then one day you strolled up so casually,
you were so stealthy I didn’t hear a sound.
You asked I could remove it completely
and I suggested going to the next town,
but you knocked and you climbed so persistently
to get inside it seemed you were bound.
Finally one day I opened the gate very cautiously,
then my wall became just a brick mound.
My stronghold had revealed it’s vulnerability,
you had conquered and taken my crown.
Then you said “nevermind, this place isn’t for me.”
after only a short glance around.

I see you everywhere but beside me,
the one place that I need you the most.
I don’t know if you’ve just felt like hiding,
but it feels like I’m being stalked by a ghost.
I think of my life consisting of just time biding,
with parasitic emptiness and I’m the host.
This hits me like waves I am meant to be riding,
and it follows me persistently from coast to coast.

The grass didn’t seem so green back then
I guess all that constant rain did pay off,
‘cause now this little future’s just a casual friend,
and my god looking back the past was soft.
It’s not like I always want to be drenched in sorrow,
I find I look much better in brown, blue or grey,
you know I’d trade in every tomorrow
for just one more yesterday.

I hear every voice but yours in my ears,
the deafening noise has made me forget that sound,
since I’ve heard that sweet melody it’s been too many years,
and every other pitch makes my static brain pound.
I’m always biting my lip but now I’m fighting tears,
I shake my head side to side and around.
I’m quickly losing stamina from battling my fears
and now looking forward to my hole in the ground.

The skies never seemed clear and blue back then,
it turns out that I was the creator of each cloud,
I’m hoarding past calendars so that I can pretend
that I’m back in time and making everyone else proud.
If you’ve got a hour or two that I can borrow,
I swear I’m good for it and whatever price; I’ll pay,
‘cause you know I’d trade in every tomorrow
for just one more yesterday.

I feel you all over, laced in everything,
if it wasn’t such a curse, it’d be a gift.
You’re the peace in winter and the hope in spring,
you’re the summer sun and autumn’s winds so swift.
I’m relieving every memory, looking for a place to cling,
I remember all of the details but the clarity is now adrift.
Side to side, back and forth, I constantly swing,
it pulls and drags me down but it can also give the highest lift.

The sun never seemed to shine right back then,
but maybe I was just too busy looking for artificial light.
I was never one for second looks but I should’ve searched again,
because everything I wanted was already in my sight.
So I plant a seed hoping it will eventually grow
and I sculpt all I wish for with clay,
‘cause you know I’d trade in every tomorrow
for just one more yesterday.

People walk on by and only glance in my direction
unaware that I am suffering from a deep rooted infection.
For don't you see that I'm painfully dying
and in the future you'll know that I could've been saved,
all it took was a simple moment of trying
and to hear the things that I always craved.

They tell you a drowning man will drag you down
but I've always been a strong swimmer,
we can easily take on another pound
just focus on the waves surfing glimmer.
Keep going, keep rowing,
don't inhale that salty sea.
The wind's blowing, exhaustion is showing,
I'll hold you up even when you can't hold me.

People walk on by and only glance in my direction
they aren't the slightest bit shocked at my self inflicted dissection.
For I desperately need to remove my organs of rot,
these days feeling just takes too much of a toll on me,
and they're so badly damaged that no customer has bought,
even when I offered them up for free.

They tell you a drowning man will drag you under
but I've always been gifted with a swift stroke,
how I made it out this far truly is a wonder,
or maybe just another sad tasteless joke.
Keep going, keep towing,
don't you give up so easily.
The wind's blowing, pace is slowing,
I'll hold you up even when you can't hold me.

So call me Ismael 'cause I'm lost at sea,
was caught up in a current very swiftly,
and my white whale has lost all interest in me,
I guess there's some other place it would rather be,
than stuck in my sad excuse for company.
Do I glimpse land's salvation or am I just succumbing to insanity?

In your eyes there lives a solar system,
but lately my planets are nowhere to be found,
when rotation is closing, do you miss them?
Your eyes tell a million stories, but in space there is no sound.

In your palms I wish to trace your constellations,
I’m sure there’s a zodiac that connects you and I.
Your infinite galaxy can’t be compared to all other creations,
I just want to float aimlessly in your sky.

I’m running out of air,
and I don’t even care,
‘cause darling the universe is you.
My apologies if I stare,
but such a perfect sight is so rare,
oh darling my heart bursts, it’s true.

Stars line her soul,
and her light is brighter than the sun.
All my life I’ve been a black hole,
but finally destiny and gravity has won.

Her mind is the vast glowing Milky Way,
shining swirls of colour no mortal could ever wish to paint,
and it can pull you in, but you already want to stay,
and bathe in the shimmering hues, both bright and faint.

I’m running out of air,
and I don’t even care,
‘cause darling the universe is you.
Burning up as a solar flare,
your light’s ideal, there is no glare,
but darling I’m cursed as the colour blue.

Stars line her soul,
and her light is brighter than the sun.
Even a supernova has it’s own role,
the suction pulls me away but to you I’ll always run.

They say space is infinite and it’s distance knows no bars,
but I know it’s still intimate to stretch to you across the stars.
We can both still see the moon,
and can still feel the heat of the sun,
I know we’ll combine our two galaxies soon,
and make our planetary systems one.

I’m running out of air,
and I don’t even care,
‘cause darling the universe is you.
The shooting stars answered my prayer,
providing a bond and connection we share,
and I swear, if you burst I’ll use stitches and glue,
‘cause darling the universe is you.

The sun will never again shine bright,
I’ll live my life without that light.
Now I won’t speak another word,
It’s not like they were ever heard.
There’s nothing worth saving left,
You’ve sentenced us both to death.

We’ll continue acting in our show
I’ll enter right and left you’ll go,
the production wasn’t well rehearsed;
it was just another script that was cursed.
There will be no standing ovation,
you’ve opted us both for cremation.

Only silent applause and locked jaws,
on opening night and you take centre light.
There was a solid script you carelessly ripped,
there’s no going back, this is the final act.

I left the only roses on the stage,
it called for it on a lost page.
A whole production with no lines,
‘cause words are just like land mines.
You play your part and play it well,
you’ve sentenced us both to hell.

Only silent applause and locked jaws,
on opening night, the subtext is trite.
There was a solid plot that all the critics bought.
There’s no going back, this is the final act.
The method could not crack, this is the final act.
Closed curtain and fade to black, this is the final act.

All work, no play and neon screens
menial tasks even coat my dreams.
Overboard in bored and a silent phone,
oh no, I think I’ve evolved to drone.

Punch in, punch out, this is the wrong route.
Punch in, punch out, a life of drought.
This technological terror
has caused life to flash in error.
For lady dollar; I can’t bear her,
as the riches are even rarer.

I’ve become a machine, to crush numbers
with no log off for needed slumbers.
Now my brain’s racing, a million miles per hour,
oh no, I think I’ve gained A.I’s power.

Punch in, punch out, this is the wrong route.
Punch in, punch out, now what life is about.
This technological terror
has caused life to flash in error.
No sudden movements; don’t want to scare her,
she’s updating with no carer.

Learning binary,
a breathing library,
processing slowly
but still a finery.

I forgot what my hands were for
they used to write all that I adore.
Now fingertips type, each key a shot,
oh no, I think I’ve grown into a robot.

Punch in, punch out, this is the wrong route.
Punch in, punch out, no one hears me shout.
This technological terror
has caused life to flash in error.
Pure absorption; a simple stare,
life’s equation could be fairer.

Learning binary,
a breathing library,
walking geometry
complete machinery.

I’ve had a rough night.
I’ve had a rough decade.
To clear my head I decided to go for a drive,
the cold autumn air, the dark sky, the vacant streets and the glow of the traffic lights can sometimes heal.
Not tonight.
The cold air chilled me to the bone,
the dark sky is without a single star,
the vacant streets create an atmosphere of being on another world; completely desolate, utterly isolated.
The traffic lights are all red, like the anger that burns inside me.
I shouldn’t have gotten in my car tonight.
I have a single headlight, my passenger side burnt out sometime last week.
These things bother me more than they should.

I drove to my old home, where I spent twenty three years of my life.
It’s gone and I knew it would be, they started the demolition in spring shortly after I left it, during one of our coldest winters yet.
But now, a house is being constructed on the lot.
Where once stood a small, modest, cottage looking home has been turned into only a gigantic skeleton of what will be a modern house that holds no unique characteristics.
It will blend in with every other house on the street.
Notice how I say house, not home.
They built right to the hedge, Jesus, they didn’t even leave room for a yard or driveway.
Besides all that, I can only think
“my mother’s soul left her body on this land.”
The same land they’ve covered.
Her temporary bedroom when she turned palliative will probably be their living room, or maybe bathroom.
Whoever lives in this house won’t know that the most wonderful mother in this world died where their house is standing.
They won’t know it was a Christmas morning, and the last thing I ever heard from her mouth was “your arms are getting strong” after helping her to her OMS supplied hospital bed.
These things bother me more than they should.

I usually drive fast and play my music loud,
tonight I’m driving fast to get anywhere but where I am,
tonight I’m playing my music loud to drown out my sobs.
The kind of sobs that hit your body like aggressive shocks.
I hate crying, I despise sobbing.
I don’t get embarrassed, but I’m mortified by my own vulnerability even though I’m alone.
I even fake a laugh and shake my head.
Pretend it’s nothing, and that I’m an idiot, that “that’s just life” and so forth.
These things bother me more than they should.

When you lose the only home you’ve ever known,
are you destined to be transient eternally?
Is it possible to find someone who will love every part of you,
and love you enough to actually show it?
But most importantly,
does it ever stop hurting,
even for a ******* second?

I'm the raindrops to your roses
I can drown you or make you grow,
and my shower always imposes
on the direction that you want to go.
I seem to only fall on to you
praying to assist you to become what you want to be,
but I'm banished when the skies turn blue
are you hoping that I will continue raining?

There's some things no one will ever understand
like why we carry a torch so long that it goes and burns our hand,
and it seems like nothing in this world goes as planned
but raindrops and roses live together within the land.

I'm the raindrops to your roses
I only try to add to your perfection,
and when a window opens; a door closes
but take my droplets as the purest affection.
I hope to never weigh your petals down
I want to assist in making each a wing,
but I can keep pouring until we all drown
but roses are seasonal with only summer and spring.

There's some things no one will ever understand
like why we give away the things so highly in demand,
and even when ripped apart; together we still band,
'cause raindrops and roses live forever within the land.

I'm the raindrops to your roses
I only try to give you strength,
but alone you smell sweet to all the noses
but only my eyes are blind to your thorn's length.
I only come to show you your own beauty,
though I doubt you'd ever see that strong shade of red.
Whereas I'm transparent; you can see right through me
sometimes I wish I could be the sun to your roses instead.