I have this quote in my diary. apparently I was already reading Erich Fromm as a teenager. I don't remember reading Fromm that long ago  BUT I can definitely recommend the books: "the Art of Love" and "The Art of Human Destructiveness" because those are two books I have given to friends.

I walk with dead birds lay across the ground

I walk alone with air humbly abound

You've seen me wandering around without a sound

And the pale morning confesses my sympathies

“Hush, you’re being guided by instinct. Hush now, as you walk with dead birds that lay across ground”

The connections of my lifetime are now bound by city sidewalks

Sometimes I walk ahead when there's something I can't pronounce on my mind

and I end up at intersections and homeless men

Empty cans, ***** clothes in a pile, and I know I'm not better than them

Walk ahead where you're supposed to go and you’ll see you're  walking blind

You’ll find a religion of brilliant noise

Fly free fallen angels,

Now confess your sympathies, as the pale morning guides your lifetime sound

I walk where dead birds lay across the ground

And the pale morning confesses my sympathies

Wandering around without a sound

We were lovers at last

You verb; gave me your house

And put food in our mouths

When tomorrow is at last

You verb; wore clothes a different attire to wear

Sunk teeth in the colors and dyed your hair

You ran so brilliant and fast

You verb; left us a dress that you made

Inscribed I love you always

It was a sunset forgotten

Brother sky put blush on your face and went down once again

Goodnight lover, courses of goodbyes to you friend

I hope you’re dead

I’m digging in your grave Lord

I think you’re undead

I’ve already been digging

To say I dug up the undead

I found and opened a coffin

And all there was was a sticky note that said

“Ye of no faith”

“I’ve never believed in death”

GOTHIC POEM (come on, everyone needs at least one)

My happiness like autumn turns brown

Dries out rivers of sympathy

My hope is like winter and turns rivers ice

The sunshine in spring, up before the break of dawn hints at my poker face

Summer weather droughts every thought

Strangles the idea to strive with heatstroke

In the sunshine it’s understood

when that little voice says

It's a ride  toward  madness

Caress your dreams with nightmares in your bed

You'll see what others have bled for

their secrecy shall lie with the nightmares you keep

Torn tissues

The widow fights with midnight

Goodnight my love

She's crying on midnight’s shoulder

Am Eternal everlasting goodbye

Dreams of compassion, she wakes only to meet the middle of night

And the night witnesses her  

A Mistress  in the hour of dark

Goodbye my  lover, forever in lust with oblivion

You're truly dying my beloved

157 to 160
The torn pages that once compensated the other pages manifestation cries out understanding
It remains an unsolved case

Rains pour down upon the withered kingdom reminiscent of the apple in direct contact to the open sun rays

A cold wind breathes exhaling and inhaling passed ruined crop fields complimenting itself in a swaying motion

The corn fields once as bright as the sun, now as black as the soil whence it came forth and flourished from

Vines grow upon the grey stone like a fire burning the surface of a tree wildly spreading until its victims collapse

This territory complimented an old man who was once king but sits as idle as stone

The drunken old man who said he could live without this, with his speech slurred

Calling out that kingdoms word

That kingdoms name

That kingdoms definition

The King of Acrimony

The house had a strange familiar smell

A scent of cloth new mixed with fresh smell moisture

This scent smells that of a pine smell on the run, streaking down an oak table

A forest with no pathways untouched by human being

The sounds of rivers, a waterfall lets all your fear go

A smell that brings comfort to one’s soul

The sky is pale and dry of all reaction

A day where no one’s awake

Something is not in my mind where something belongs

What else is there to do lately?

I Welcome myself to an endless night of dreams

Watch the sky bleed its sunset and fade away

watch me beg for it not to go away

I've been looking for the North Star lately

Something to wash away my memory

I don’t know where to go lately

I'm looking to to empty skies

North star lost all meaning

I'm losing the meaning of all space and time

If the universe were shaped like your heart it would be a turmoiled earth

Champagne oceans pumping streams into place

A theater for the universe's dark center

Viewed as the actor on the screen,

So alone is this figure,

the sun says to him: “hello, how do you do?”

The skies they all murmur “rain will come soon from my blue womb”

The ground screams ****** where ye walk

The universe screams at life

Bring up the past, and realize you can never go back.

So look on towards tomorrow

Light the candle and put it to bed, sleep shall brighten the dark

What you can’t see believes in you.

What you are seeing is opportunity

Reflected is this obscure confused entity

Light the candle and shine upon yourself true dreams only reached by divinity

The inner child would insist not too waste away in your skin.

So may the inner light consume you.

Your beautiful smiling eyes are just a battlefield for thoughts for seeing past the dark

So stare up, up at the sky so bright

Up, at the blue sky fluorescent of sun rays feeding grass trickled upon by rain

Look up towards the past and realize……

Look on towards tomorrow

Tomorrow is up for grabs

If I were to write a book, the words would prescribe me a dosage of self help.

If I were to read that book, the words would listen and diagnose me meaning, whilst I’m kicking and screaming

If I were to read aloud the book, it would say, “They call me a rain cloud”

What if I was the book, the book would say:

I’ll be your thimble: But I’ll let the needle ***** you on the thumb for your sense of reality

Sew your tears for torn premises lost in a fear of what’s out their.

Cover thy hand past the rugged fingers, “fear not, for I am that stitch to heal all open fissures.  Come, weep and cry out for me.  I’m waiting.”

Minds create matter and minds create fiction

Come logic, prove to me science isn't science fiction

Define the physical laws of a religioned unpronounceable entity

I think physical laws could be fiction.  Science fiction

Voices of angels call out

Yet melodies of birds in early mornings interrupt the signal

Logic to be misunderstood possibly

Spirit must be fiction, an art conformed to fictionalize rationalization

Maybe everything is just fact

And we just choose what to learn and choose what to forget

Omnipresence in dreams

You are the only one to hear your own screams

Boost the value of your appearance by focusing on one task at hand

Trade the relapse proposition and watch the choreography of reality dance like ballet in your false eyes

Time flies past in a single moment

Wake up to the unrehearsed,  present.

Paint pretty pictures with wording without worrying about rhyme or meaning

Why agree with words allocating and conforming into one bright fashion

Paint a bigger picture with many words debating a self worth of passion

A Painful war with meaning of algorithms

Forgive me father for I have sinned

Pressure lies with misery in what a deaf man claims to make his voice heard

Subjective to impressionable speeches the voice beseeches this is how it will take place

Bipolar thoughts for a one stop mystery contacted by a twisted turmoil mixed with oiled down objectives

Audio for the non-existent clatter blare at the relentless epic this is what you’re here to do:

Unwanted thoughts absurd dreams means the outcome will only be louder when succeeded

Serious times come with serious measure no-one starts out with the pleasure of; I will be great

Divine wisdom pines for youth can’t you hear the growth of life in which bellows move on

Spin-off of the last outselling product what will happen next, some complex minor detail

One more ****** feature one more addition to the shopping cart one more pair for the greed of fine lines

The stars wed for one eternal dream night sky ever so constant with endless possibility

This is where the human tries to change its destiny

Forgive me father for I have sinned

I have not discovered

I am not listening in

Seek for what is not sought

Some byproduct

Truth be told the paper crumples before you

The truth is a vague distinction between senses to falsify your feelings

Truth be told you can’t trust what you are meant to be

The truth may be capable of changing your destiny

Truth be told the paper crumples you.

I feel nurtured in a way that every wake I shall risen to pretenses of galls

In your eyes expose the mind of a hypnotized blindness

Listen to the suspense listen to the music in which tell you something’s coming

Playing with your mind in an open space in the confines of a small place

Loop rewind play, walk a different path and laugh at the broken bridged gaps

Feel the rhythm of disturbed strings dragged.

I have become the victim of your screeching

I am the piece of something that visits the correlation of a masterpiece

Play the barren sound to an open source brainwave suffer the weak buffered truth

Feel the eardrum ring hand out a scorched twisted tongue tired of talking about nothing

Tolerate the dependence of a derelict falsified significance relating to the complexion beneath

You get what you see.  But some things change miraculously.

Hurry with the developing pictures.

The suns coming to set just like a mess on a canvas

There’s something beautiful about the abstract scheme

Play the refrained song to the bluish grey sky

Lay down and stare and watch what we call time, watch time fade

I'm looking forward for something extravagant in the lonely night

I am a clock that yearns for the counterclockwise

I refuse to admit the time at my hand

today my hands are  young, my fingers long, like they belong on  music

sometime my hands will be old,

and I hope, nay, pray

that I can still afford to refuse the time at my hand

Old, maybe wrinkled all stretched,

but still belonging to music

So I keep a strange faith for tomorrow

Tick. Tock.

Alive but not living
Dead but still breathing
Matured

I’m lost and can’t be found again.  

Time can only tell when the deep fog of enlightenment can open the door to my choices.  

Detective come here quick with a magnifying glass and
Examine my visage.  

Take a transparent clue and accept the fact  open sources rein the opinions of the world rattling with laughter,   and shake the hinges of my door for what seems an eternal rest I long for...  

The walls become transparent and clear I’ll disseminate loud sounds crashes to cloud my false world.  

Nobodies home can you feel the world spinning round yet?

I emulate that of a weakness
Bold by its filter of present occurrences.
That weakness sings and caresses my every whim of whisper that asks what's going on.
There's flow in the bloodstream that keeps impurities of contaminating the heart.
No pamphlet of ritualistic inclinations
Exoskeleton says it's ok on the outside in.
Feel the varied emotion from outside in.
This is the cause: (      ) that is my effect
Crash on the inside, Exoskeleton, tell me it's ok

I had nothing but words to confront the confusion, my lack of parental guidance, my utter lack of safety. I only had words that I could steal from whatever books I found, to try and make sense of anything. I was living on my own at 16.

It's scary, because reading these, it really feels like that boy was really working to be a writer. Tirelessly.