I have been writing songs of escape whilst staying inside.
I have become sexless; young bones but an old soul
Painting in caves, and shielding eyes from the sunlight.

There is no *** in self-pity. The new Casanova on pills;
Hands clamming over a glass of whiskey and ice,
And eyes plastered to the sports news for the next tragedy.

I remember the chestnut hair of my childhood.
Rubbing potatoes over tree bark to show nature’s artistry;
We need not create, when creation does it itself.

Now, there are just photographs of corpses in the clouds.
I walk the same route each day, expecting a different outcome,
Going over old ground, yet striving to feel new again.

I'm a little sleep deprived, a little too high, (a little too low) a lot hungry, a little overstressed, a little unfocused, (unconscious?) waiting, a little sick from-a little more caffeine please my cigarette buzz is going,
a little sore from running away, a little sore from being alone

You're looking down
please don't look down again.
We live in a culture of self-deprecation
and self-loathing
but we are not slaves to it.
Just because you feel like curling up like a hedgehog
doesn't mean you have to --
It's easy, and you're tired,
but you don't have to.

You are better than this.
You are better than whatever version of yourself
you see in the mirror on those mornings  you don't want to leave the house
better than your father was
better than I am, honestly.
There is so much goodness in you --
stop pulling back
there is nothing to be afraid of.
Trust me.
It took me years to find that out for myself.

Planet of Sphere. Ocean of Water.
Word of Mouth. Light of Day.
World of Why's.

Every other breath a question.
Every other gesture a fist
Shaken towards the skies, or palms
Tracing a hole of absence
Shaped as a closest one.

There are no parents
Treading this Globe of Ground.
All of us infant siblings, comparing
Perceptions in a vacuum of
Answers.

Sons and daughters all become
Not.
Fathers and mothers fall victim
To blood drawn from own blood
And remain as drained
Heart shaped shadows, if in any
Shape at all.

The only cure against loss
Is not being there to lose, or never
Having had any ones to.

World of Why's.
Men of War; each a Child of Mother,
Whether as living as childplay  
Or fallen as something that
Has.

I am strong enough to hold you
So hard you won't feel yourself.
Inside you, where you carry
All you love, though, is a universe
Away from my
Reach.

That is why they are safe.
Safe as statues, painfree as
Mountains.
And why
You never
Will be.

How steep the passing,
How righteous the fall,
Lay me down
As you draw my spine,
As you claim to see it all.

I have no vision,
I have no career,
I pay my bills
As the final curtain bows,
As foreclosure is coming near.

There is no patience,
There is no advance,
Left in doubt
We will circle the drain,
We will leave things up to chance.

i poured you out like a ******* drink
now i swallow lakes
and get drunk off the sea.
i thought caterpillars became beautiful
inside their cocoons
but i've become a monster.
because bon iver songs and i love you's
won't last me through the winter;
drunk texts and goodbye's
won't cure me of this disease.
i need cold showers and rainy days,
five-hundred page books and mascara.
i'll cure myself,
thank you very much.

*(a.m.c.)