She walks in
Passing through the kitchen
She grabs a glass and the bottle of wine
She sits down at the table
The white walls reflect the light bouncing in from outside
It shows off the people walking in pairs
This was getting old
She lifts the glass toward her mouth
Pausing, she reels it back and throws it at the opposite wall
The merlot runs down the wall
And the glass sparkles through the air
She stands up and pulls herself into the shower
She stands under the water for awhile
Then without drying herself
Falls into bed

Sitting on a bus making a list
Of all the pretty words I know,
Highlights the hollow feeling
Like bells ringing without purpose
Ceremony for the sake of itself
Not like you

Not like funerals and graduations
Formality to induce respect,
Creating the environment for great emotion
The ability to change heartbeats
Bringing pride where there was
Unsteady satisfaction
The power of words together
Of language

You are my language
Not all that I speak or know
A culmination of my creativity
The end product of pretty vowels
Strung together to make
Abstract constructs
The idea that I can be somebody
Because someone has the faith that I can

You create the environment
For powerful emotion
For the torrent of pride and satisfaction
For the validation of my fears
For the seed of hope within my dreams

You are the comfort
When the day consists of
Dusk and dawn
Without the beauty of the sunrise
You are the reasoning
Behind jumping head first
Into waves of fire
Because you knew I could,
So I know I can

The side profile of a four-poster bed
Was supposed to be the image of luxury
Not the decadent tomb of my comfort
The sanctuary of solitude and rest
Broken by the presence of you and your four limbs

Awaiting the sleep
Shadows in the dark take on greater forms
And the light shed from the doorway behind your skin
Brings no clarity as you lumber closer
Blocking out the hope of dying lights

With a crack
The weight of your head brings you down
Crashing into metallic springs and I am lifted
In that moment
On the thought that maybe
You have lost your consciousness
Perhaps only your conscience
As your hands slither over the flesh of my
Sanctuary

Routine, my arms lash
Your palms in forceful contact with my forearms
Growing, as you rise to bear over me
My sanctuary shrinking, tight
I relax you say, in pleasure
In subservience
In submission and hopelessness
As I retreat behind my eyes, I rely on my one freedom
To move within the corners of my mind
If not the four corners of this bed

Heaven whispers peace in my
Ears, it rings so
Loudly, so all encompassing, too
Long has it been since its toll.

Ice freezes balefully on the borders,
Smooth lines drawn on the edge.

Careful grace,
Omits and voids any fears, any
Malicious shadows of a doubt.
I walk among these clouds,
Not seeing that it is all
Going so well.

Sometimes I send really long messages
Sometimes I ramble on until I've reached a character cap
Sometimes I hope you'll forgive my enthusiasm

Who do you think I live for
I hope you are not misguided, my love
to believe that I live for anyone but myself
that any show of joy or act of love I give you
I give for myself, not you
that I choose to be here

I hope you are not misguided, my love
to believe that I subscribe to anything
other than the pursuit of my own happiness
and that direction will change as I change

I hope you are not misguided, my love
to believe that I am imprisoned here with you
that there exists a promise beyond myself
that I will stay with you till the end of time
I am not but flesh and sinew, fragile bone
my hour is limited
I am no god to sign myself away
And I'll keep this soft shell of flesh
but as for time, I plan to give you mine

I hope you are not misguided, my love
to believe that my independence
will lead me to exist without you,
a stubborn persistence toward satisfaction
would lead me to your doorstep
time and time again

I hope you are not misguided, my love
to believe I have not considered a world without you
a world without my commitment to grow with you
a world without your kindness
for I have, thoroughly

I hope you are not misguided, my love
to believe I hold anything but gratitude for you
that the light in my eyes is not clearer because of your influence
that my heart is not lighter and fuller
that my days are not brighter and longer

I hope you are not misguided, my love
to believe that I would ever hesitate to say
I do

Sometimes I wish you could just be real,
When really, it has always been my responsibility
To see you.

Sometimes I just want,
And want, it's uncomfortable
And that's okay.
It's okay to be uncomfortable
To notice that there's more to me,
That there's more to do,
Work to be done.

Sometimes you tell me phrases,
And I reject them,
Throw them deep into your throat.
I'd rather that they burn
Than for them to reach my ears,
That I be responsible for your happiness.
For that, I'm sorry

Sometimes I couldn't see,
Past the haze of anger,
Of angst that I didn't understand.
The guilt I hadn't learned to accept,
The responsibility I needed to avoid.

Sometimes I'm glad,
I had you to hold us up,
To hold me above you
While I threw stones at your head.

Sometimes I wish,
You could see me now,
To know that I'm more
Than what I was.
That I'm capable of choosing
To never be the tower
By your side.

Sometimes I'm happy,
And sometimes I'm grateful.

I'm not funny, she says,
The twinkle in her eye
Sparks laughter throughout the room.
I'm really not, turning in frustration
The corners of her lips reach high.
Forcing them down, she swallows a sigh.
Sometimes she doesn't want to be happy,
But sometimes it can't be helped.

I am beautiful, and wonderful, and amazing.
I am strong, and loving, and worthy.
I am learning, and sometimes I won't be nice,
I won't please the people around me, or myself.
That's okay.

I know I won't always be satisfied.
I know that means I am capable of more.
That I am not perfect but,
I will strive for mastery.
That I will be known not for perfection,
But for drive and persistence
The focus on improvement.

I know that I choose to be alone.
Because I know what it is I am looking for,
I wish to grow to love a rock.
Not to fall fast and stop hard,
But to grow like ivy over barren walls
To become proud of those I choose to be around.

I choose to wait patiently,
To work toward my long term goal.
I choose, to put myself in the line of fire,
To challenge myself, that I will learn and become more powerful,
More loving than I've ever been before.

I'm always beating myself up,
My own worst enemy, or so it goes
I tell myself I find it hard to think myself as
****
So I started saying it all the time.
I named myself **** and so can't be anything but.
I had been so absorbed in calling myself
Lost, unmotivated, grouchy, and awful,
That I had forgotten how powerful my words are.

I often feel lost, unaccomplished, unfulfilled.
Someone said to me the other day
"You're intelligent, witty, and beautiful"
What more could one want in a relationship?
I've accomplished that much.
Another has said before,
"You're an extremely insightful person,
those same skills will lead you to be
Successful in all areas of your life."
She said this and it was printed and
laminated onto a wall for all to see.
Yet somehow I managed to brush it off.

Somehow I manage to forget my accomplishments.
Somehow I've become human, for shame.
So I'll remind myself, I'll remember what I've been told.
I am an intelligent, witty, beautiful and lovable person.
I am successful, I am thoughtful and put my energy where it matters most.
Most importantly, I am growing.

I made that commitment long ago.
I decided that stepping into junior high,
I would grow to become friendly,
And I did.
I decided that stepping into high school,
I would grow to become a learner,
And I did.
I decided that stepping out of university I would become self-reflective,
And I have.
I decided that stepping into my job I would become future oriented,
And I will.

I made this commitment,
I signed this contract because
I matter.
Because I love myself.
Because I deserve to be my own best friend
And to be happy
And to be loving.

Because I am intelligent
And witty
And beautiful.
Because I am successful
And I will learn every time I falter.
Because I am a loved and loving person.
Because I have achieved
The respect of those I love.
Most of all,
I am commited to myself,
And I am growing.

I'd rather like to stay with you.
To hear the breath inside your words
To know the fever, the heartbeat
Along the lines in your chest.
I'd like to stay there.

I hope you like it here
In this space where I build
Bridges across the gap,
And try to see with my eyes forward.

I don't always succeed.
I try again for me,
To see your words along the walls,
Along the lines that you draw,
To close gaps
And build bridges.
I try to see that you build bridges.

I try to see that you love me,
Like I hope you love me.
I think I need help with the knowing,
Because no beacon of light has lead me there,
No dots on the map have shown me the way.
For I fight myself.
I slash lines along the walls,
Cross mark the pages of words
That you wrote with a fever,
With your heart beating in your chest
And your breath falling along tattered sheets of paper.
And all I'll see is paper.

I'll burn this and try again,
For me.

He seems distracted, his lips tight.
Is everything okay, I ask.
He smiles and says it's just fine,
Then hurries off to the other room to grab his things.
Sitting on the bed, I got to thinking,
And the more I thought about it,
The more I realized that everything was going perfectly.
It was all going as it should,
It certainly couldn't be any better.
I smiled softly, a powerful peace filling my core.
He looked at me questioningly when he returned,
Quickly distracted by the task at hand.
He pulled the needle from my arm,
Replacing it with another IV.
Are you ready for your next round of chemotherapy Tiffany?
My heart flutters for a moment.
Yes, I am ready.

I don't want to be depressed anymore.
The shoulds and woulds
All wrapped up in why did he
And how could she.
Eating slowly at the bonds I've formed
With people.
Human beings that are doing their best
But never good enough for me,
For perfection.
I'd rather be dead.

I don't want to be upset anymore
With the strangers on the bus
In their garb of business and ***
That they speak with boisterous joy
They should be considerate of me
And speak louder to drown out my thoughts.
Maybe I could drown them out on my own.

I want to be content
Because I want to do the dishes and use them
I want to ***** the floors and wash them again,
I want to see the beauty in a teapot and the joy in a
soft pillow
To see what it is to comfort a weathered soul.
I want to uphold routine.

I want to be happy
Because I love to feel alive
And I love to feel in love.
I love to love you and I want to do that for me
And maybe you'll do it for you too.
I want to sit with you in silence
And discuss soda in the coffee shop,
I want to look at you and cry
In gratitude
The only thing I can feel for you
And I know I will.

I want to live a life,
Because I want to be alive.

I want to look out the window
And see bright stars
Lights, and shattered visions.
I want to see
Colors and flying discs.
People thinking, dreaming,
On the edge of discovering
Always not knowing,
Always around the corner.
The timepiece etched in diamonds
Solid, imbued with living darkness
And sheltered worlds.
Pass the time along rivers
Motion, curling smoke and ladies dancing
I want to hear bells and raindrops.
Scattered droplets of rejuvenation
And solitary gongs calling into the depths,
I crave to see the night
For what it could be.

For what it really is behind
Closed doors, and open windows
Behind every mind the desire to know
Others and people
Moving flesh and deep breaths,
Sighing into one another
Haunted by control,
Thoughts of distaste for the lack of
Efficiency.

For I fear acceptance,
To accept a flaw,
A spiraling flood of color
A crack in the shield of dawn.
The weeds pushing up through
Concrete,
Trees, skyscrapers grasping at the atmosphere.
Shadows beyond the fences
And your eyes when I've asked too much.
I want to feel the night for what it is.
Not for what it could be.

So it's scary
I know that,
And I think you know that too.
Yet I want to say "but it's so much worse"
and I can't because it isn't.
It isn't so much worse
It's just that words can only convey
So much.
It's hard
I'm hurt
I cried
She died
The sorrow
The worst
It's just that kind of
Disconnect.
A page break, a fourth wall,
And in the stages of my mind,
I can't play for you what I'm thinking
And I don't expect you to do it in kind.
I can only listen and hold your hand.
Because all I want for you is joy.
Not joy like Christmas Eve at age 6
When mommy made turkey
And you can't help but giggle when you see that big box,
From: Santa.
Joy like, sitting in silence on the beach,
Silent inside and out.
Joy like, sobbing uncontrollably and pulling yourself together
Because she treated you with compassion.
Joy like contentedness, like satisfaction.
Joy, knowing that this mess is just because you're
Human.

everyday, I rise up from my bed so I can sleep
a little longer, and it grows a little taller,
and everyday I rise up so I can sleep
walk a little longer, a little stronger
everyday I break waves to
sleep a little stronger,
and everyday I wish to rise up
to sleep as I grow tired, and taller,
everyday I walk like waves of
sleep and footfalls
and everyday I sleep to rise up
and fall. like feet into bed
everyday, I rise up to sleep
from sleeping in and out of sleeping beds
and everyday I dream of walking,
sleeping into flying beds,
everyday, I sleep from waves
of footfalls rising up to slumber,
and everyday longer and stronger,
falling from up and into sleeping walks of slumber

it's just that ******* tap tap tapping
but away it goes
up and down, up and down the rows
of violets and tulips.
and she had two lips and violence
violent love and hate
crimes against humanity,
if there was ever any left
up and down, up and down the rows
of streets and cars
the lines and scars etched in his skin
but there's nothing like
a bottle of gin
numb around the edges, the seams
because everything is ever as it seems
and they just let it keep running
up and down, up and down the strands
leaving marks like brands to sell
the weave, the inches, the criss-crossed and sashayed
and she has one because it never looked to be
as long as she would like it as long as they would ask for,
and the years go on
so the tears flow on
growing longer, and taller
up and down, up and down the walls
of granite and moss
just one quick toss over the edge
because maybe humpty dumpty had it right.
nobody can piece that one together
like it's some big puzzle just twigs and grass,
make up the *** that he wanted to be
getting nothing that he wanted because he never asked
called or scrawled, just pushing, screaming
up and down, up and down the floor
of hardwood and paces
like jacks and aces handed out to those
who had them, no reward or achievement
it's own gift of life, and sometimes it's longer than you wanted
while crawling hands and knees to pick up
your ****** fingertips along the edges of cards,
because it's going to be okay.
because it will always be.

I want to write a poem.
No, like I really really really wanna write a poem.
Problem, stick it to me.
Pause
Poems have to be good.
Okay, so a poem doesn't have to be good
However, the point of the art is to have someone read
Those flippy little words that you pulled out
Of some intangible existence and pasted on
The Internet.

The Internet,
So you don't always put it online but,
Other people are "supposed" to read it.
To enjoy it, give you a pat on the back,
Maybe an "I see what you did there".
So poems are supposed to be presentable.
You've got to pay in sweat and ink but,
At least the words themselves are free.

What if I don't wanna have to make a "good" poem?
Okay so I really do want a pat on the back but
Sometimes I really like pasting things from
Intangible existences.
Fancy words right? Let me pat my own back.
Sometimes I just like putting my emotions on paper
While sounding like I read
More dictionaries than Webster.
Ha, ha, sigh.

There's a problem with having to be inspired to write **** down.
Do you think someone pays Taylor Swift's boyfriends
To break up with her
So she can write the
Next big hit?
I wouldn't doubt it.
My guardian angel should make the people around me
Say weird stuff such that I can write about
Walking on waves of shattered glass
Or
Singing of birds in circled flight.
Maybe I'd be better off being hit by a car.
That'd be some pretty touching poetry.

Some people write happy poetry too,
I don't know how they do it.
Sorry but, my world isn't flowers and  butterflies
Enough to warrant discussion of
Staying in the fairy meadow of light.
Sorry, I'm just jealous.

Maybe I just like writing stuff down?
What if I just don't want to be forgotten?
Leaving a legacy in my words more indellible
Than a pat on the back.
Doubt it.

I just don't want to forget.
Brain, why don't you get it?
I'm sitting here getting all intimate with an idea and
The next morning Brain's got no clue what their name is.
Like really, even if we invite a friend over and get creative with
Our tongues and mouths,
Brain doesn't remember the moments shared between us.
Paper doesn't think very well but it's got a decent memory bank.
So I save up for a brand new poem.
I thought words were free.

I see through waves of
Shattered glass these days.
Through tunnels I hear you like
Sonic booms and the bang on the
Bathroom door the morning after.

With a gentle knock it splinters in my eyes
And I can't see you anymore.
Left with the shadows in the corners of my mind,
Guessing the silhouettes and finding words unsaid.

Fighting hard to find you,
Hands tracing walls in dark corridors,
Try to find the light switch,
But I always end up just pushing your buttons.

Who are they that they get moments with you,
And I get weeks apart.
What prior commitment do you have with them?
And what about our commitment,
Don't respond, I know the answer.

A fortress of silence combats all conflict

I know you don't want to be with me.
Or rather, I know you want to be without me.
Maybe you want to be with me like one wants to be with a chair,
But if you want me gone then leave.
Don't leave me waiting for you.
I'm sorry, as you say
I'm not meeting you halfway
But I'm just doing everything I've ever been taught.
Everything I've ever learned from you.

Just hide it away,
Because maybe tomorrow it'll be gone

And I keep hoping, waiting.
Thinking that next year
You'll be right here,
And I won't be so angry that every moment is wasted
That every moment is precious.
Because moments will be plural,
And so what if it falls apart then
Because maybe we can't stand each other.
But right now I'm investing.
Surviving while all my love is banked,
Locked in a vault a few chairs away,
That won't even look at me
To see what I've learned.

Distance makes the heart grow weak

What do you mean?

Well, maybe.

Are you home?

Say what?

No.

Turning sour.

I miss you.

Cute.

With who?

Sounds fun.

What did you do?

You're not talking to me.

What if I don't want to?

I don't expect that of you.

I guess we're playing the same game aren't we?

I love you too.

I wasn't trying to turn my back on you.

I was irritated.

Wasn't trying.

Let's try to be pleasant with each other.

Exsanguination.

I don't know the answer.

Who are you?

It was rhetorical.

I know that.

Doesn't help anything.

What are we doing?

Alright.

Good morning.

Just, what.
Not what am I doing,
For I know very well that I'm
Contracting and relaxing my diaphragm
And doing what I call
Breathing.

Not where am I going,
Because I know that I'm trying
To get through school to do well
In a high paying and enjoyable job,
To live happily with a man by my side.

Not how should I live,
As I'm not quite sure you can call this living
And when people tell me I'm doing it
All wrong,
I say it right back and just keep on
Keeping on.

Not why am I here,
Because I've asked a thousand times
But nobody seems all that willing to answer.  
Regardless whether there's someone there or not,
There's certainly no answers being spoken so
Either I'm doing it right or it
Just doesn't matter.

So, what else is there?
What else is there to ask,
Because I've come and gone,
And this is all I've seen.
What else isn't there
When this is all I've got?

Sometimes I feel that you
Don't quite understand the
Gravity
Of the situation
I don't know why you feel that
Jumping ship
Would resolve any suffering
As weight increases exponentially
And you accelerate towards a
Crushing defeat
Moments before I collapse
Without you by my side

What is love and now has died,
Warm sheets where I once lied.
I only asked to touch your face
Not for the rough and cold embrace.
Now dead behind the eyes,
Here in the home of all your lies.

Now I take the blame,
The price of losing fame.
Because this is just your show,
And now you let it snow.
How I desire heat.
That'd be quite the feat,
To warm my lonely sorrow
And know something of tomorrow.
For burning sparks
And walks in parks
Warm far better the winter's frost
Than the salt of these tears.

But all I feel is burning fire
In this house upon a wire.
The pressure of their heartbeat,
Sheets indifferent to the heat.
If you had let me know your face,
I'd need but only one embrace.

I had asked to see your face
But not to feel a cold embrace.
The home of all your lies,
Yet I sit behind disguise.
Claiming, that to know nothing of tomorrow,
Would bring but bitter sorrow.

A pillow won't suffice
To close the space between my arms,  
The void in my chest.  
The length of my outstretched arms
Won't span the gap between you and I.  
Won't reach the distance.
Fill the space.  
The distance, so far from you and I
At any moment, any given moment.
When I am holding pillows and not hearts.  

My arms can't reach the distance,
Pillows can't fill the void in my chest,
Warm the winter's frost,
But you do.  
Always you, you in my heart,
In my eyes and in my veins.  

My arms can't span the gap
But, I've never felt so close.  
So near to touch, to be. So far.
My arms can't reach through the space
But to be in yours, to be in mine.  
To be with me, around you. For us.
Jun 10

It's as if something fell from the sky.
Crash landed in front of me.
The label reads, "Mars".
No, "Acme".

What the hell is it?
Round but, bent and broken.
Was it round before?
I think that's metal, I can't tell.

I suppose I'll just have to
Call the authorities.
Can't very well
Just leave it there,
In the middle of the street.

It's lifted away,
Presumably to a properly sized
Bin. Garbage bin that is.
How big would the bin have to be?
How big was it?
Like a dump truck.
No, smaller.
Like a toy car.
It's a wonder it didn't do any damage.

The flower opens softly.
Welcomes the sun into its depths.
The seeds slowly take flight,
Wandering between shafts of sunlight.

A baker walks home after work.
He, or she. They nod to a passerby.
Must be friends.
How nice.

A ribbon falls gently from the hair
Of a little girl.
Tied there loosely, as it was.
The wind had no trouble starting the dance,
That would lead it fluttering down the busy street.

I smell you, see you,
Hear the call of the ocean.
The roll and rumble.
The fall, and tumble.
Maybe I've just had too
Much salt water today.

The muscles contract.
Air flows through the tube, to bring about
The vibrations of song, and moonlit afternoons.
Laughter floats unimpeded into the wind.

I must be insane to think
That my feet actually touch the ground.
I'm sure they just fall through it.
I really shouldn't walk in graveyards anymore.

One day,
We'll buy a nice house in the south of France
And dance on the graves of those who doubt imagination.
But not today for we endure urban slums
And cold concrete villages.

Someday,
I'll be rich and you'll be sated.
Together we'll grow old and discuss memories
Of when we first dated.
But just how weighted is the thought?
For today, everyone's the one and I can't see some days,
That one day we'll be together.

Today,
I can't breathe when the bonds of rules and fools
Push down upon the clouds of my dreams,
And I freeze.
No logs for the fire,
My motivation makes a proper icy prison.

One day, some other day.
In a life that doesn't exist today.
I'll be at peace.
Not today, for I brave no days,
And dream of that one day,
When I walk towards another day.
Another time and place. Where I,
Lay in peace.

Write me a poem he said,
My eyes all bleary and red.
Shock of an unwanted pop quiz,
I never meant to enter show biz.

But write him a poem I did,
In my heart, it stayed there, hid.
It rocked the boat of thought and feeling.
Here on deck, I stood there reeling.

I wrote him a poem and here it is.
In my heart, t'will stay there, his.
Endlessly, forever kneeling.
Knowing, wanting. Words revealing.

Mountains sway and tumble.
A quaking bumps against innocence. 
The moon passes over the sun,
Birth of a night, granting vision of the shadows.
Monsters come out to play.
They crash stone and boulder,
And the dead cry in worldless sound.

Flowery perfume, floats on the sound,
Forcing its way out 
From behind your teeth.
The chemical that numbs our senses.  

Now dead to the world,
I sit alone in the dark,
As your frosted window kills the sun.
Let all my blood rush out my core,
Don't freeze us, piece by piece,
Thick and sluggish blood,
Dead. With an ice cold heart.

How noble, such a pretty face.
That mask of porcelain and lace.
Dressed high and mighty,
It's no wonder why you fall
So far.  Here on the ground,
No grass, no soft silk to cushion the blow.

We people, of dirt.
Must learn to turn what's brown to clay.
To cook from earth a bowl and plate.
We survive, and we sing away the night.
We make filthy our clothes, and lie in the sun.

Lie in the sun and not to a face,
Equivocate. You fill your words with grace.
Justify your lie, prevaricate.
Then *******, all over their face.

Catch your flies with your brown honey.
I'll burn away all the world's impurities,
With the fire in my words.
Nurse the damage, with 
Cold hard truth.
Build scar upon scar.
Become new. Evolve.

I am the tiles beneath your feet,
The air you breathe.
A door that opens and closes,
A laundry line left alone 
in the winter months.

I am not for you,
Nor are we for anyone else.
For I am a rock on a mountain side,
A fly in your soup.
Nothing more than the dust
Swept under a rug.
Nothing less, than the clouds
In an endless sky.

The life, running through our veins,
Runs through all we can see.
A bird, a stick, a metal disc.
We stand on a level plane.

As a chess piece,
I lose to my fellows.
For we are all pawns.
Or we are all queens.

And then I cut,
   Down into the heart.
         Into truth,
               Into pain,
I tore it all away.
Bled for mercy,
    For hope,
          For ecstasy.
One jagged line
     Marking the end of
                     My scene.
          In my last moments
        On stage,
     I weep for the blood
                 In all things.

One so beautiful, so smart, who can apply themself.
One who walks into a room,
Everyone smiles just for them, they're in control.
It's natural, without effort.  
They don't worry about disconnecting,
From the people around them.  
Don't have to over-analyze to get there,
Where they are.  
Don't have to write their feelings down
In some mock poetry, everyday, just to understand them.

Woe to me, to be
Compared to thee.
That I should be in competition with you.
A contest that I know I would lose
Again, and again, and again.

One who can make it all up as they go,
They're great and they know it.
One who has passions.  
They can worry that they didn't do their best
Even when they were above the rest,  
Because they are so above the rest.  
Because they're beautiful, they're smart, they're kind,
They're, naturally, not a *****.  
They're just a genuinely caring person.

Woe to me to feel
Compared to thee.
For the last thing I could be,
Is equal.  The last status I'd attain,
Is to be a tower by your side.

To be in contest with you,
To have to formally face this.  
This knowing that,
You are everything I want to be.  
Nothing that I can be.  
I have to face that I'm not as confident
As I was or thought I was.  
There's a chip in my wall.  
I just can't compare,
But I can't complain.  
I'm a pretty face.
  
So. Woe to me to have to see
All that you can be.
Who am I? Who am I to think,
To wish and hope that,
Maybe. Just maybe.
I could compare to thee.

because nothing is wrong.

                                  Absolutely nothing.

Time spent on the current day,
Forgotten in future sway.
Lost in the moment.
For a moment and for time.

Escape is futile

The passage of time
Does not exist,
As our bodies perceive it.
Nothing short of death
Can stop its passage.

Escape is dangerous

I marvel at the idea,
Of stopping, staying,
Not having to... anything.
Not having to anything at all.
Not having to sustain or endure.
Not having to follow
The seemingly fate decided path
That is the cycle
Of the moving matter
That takes up the space
That I occupy.
That anyone occupies.

Escape is paradoxically pointless.

As everything and anything is,
Life is pointless.  
As nothing but moving matter,
My only biological function
Is to further the survival of my species,
To enable more endurers of my kind
To enter, "existence".  

As my mass slows,
All thought and memories
I have are lost.
To what have I accomplished?
Nothing of value,
Nothing unique,
Nothing of importance.

Whether or not I let pass
Another endurer into this place,
All I have done,
Is been part of the cycle.

Surely I would like
To leave a mark.
To better the world
Because of my influence.
However, to what more have I accomplished
Than changing the statue environment
Of those who endure.

To leave a legacy, is to extend a memory.

Nothing is permanent.
All is part of a cycle.
Nothing is of true importance.
Escape is unimportant.

Escape is inevitable,
The body cannot last forever.
The unavoidable moment will occur
In which the mind,
Due to its physical state,
Will cease to function.
Will quickly cease to exist.
Breaking down into the cycle.

No demand
Nor desire
Can stem the flow
Of time's passage,
Escape is as wasteful
As its counterpart.

To escape.
Meaning to end, stop,
Cease, die,
Or to not be,
Is a waste
Of what could and will be.
Those moments of joy
And sadness that will be lost.  

The sadness spreads
Through other's mourning.
Caused by a selfish action
That wastes the time of others.
An act that steals their happiness
Without using it for one's self.  

To continue is to
Pursue the earthly pleasures.
To hope that one may
Skirt the void
And it's moral dilemma.

To live is to
Selfishly seek a change
In one's state.
Be it happy or sad,
Slight or grand.  

To avoid the void is to
Blaspheme. To consider one's self
Able to avoid the clutches of death.
Immortality.
For we are all immortal
Until we are not.
When we are not,
It doesn't matter what we were
Or would have become.
Once one ceases to be,
One cannot wish to be or reflect.

Do I have a death wish?
No, as it is morally repugnant.
That enough is suitable reason
To stay in the world that is
Everything other than nothing.
To avoid passing into nothingness.

In hard times we wish to stop.
To seek the relief of
Not having the stresses of life.
However, upon death,
No relief is gained,
No stress is lost,
No happiness or acceptance found.  
For one simply is not.
Simply, one does not be.
Does not exist.

Being nothing seems
No better than anything.
For at least being something
Is comprehendible.