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 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.

If I stayed any longer,
Who knows?
I might have gone insane too.

He told me his name.
I never asked him why he was there,
Why everyone else avoided him.  

I regret it now
But now is not the time,
There is no time left.  

He said he could get out
Whenever he wanted.
He just had no reason to go.  
He told me if I would come with him,
Stay with him forever, we’d leave.  

Can you imagine that?
He even said he loved me.  
The weirdest part is, I think I loved him to.
I would keep trying to remember
Where this love was taking place,
In this asylum but, I always forgot.

All we had to do was walk out.  
Nobody touched us.  
When we were out, we ran, and ran, and ran.  
In the middle of the forest,
There was no way they could find us,
We still wanted to be safe.

We found a cave in which we could stay,
Until we had enough strength to explore.
There was plenty of apples and firewood around.  
That first night, I just ate, and ate, and ate.  

I noted the big willow tree
and boulder next to the exit.
Natural, and calm.
This was a place of my refuge,
Where I would be happy.

We set out to explore,
The cave must have been close to the surface,
There were cracks in the ceiling that lit our way.
The cave was filled with tunnel after tunnel.  
Sometimes the tunnel would split into five or six
And we would have to choose one.
Giving the false sense of direction
As we wandered, aimless.
  
When I got scared,
He would assure me it would all be fine.
That must have been the worst lie,
Anyone has ever told me.

I finally worked up the courage
To ask him why he was in the asylum.  
He told me he could fool the mind.
Fool it into believing its body was in pain,
He said his looks could ****.

I scoffed.  

He stared at me,
Completely bewildered.  
I clearly thought him insane.  
He let that slide.  

He never kissed me fully, passionately.  
They were always short and sweet.  
He only brushed my face
When he wanted me to calm down,
Making jokes whenever
I was having second thoughts.
  
He was using me.  
I was a shield, nothing more.  
I would have to be disposed of.

Back to staring,
I realized that his back
Is not made of duck feathers.
My scoff doesn't slide.

I ran faster I’d ever run before.
All this flew through my mind
As I scrambled up from the cave floor for the third time.
The exit was just around the corner.
It just had to be.  

As I stumbled back
Onto the cold hard rock
The exit came into view.
I saw the light shimmering on the broken rock.
The shadow of a willow tree.
Ironically I was so happy I could cry.  
I’d hide in the trees
I’d never have to see this murderer again.  
Tripped for the fourth time.

I looked up,
Still sprawled out on the cave floor.  
There was a hole in the ceiling,
Sending shattered shafts of light to where I was lying.  
I watched the dust fall in lazy spirals.

I jumped off the floor.
Back to my peril,  
I heard his sluggish footsteps.
Turned around for one last look.
He stood in those shattered beams of light
Glaring at me.

Now on my feet, I stood
In the dark half of the spacious hall of rock
As if that would help my situation.  
If only I could fade into the shadows.  
I was trapped.
With no escape but the cave's tunnels behind me,
Or the death awaiting me.  

Just a few more steps back.  

He’s eyes snapped to my feet,
"You don’t want to do that.”
Back to my face.
His smile was only evident in his voice.
He was right.  
I didn’t want to die in that moment.  

The room’s light darkened
As if someone had put out the sun.
I knew it was coming.

I loved him.
He may not love me now.
He may never have.
But I don’t care.  
If I never loved him,
I may not be in this situation,
I might not be about to die.  
But I think just maybe,
It was worth it.  

Those smiles,
Stolen kisses and touches,
Just the sound of his voice.
Running in the middle of the forest
Away from the asylum.
It was all worth the pain I was about to feel.  

We stood staring at each other,
Waiting for the other to make the first move.  
The tension mounted.
Hatred started coming off him in waves,  
Hitting me over and over
Threatening to pull me under.  
I could feel his anger.

The air seemed to thicken,
Weighing down on me,
Forcing from me my last breath.
Draining me of what little strength
I had left to remain standing.

I began to gasp for air,
Unable to feel my lungs expand.
Feel the relief of oxygen in my blood.  
My eyes were locked in his
Begging to turn away,
To save my life.  

I was mesmerized.
Like prey waiting for the snake to strike  
I watched helplessly as his face,
Distorted with anger, began to twitch.  

I could see the words that would end this,
Begin to form on his lips.
Waiting to be released.
***** off his spit stained *****.  
After the agony of anticipation seemed to reach its peak.  
They dropped like acid into the open air.

I lost the fight against the pressure.
Finally crumbling under the strain,
I rested on my knees.
Holding my head in my hands
Preparing to resist the attack.

It hit me full force
Like a subway train at full speed.
I did all I could not to cry out,
To give in to this miserable existence,
To give him the satisfaction of my death.  

I broke out in a cold sweat
As my muscles continued to fight,
Melting with the strain.  
Adrenaline pumped through my veins
As the true attack began.  

The pain started at the tips of my fingers and toes.  
Slowly crawling, burning,
It continued to eat away at my flesh.  

Much to my dismay
I remained intact
But paralyzed by the pain
Unable to run away,
To escape it.

I was unaware of the storm of tears
Falling from my cheeks.  
Oblivious that he continued to circle closer,
Waiting for his moment to strike.  

The pain began to worsen,
Shifting from fire to lava,
Lava to lightning.  
It was unimaginable, indescribable.

Then I lost control.
This body– it was no longer mine.
It began to betray me.  
It shuddered, then shook spasmodically.  

Its back arched knowing what was to come next,
Preparing as the bubble of air was pushed slowly
Up its tongue, against its lips.
Its blood curdling,
Gut wrenching shriek
Lasted mere hundredths of a second.

He comes into view for a brief moment.
My eyes roll back into my head,
And I lose myself in the blackness.  

My eyes begin to close,
And tears begin to fall.
You force my eyes wide open,
Oblivious to stinging tears.
I stare back blankly
And continue to work.

I could just stop, but I keep working,
I could just sleep, but I keep walking.
If only you could understand,
If only you believed.
If only I could cast a spell,
And you could feel my pain.

Sadly I love you,
I could not do that to you.
Even these burdens that I carry,
Are few compared to those of others.
But these shoulders are weak,
These limbs are tired,
They collapse under the weight.

Again, my eyes begin to close,
And tears begin to sting,
I cannot, keep working.
But I must keep walking
Till the break of dawn.
Dawn breaks.

I was in the street of a busy city.
One of those cold concrete cities
With loud noises and fast paced people.

Standing alone in the warm smog
Nobody noticed me as they passed by,
Walking to wherever they felt they needed to go.

I may as well have been a lamppost.
Not even that, they would notice a lamppost at night
When they use it to guide their way home,
From what ever they were celebrating that evening.

They don't think they could gain,
Any kind of their quick bursts of joy
Through a conversation with me.

Like junkies they go through life
Looking for the next high,
Hoping that whatever high they're on
Will help them get to the next one.

They can't see me.
I am alone.
Chasing lamposts.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

Sometimes I wish you would just be real.
That you would be more
Than a phantasmal image of
Everything I want to be.

Sometimes I just want.
Sometimes I just want to pretend that I didn't know,
That you were joking.
I want you to see,
See the person you're acting to be.
The hazy image of a being
That you project into the fog.
Into the fog of your own breath.

I see you.
Sometimes you tell me phrases,
Moments, glimpses of who you are
Behind the mask of a jester's guise.
The joking face that isn't distorted with 
The scars of other's lives,
With scars of the days gone by
But now I suffer, yearning for them
Selfishly.

I know I won't burn away my facade but
Sometimes I wish
That you'd take off your paper mask
Just for me.
The mask that holds the blades
Away from your face.
That you'd feel the danger 
Of a close shave,
So I could hear those phrases.
Those honest phases.
Before you flicker back out.

When I am given an assignment
I scoff inwardly.
The professor says
The project is due Thursday.
I know very well that she won't
Actually look at it till a month later.
A month later she'd accept it just the same,
So why put myself through this hell now?

Hell? You question me,
"**** it up and just do it, baby"
It's just some project.
Like all the others, relatively no effort,
It will take all of an hour to complete.
Then, it'd be over and done with.

Wrong.
It's Hell.
I stare into space, dreading the thought
Of lifting my pen to mark a sheet of paper just
Because I have to.
I could sit here for hours and write,
With the same pen, the story of my life,
The poetry that describes my innermost thoughts.

The same pen lifted for the assignment
Of someone else's creation,
Weighs down like the rock
Left behind after the cave's collapse.

The only times I've ever seriously considered,
Giving up.
The only times I've ever considered
Sleeping... Deeply,
Is when I am forced to lift,
One by one,
Each piece of rock, back into that cave's ceiling.

Sometimes when I've half finished,
I think that maybe,
If I shook the walls,
I could let it all cave in on me.
I'd never have to find my way back.

I walk into class,
Lay the sheet to rest
On the desk of it's judge.
Hardly notices my presence,
The granite dust on my eyelashes.

What do I get for my efforts?
Red pen, an "A".
My friends whine and moan,
"You didn't even have to try!"
Because I'm too smart to pay attention in class.
Too smart to actually study.
That I don't have to try.

They don't have to rebuild caves.

In the sad words of an elegist
I mourn the worlds of color and music
That cannot, do not, and will not exist.

Such worlds that would be but, beyond words.
Where emotion blends into the lights around us,
The shadows only shield us from harm.
Where the night is mysterious,
Glorious in it's beauty.

Haunting and peaceful
Is any and all beauty that flies,
Light, and bursting with stars.

This world of paradox
Would require no explanation
Nor boredom of repeating nonsense.

Everyday, day and night,
Is an overwhelming sense experience.
Your mind leaves you
To your eyes and ears,
Your nose, mouth, and hands.

Feel the color of emotion's vision.
Taste the wonder that is movement's song.
Finally, hear beyond the beholder,
And experience the the heights of sensation.‏

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.

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

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

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.

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.

I want to be a character in a story.
Not the main character, as I don't want to be notable,
or even be given written actions or words.

To be someone part of the scenery,
In the background,
Who may as well, not exist at all.

I want to exist from day to month,
From hour to minute.
Only, without knowing what that means.

Without knowing what it means
To exist from a time to a time.
I want to experience only the good and only the bad.
There would be no gray area.

My story would not contain
"He woke up, walked three steps to the door, and made a sandwich."
Only, "he fell in love.
he avoided being run over by mere inches,
he, on the beach, bathed in the smooth rays of the sun on a hot glorious summer day."
There would be no boring, pointless, gray area.

These words would be written by the hand of another
Existing only in the imagination of the reader.
I would not even be in the words,
But only the imagery in the mind.

This is my wish, all my hopes and dreams.
To exist in fiction and remain unseen.

What is freedom?
What is sentience,
But the awareness of how to be unhappy.

Don't make me go home,
Home to a house,
A house in the middle of everywhere.
A middle of everywhere that is itself,
Nowhere.

Dont bring me home.
Dont bring me to the middle of everywhere,
In the center of every place I'd like to be,
Absent from every place I'd like to be.

Don't ******* to a house,
At the intersection of everyplace.
When all I want to be
Is with you.

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.

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

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?

What if there are no walls?
I quickly stand,
Suddenly not trusting
The solid brick at my back.

What if there was no gravity?
My hopeful thought falls
As my feet stay rooted,
Ingrained into the cold floor.

I stand next to the wall

Staring at its painting
It seems to speak

It's image running parallels
Alongside my thoughts.
With no discernible pattern,  
No reference to any pre-existing material,  
Just color.

The texture is smooth.
The occasional lump sprouts forward,  
Growing from the dent
Where the gasses
Had been trapped beneath the surface.

Held prisoner.
Without concious thought
Of what had happened to it.

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.

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.

because nothing is wrong.

                                  Absolutely nothing.

Ignore it.
                       The pain
         Goes away
                                       After everything

                      Turns black

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.

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'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.

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.