I,
I drift between starlight,
To forget it all,
Trying to hide from pictures that reopen blinding wounds,
Like magmatic pillars,
Rising,
Spitting,
Gasping,
Combusting: I cannot hold them down with my hands,
They settle and vulcanize around my heart,
A thick thick crust now...
Even though they are seismic,
These spaces keep me safe,
Drifting,
Breathing,
Dark but not dark,
Dying but not dead,
Breathing,
Just Breathing

Wait,
Shouldn't I have used laundry detergent?
I should have,
Shouldn't I have loved her,
Shouldn't I?

Yesterday,
I learned to breathe

My father never told me that I would have to fight nightmares,
Or I would have to let the blades of the past wade against my legs,
Until they disappeared in the high field behind me under the fog,
He never told me terrible things would happen to us all

This time,
I blame me,
Fall is coming,
I hope the season will ******* away with the leaves

I don't feel bad for you,
Not being able to sleep,
You created your own demons,
I'm one of them

I am frightened within a world full of phenomenon dense with the heavy weight of beauty,
Yet these hands are stuck within my chest,
Carrying a dream bereft of color and time,
Always left behind

I think there is a time in every man's life when he finds himself in a quiet place and he gently puts his hands on his face and lets them drip down his skin as he thinks "Oh God, what does my father think of me?" It is this very thing that happens to me every day, and I find it difficult to release myself from the idea that finding a quiet place on a daily basis for this ritual is not far from destiny. I remember when I was a child I had such a marginally religious fear of thunderstorms that it would cause me to turn the television to the weather channel so that I could reverently temper my dread according to the forecast ahead of time: this is the same horror that washes over my heart when I see my father slowly approach the picture of my life to make his first appearance of the day. He is both ghost and man: a man that I know now as someone who lives teetering on the fence-post between acquaintance and friend, and a ghost of the person from my childhood that was once in a marriage to my mother that was full of teeth and rage who was not my father, but rather an incarnation of shame and disappointment.

I miss the heavy static grunge of your music muffled by my walls,
I miss your glasses,
I miss when you showed emotion,
I miss when you would drive me to school and give me cigarettes,
I miss when you would show me new indie bands and unlock a whole new world for me,
I miss our explosive and ordinarily magical science experiments,
But you dived into the blood contract of the world,
Now you are void,
Now,
You are not you,
You are a puppet to a mouth,
I have never stopped at my every intention,
To rips it's tongue out,
No matter how much yours scorns me,
Brother

My simple dreams
had too many teeth
for a world too
vulnerable to the
complexities of
staying awake

I told all of my friends why I wanted to get married
They told me there would be no more "weekends"
They didn't understand why I didn't care

Oh my King,
Let these not be demons

If I don't see your goodness,
I will forget your face,
And there will be no sunlight for my life,
To dawn on the days of tomorrow,
Only the deep darkness of machines and men,
Where there is no innocence

I hate these man made devils

Outside the barn ached weakly in the autumn  cold,
The air was still against the magic movements softly exploding in the parallel rows of the hissing sparklers,
The bride and groom would soon pass under their faux glory,
You said I was a good man,
"I know, so are you",
You turned to the ground and stumbled over your confession,
Tripping over the light fog of alcohol in your breath,
"No,
"-no,"
"-I"

"I'm not."

And you walked away
Then the photographer came up to me looking through his one black glass eye and told me
"Say four of the most profound words you ever said."
The hissing stopped,
The light died,
I looked into his magic eye and said
"My sparkler went out."

My hands are seismic,
They shake against my neck,
Fingers like teeth walk across my frailties,
And waves knock against my chest

Sometimes,
I open my mouth,
And you come out,
All of my teeth follow you,
Sometimes,
I turn my eyes,
And I see a picture of you
My heart sleeps in my stomach,
Sometimes,
I wake up,
And all of my fingers just fall off

Plight for sore eyes,
Dreams made in the dark,
Drawing circles around you,
I fill the air between the stars and me with desperate measures,
Pray that I'm not sifted,
I'm fighting nets at night,
Exchanging hands with waves,
Why do I embrace the sea?
This struggle....
Always defining the world around me,
It's not real,
But the waves swell beneath their master moon,
She pulled me under,
My paper boats with twisted black ink answers have unfolded,
Escapism: A kingdom has crumbled,
A ruin beneath an ocean,
Admitting I know nothing,
I wash ashore

You said maybe one day you'll get to tell your story
But you're a thief
You seared all the ears that would hear it
Now I'll calmly block your number

Silence has opened it's mouth,
I unfold before it,
Strands come undone,
The story of a man gets swallowed,
The strength of my youth falls with the wind,
A veil takes the stars from me

Just a bunch of ghosts and scabs,
Walking around,
Taped to one another

I am lost in these present landscapes,
Born from hands,
Opened above oceans,
Paint on me all these leagues,
My definitions fade among lights and machines,
The Modern Strain,
I close my eyes against it

Bad men are children who never grow up

I look for the drifter,
I search for the wild heart,
I am drawn to the loner,
The quiet one is a song to me,
I long for the one who will prove me wrong,
The one who smells like rain,
And speaks of spring,
The one who is my teacher,
And my friend,
The one who shines in the summer,
And glows in the winter,
The mind of uncharted borders,
And an ocean soul,
The one who will watch the storms with me,
After all,
Lightning shows are free,

In class,
I was the only one to voice my disagreement,
I do not believe in grey areas,
There is black,
There is white,
But God never says
"Maybe..."

As I tab out my djent,
With my mouse scrolling across Garfunkel's face on his vinyl cover,
I drink my orange crystal light as I think,
"Here's to future record sales."

The 60's ruined everything

**** mine eyes,
For I wrap them in the sun of days made shade by these specter hands,
That's right you're a nightly spectacle set upon a dial counting days with your fingertips sewing these lips with a strand of the melancholy black band string,
Ring the twelfth bell toll to tell tales of the twilight nights not kept by dreams, it seems my seams shall not snap against these silent sounds of reasoning,
For I am bathing in the bath of my backwards ways,
Oh emotions ocean, will your motion swallow me?
Can I be like your sons, walking on water with wooden ships,
No,
For by my burning rights,
My heart is embers,
I remember that my covenant would sink me,
So think of me,
I'm at the bottom of the sea,
You'll find me in the grave of lesser explorations,
Where all the sailors sleep,
Reaping seeds of defeat,
Sewn into water,
Water without end,
Lo,
Waves wash over my body
Crashing against your feet
The sea has taken me,
Whole

The sun sets,
For the stars in my eyes to shine,
They'll start singing,
Shimmering with howls,
A mourning song bursting from these florescence and screens,
Hands reaching from my pulse to your heart strings,
But those vibrations will be silenced,
By asphalt, machines, and muted desperation

A guardian is much more to be feared than a foe,
For a foe fights for his own ambitions and victories,
He has no external investments,
He is completely of self,
But a guardian is jealous,
He is a protector and shield,
His investments are external and his enemies have much more to fear in because his reason to fight does not solely lie within himself,
But also in the person that he protects,
Therefore his fury is doubled,
And his heart full of righteous anger and aspiration,
Enemies flea on love poured out upon another by sword

A life in broken glass,
A reflection-
One million pieces,
Impossible to see myself rightly,
Tell me who I am,
Which of my pictures fit together,
This curse-
     this curse
This curse of suburbia,
The unperceived ritual,
Take
Regurgitate
Build
Charge the culture gods,
Update the computer shrines,
Dam them all,
They replaced the spiritual encounter:
Our birthright,
Traded for ***** water,
Our entire lives,
Washing nothing away,
This murky bath is our judge,
Confronting our condition

If I could reach into Apollo's cloak,
I would pull down the stars and put them in my eyes,
Drowning myself in pedals of flowers,
Give me stimulation,
A temporary satisfaction,
But dislocated from the natural idea of rest,
Wilting away from their stem,
Ready to die

I can see
Pixels wash away
Watercolor dreams

I can see
Generations
History
Recede by technicolor tides
Into a grey scale sea

Regardless of origin
This cycle resonates too much for

Me

My apparition is now animated
Born from a dream dimly projected for a time
It lies here
On this bed
Not sleeping I ask
What altar is this?
Less glorious than marble and fire I know
Yet something dissipates here
The hands of pale lights reach beyond the veil of the window blinds
And guild the empty spaces above my fretting body
Almost caressing the only consequence to this
Yet I abandon paper devices for my petitions
They break like glass as they pour from my mouth
Ascending, they shimmer in the urban eclipse taking the stead of starlight
From it's heart a name has fallen
Speak it for me oh eyes
For we say
She is called Night

A man of fragments,
I can no longer choke my self with these white picket hands,
You see,
I saw the small holes in between my parents fingers,
Where the worms sleep,
Only one made it across the fence,
The other is somewhere bleeding on the side not so green,
That is the testimony of their termite lives,
And I am it's harbinger,
Oh!
*Their termite lives...

Holding hands with wolves,
They bite my fingernails in the summer

The sun glows through dust,
Behold,
I am the collector,
They may land on me

I am the incarnation of suburban desperation,
The world washes over my body

I'll make the hairs of this violin bow with moth's wings,
And play you the night,
Search and drifted,
Through such shade,
Shimmering company,
Defined by glass boundaries,
They bang their bodies against them,
Because they know no touch,
These are the victims of a desperate song

The things I cannot forgive myself for,
They are dead trees,
They are angry ghosts

I am a chameleon to you,
Or some kind of ghost,
My colors shift according to your proximity,
Or change depending on how lucky and bold I feel,
Placebos and foolish superstitions are usually my best hues,
But I still notice you in my little submarine with my peripheral spy glass,
That's right,
I'm a spy,
I know you wear cool and faded hooded sweaters and jeans in the winter that probably smell like closets and dead leaves,
And skirts that you picked from flower fields in the spring,
I know you have light allergies like mine,
As our sniffling during class seems to be contesting in some secret and unspoken competition with no rules,
Despite my quiet attention,
I feel as though you will never know these things,
All my attempts to tell you will be locked away by the pursuit of other men,
My own deep murky fears,
And the summers between us

I was naked,
So I fled,
A curtain of daggers for me,
I decorated my shame,
So that your face would not see me,
Forgive me for the days,
And show me the sun,
I know the Spring will be held held between our hands,
It is freedom,
To share this thing,
You knit together my spirit again

I guess I'll sew my fingers together now
And swim to some green shore out there that no one really knows about
Right after I sweep the remaining string under the carpet

Drown me with flowers though,
Drops jump,
Falling all over the pedals,
They are lost things,
And screens as starlight pulls these like paintbrushes,
Fingers of bristles leaving traces of them,
Encircling a rusty city with dew,
Putting out fires in some places,
Watering others,
For the smell of rain is swallowed up by memories,
Then spat out by storms,
Let us have a moment of silence for the gardens in them,
They wither away like pictures in shoe boxes,
Collecting dust,
Then thrown into fire,
This is my witness-
I am a desperate man in these modern landscapes

I am dying stars
I am locked doors
I am smoke
I am steel
My eyes burn
I learned to make gold in your shadows
Now I am priceless
I am industry
And I am angry
I will rise on clockwork flight
There are no wings to melt on me

A sea of gasoline's,
Grace of novelties,
Cars and halogen,
Social disease,
Manufactured dreams,
Scream on screens,
They glean from all living things,
Fight,
Take,
Hide,
Such a contumacious existence,
Results in an animistic decline,
All things that once made us strong,
Oblivion has made a meal of them,
I walk around this town,
I see the colors,
I watch the scenes,
Fight,
Take,
Hide,
I live in a world without a heart,
But machines keep it breathing,
And it has many sons,
Crowned with clockworks maturation,
Am I the last one beating?
I don't tick,
Not like them,
I just watch men bite one another necks from the steps of the front door,
They call me the queen of the creaking floorboards,
Fight,
Take,
Hide,
I have matchstick eyes,
I twist fires with my fingertips,
All of these people made of wood,
They are like smoke to me,
I breathe slices into them with teeth that have no number,
I am December,
I fight,
Take,
Hide

Stranded in a car,
Parking lot castaway,
Babylonian sunset,
A star sleeping on regret,
The cold street lights now casting spells,
Down upon a pale face with these eyes painted,
With their shadows

The rain soldiers are marching in,
They'll crown me with their arrows,
I am the queen of the orphans,
A city for a throne,
And heartless chest for a scepter,
It is rumored that there was a cool of the day,
But it is not found here,
If birds had songs then,
They choke and spit out cruel laughter now,
Therefore the gulls migrated to die on asphalt,
To collect the filth I leave upon the earth,
I have sticky fingers on me you see,
Attached to soggy gloves

The rats keep eating at my bed,
The rats keep eating at my bed,
The rats keep eating at my bed,
I cannot sleep tonight,
The rats keep eating at my bed,
But feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
Feed the rabbits,
The Commercialized Army is pressing in,
Following the systematic skein of procedure,
Knit the net,
Produce,
Consume,
Expire,
Produce,
Consume,
Expire,
Knit the net,
Catch me,
Catch me,
Catch me,
Knit the net


I shouldn't be here
                  Where can I find it?
I shouldn't be here
                  Where can I find it?
                                   Will I stop myself?
I shouldn't be here
                  Where can I find it?
                                    Will I stop myself?
                                                      *­Time moves too slow
I shouldn't be here,
                  Where can I find it?
                                    Will I stop myself?
                                                      Ti­me moves too slow
I shouldn't be-





                                                       ­                        And The Sun Goes



Down,
In,
My,
Brown,
Eyes,
Twilight fixation,
The orange star sleeps in the smog,
My mind in its fog,

Here comes the pale ghost eye,
Peaking through his veil,
Midnight fixation,
Staring down,
On my brown eye island

Where I washed ashore

A satellite is watching its ants,
Broadcasting the pixelated sins of your fathers,
Just
     like
         snow
Go on sew,
Sew your seams little one,
All this humanism is bound to bust when you all find yourselves-

Eating cotton

Turn on the television,
I am naked,
I need to hide,
Turn off the lights,
I need darkness,
To abide,
And Babylon is seeping through the screens,
Demean us all,
Demean us all,
As long as I can be seen,
Demean me please,
Ease the curse of this vulnerability,
How do I survive on this tilted planet?
What's the use of living,
If I'm not alive?
Was man meant for this?
All these cages,
My job my house my car my body,
Is anybody conscience of this missing bliss of life?
Who can see,
All
    the
        nakedness
                       like
                        

                            me


The world washes over our bodies
The world washes over our bodies
**The world washes over our bodies

A cold room for puddles of blood,
Yes its true,
My conscience is slowly dripping down my fingertips,
Can you see me becoming the monsters that grow teeth over us?
Listen,
Just listen,
Wolf Queen,
You know I can't give my hands to you,
Matchstick man,
How long will I have to burn away my roots?
How long do we have to burn?
The self destructive gene...
Ashes-
I have no hands to catch the ashes
You know I loved the sound of rain more than the sound of my own pulsing blood,

Dreams spill over these days,
I told you,
When I release the spectrum in my chest,
It would absorb the colors of this world,
Hiding from my own face I,
I have become,

Nothing

I sleep with a ghost,
For it cannot be I that has flesh,
A specter for a dying town,
Memories trapped in dusty pictures,
Scattered everywhere here,
I stood still in this place and watched the movements of decay,
Decay into

Nothing

All my colors are bleeding out
All my colors are bleeding out
All my colors are bleeding out

Stereotypes manifesting always,
(Always)
Trying to form themselves from something once seen,
But not really believing in oneself,
I see ignorance,
I see arrogance,
I see the lack of hunger,
Observing such savage pride of life,
I run from it all into a previous state,
(Anonymity)
I've reached the heights of total in-completion,
I build walls of isolation upon myself,
I am the collateral default of widespread degradation,
I stand in the gap between teeth and consumption,
I am the breed conceived by prey and predator,
Widespread suspended animation: that is our future,
We've tried to replicate the human makeup with mechanical frames,
And the translation of electronic gates,
Yet this is a folly,
For staring at the mirrors of selected life in an artificial environment,
Numbs our lives with emulation and self delusion,
The days of nobility dismantle into fragments and sink to the bottom of the glass,
Never to be turned over again,
Scattered,
Living among remnants of a life once lived with some sort of intensity,
Now smoldered in a quite ferocity of anger beneath the surface,
(Quiet tremors coming in flames)
Because we don't live our dreams,
We stand in the shadows of ruins,
We are afraid of the future,
We are afraid of the past,
Where does that leave us?
Leave me?
I stand on the edge of The Void
I'm holding myself hostage in the self sabotage entourage of the usual suspects,
Our friends, our families,
Disconnected with all intentions of coming together,
Because they die in front of their screens,
Not really living,
Right?
Light pollution massacre...
We'll fall like stars

You make man made gods with your colors and screens
But can you knit hearts with holding hands?
No
For you are far from the keys that turn to open these doors
To slay the selfish dragon
And behold the wisdom of selflessness
This is to become humility