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I had a bad day.
One of those that
started while
I was sleeping.

Shaking hands
and a heart racing
like the horses
in the Kentucky Derby.

I kept my mind blank,
on purpose, you know.
How is it that
all of a sudden,
every bad memory
comes to mind and
turns me into

This day is odd.
Everything off.
Someone looks at me.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, I am."
It's a small lie, but that
is the answer they expect.

They don't want to know
anything, except
that everything is okay.
They don't want
to know
the bad things.
Because that makes
them uncomfortable.

The sort of
that makes you itch.

I roll, and
take a ****.
I smoke my
closest friend.
You know the one.

I forget the bad,
I float in space,
and watch that someone
stumble and fall.
Too much to drink.

I prefer nature
to help me with my
bad days.
He fell from a shooting star,

Dust from angels' wings

Falling from his hair.

His eyes reflected the sun,

Burning bright

From his soul shone the night,

Still, quiet, and tranquil

His heart was the wild,

All fierce and patient

And I fell for him,

Thirsty for his

Pure existence

Of being
We'll walk hand in hand

in a field of daisies

each whispering

their little secrets

to the wind.

The willow tree

beyond us dances

in it's own trance

that we try to understand

by kissing the bark.

A geometric heart

has been carved


where we share "I love you's".

Beauty waves

from the sky

and no matter what eyes

behold it,

It is beautiful

and wonderful and

full of bliss that we might

burst into

fireworks of stars,

and now we can

make the night shine too.
endless, monolithic
desert roads
stretch far,
like a rug
rolling it's tongue
out for sandals,
the car boiling
and windows blowing
cool air,
like the wind
trying to
become stronger
than the sun,
and the song
croons lyrics
into my ear,
like it can delete
the silence in the
rest of the world.
he walked
a dusty path,
weary feet,
squinted eyes searching
through the horizon
of a sun burning low.

flower petals
of memories fell
softly to his feet.

there is nothing
beautiful here,
except the whispered
that he breathed softly
upon those delicate petals

let them drift away
onto the wind.
a blue jay
paints circles
along a million
silver lined clouds
hovering over trees
like a musky mist
of love.
my tongue
on the glass
sketching a kiss
except you are as
warm as the live
blue jay
painting circles
along a million
silver lined clouds.
There is a million
in this auditorium
that is meant
only for one
and I am in the
spotlight in the back

of limelights
in the grim
of attention
...wide eyed stares
from ghosts in the walls

and amongst the million
I am
quite ignored.
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