The dissonance of your resonating
image haunts my memory.
A drifter in dimensions,
the prevention that kept me from you,
was myself and my trajectory.
Not a man then
but some other lesser mess of a soul.
At first,
with your plasma torch of a self,
you took my hands.
I was left laying still in the dirt,
with my eyes to see and my mouth
to taste the horrid flavor of our tango.
As well as my heart to feel
and my mind to think
but this would be a schism of my senses.
Succubi eventually take them all.
At least all the ones that matter.
Then she kicked me out to Cosmos.
I was flattered at the beginning,
when you told me you loved me.
But now,
I'm drifting into the darkness of space
with my environmental suit,
that protects me forever.
Wandering and Unaffected.
I need a resurrection.

Deep out on the rim of the galaxy
there lies a tiny place
that no one knows about.
It’s the place where all good things come from.
All the generations of and for love
and kindness and bliss and forgiveness
root at its source.
It is the ultimate destination
among our solar heavens.
Try to imagine a lost vessel,
isolated and tired,
hiccuping between the suns,
then finding the Great Milky Way's secret place of joy.
Our undisclosed place of love.
The place we all forgot.
Earth.
These occupants of the ship would be lost to reveling
at our earthly capacities for tenderness.
OH, the total bliss they all must feel!
Ahh,
be careful now you.
I've gone and caught you being optimistic.
Try to remember this solid truth.  
Equally hidden in the stars,
there is a place of evil.
One where the tempted souls
and sinners place their geneses.
A place of desperation and angst
and fear and segregation.
There is always a little a yin to the yang.
There is no one with out the other.

The time of crisis had us distressing the meaning
of each syllable in our dialect.
Im such a derelict.
The stasis I’m stuck in
had me believing the worst of it all.
Crushing.
Flushing and re-brushing
the paint on the distorted canvas,
which was our lives.
Ten lines and a million problems.
Pay attention to your symbols
never ignore them.
Dreams were made from sinners,
but the streams of time make all things thinner.
All things end in rugged ways.
When the tall bell rings,
only broken brothers stay.
With wretched tales of quarrels,
no barrels of whiskey can calm the bay.

Its totally deceiving,
the tales of the meaning of life.
Grow up,
go to school,
get a job,
work hard,
play hard,
pay your taxes,
and especially die hard.
But still my brain is running slower
than my online connection speeds.
So slow.
I ended the day spent and tired,
and filled with wasted deeds.
Bitter?
Maybe.
But who faults a man
for defining himself through his actions.
Ogling at the universe,
and simply breathing.
Meditation keeps me sane.


As you can probably tell,
my strife continues effortlessly.
Sliding down an icy road
with no chains
and my brakes at full.
When the tree comes to slam me,
I'll be ready.

So long foggy atmosphere.
Hello reality?
Is this really it?
The life I believed I’d lead was far greater.
The lord of kings,
or the sultan of squat?  
A hoard of useless things,
and a chest wound
that was mustered
from a buck shot.
The timing was perfect,
as was the definition,
no,
AMMUNITION
that I tattooed on my chest.

Truth.

"I failed to believe anyone and this is what it got me?"
"What?!"

Man I need to rethink this strategy.
The majesty of thy cunning has left my soul beside itself.
And I beseech your attention, cuz.
Well,
because
I need you now.

Ok.
Real talk now.
I've totally been thinking,
for way too long.
How the sorrow of my life,
has had me becoming
the demon that I learned of
while I was a child.
Redo the birth scene.
Cut.
Action.
I cut off my last hair doo with a razor.
Then the Taser of said fictions
divide my molecular compositions
into fractions of myself.

And that’s exactly the person I don’t believe.
Myself.
Me.
I.

Define that one for me again Mr. Fromm,
the nature of man,
me,
the man who acts so honestly.

The hero,
or the villain.
I don’t ******* care.
But I'll bare the scab
for all my wounds.
And each time I fall,
I pick my fractions back up
and redevise.

I saw you the first time at my minimum wage  job.
Vibrant and curly.
Every moment started slowing down
and as I counted the minutes you faded away.
With a big beautiful smile of course.
But no longer there.
Then after you left my sight
another image persisted.
One of you walking back into my store.
Nothing more.
But this image was long out of reach.

The second time I saw you I forgot to get your number.
I consider myself a fool for this,
but you were still standing
and looking at me.
Absolutely straight into my eyes.
I could hardly make your sandwich.
The eyes of my throbbing soul.
Without the hustly bustle of my own mentality,
I would have taken you to Mars right then and there.
With all your curly hair.
And all your ******* smiles.
My earnings for the biweekly pay
couldnt surmount the glory
that is your absolute stunningness.