Why do you think the ****'s burned books?
Without books,
there is no humanity,
no mental escape from the agony
brought upon
by soulless
killing machines
in suits.

I try to open my mouth,
letters bouncing around my tongue and teeth so they can form the perfect words.
I try to save my perfect words
for perfect moments
and perfect people,
but when my perfect time comes,
the universe is quick to remind me
that I am most certainly not perfect.
You see, I try to make myself believe that I can form a hurricane from my mouth,
that I can stand and stomp
and force waves to crash along the shore so you can hear the ocean...
As if I could be as intense as a hurricane
or as precious as a seashell that you hold against your ear.
I try to make myself believe that I could be the covers that keep you warm at night,
the blanket you hold tight against your skin
when ice is forming at your window
and the heater isn't on again because the bill is so **** high.
I try to make myself believe that I could be a photograph you keep in a shoe box,
the kind of photo you've hidden from the world,
not because it's bad,
but because it's this beautiful secret
and you want to keep it all to yourself.
It's always there to look at on dark nights,
this picture of a girl you used to know.
This picture is all you have left of her.
A photo that makes you so happy you cry,
but then you realize they are not just tears of joy,
because although it is too hard to admit sometimes,
you miss your past
you miss how everything was supposed to work out
and how you used to be king of the playground
but now you are just king of a one-bedroom apartment with a toilet that doesn't always flush.
I try to make myself believe that I could be hope.
I could be what makes you say,
"Hey,
this really isn't so bad."
...These words that I spit onto the floor will stick to your shoes when you get up to walk away,
and maybe they will stay there.
You will walk with them all across town-
step on gas pedals, stomp on ants.
I can believe my words belong on shoes,
side notes
blueprints
in unimportant categorizations that your mind will cast off as history and erase in your sleep.
I can believe that my words are like the paper airplanes I strung to my ceiling-  
Most of the time I don't even remember they exist...
but every once in a while,

I look up.

How easy my thoughts are lost
in you and simpler still my body pulled
into you held down by the weight
of the earth I’ve filled my pockets
with. I push my way into this welcoming
water’s body. I do not want to go,
but the ocean’s thundering applause
and its frigid love under my toes
sweeps me off my feet
as waking gulls
mourn the triumph of the sea.

I stare at her across the bar, between the bottles covering the worn out stained oak
varnish tarnished, wood soaked
from years
of ashed out cigarettes and spilt beers
slopped spirits from over zealous cheers
she's younger than I imagined, aged as a fine wine
her eyes locked on mine
I see the solar system, galaxies
surrounding the
pupils blacker than the abyss of the outer reaches of space
a lovely contrast to the lightness of her face
I pull up a seat beside her trying to spark a conversation
on life, nature, hopes for modern civilization or even space exploration
she says "quiet now my son, patience"
you're to focused on what you're saying
without hearing what you're conveying
her hand pressed to my heart and she said 43 beats I remember
39 when you sleep, but 84 when you're tempered
I asked her the significance
she said it's all about the difference
how my world is at peace when I am asleep
but pointless rage forces the increase
this life can go no faster
and you will know no master
so focused on breaking the mold, or shattering the plaster
when we really need the subtle hand to make the cast first
she said you see me all in your own ways
I saw her as a woman, soft eyes with a caring face
for no man knows the subtle intricacies and nuances that make living worth the fight
I met god in a bar, she walked me home in the beautiful night
we spoke of love, happiness and the pursuit  of this life...

Standing lonely in a crowd
Feelings severed, screaming loud;
Heart rejected, growing cold
Trusting ways begin to fold

Waking eyes find life revealed,
Wonder when the dirge was pealed;
Love was captured, tears ran wild
From the young but learning child

Finding life like solitaire
Some that need but none that care,
Most that take but none that give
All that die and none that live

Reaching out to no one there
Leaving all your feelings bare;
Soon to nothing they will grind
Leaving but a shell behind

Looking ’round this empty sea
Battered shells stand facing me,
Standing near but none in reach
Each alone on private beach

I.
My first in first grade
I carved your name in my desk
I hope it's still there.

II.
Made class valentines
Required for everyone
But mine was special.

III.
You begged the teacher
To sit by me on the bus
With a great big smile.

IV.
The first who wanted
To take me out for dinner
But it was a joke.

V.
Dedicated song
I can no longer hear it
Without thought of you.

VI.
You never said it
But your eyes always told me
You had wanted more.

VII.
You dated my friend
And I never told you how
Much I adored you.

VIII.
Playful like a child
But mature like an adult
So interesting.

IX.
You asked me to prom
Yellow flowers for friendship
That's all I wanted.

X.
You said you loved me
I loved you like a brother
It would never work.

XI.
You swore up and down
You had changed for the better
You didn't, first kiss.

XII.
Late walks on campus
Never saw me with makeup
We were so natural.

XIII.
Eyes found each other
"I don't forget pretty girls"
you whispered to me.

XIV.
I fell quickly, hard
But you still loved someone else
A girl with my name.

XV.
A friend of a friend
Texting non-stop everyday
Going nowhere fast.

XVI.
Liked me from the start
Bruised and broken, I do care
But not in that way.

XVII.
The piano man
It was all right but timing
One that got away.

XVIII.
We tried to fight time
Thinking that you were ready
Left us with heartache.

The lake is colored a hue of purple, even though the retina is deprived of blue.
Freedom to swim, yet choosing not to.
Choosing to eat, although mandatory.
Funny how the world works. Especially while dreaming.


Wake up at 8, feeling like the amount in my pocket.
2 dollars and 47 cents. Illegally consumed.

Breakfast at 9, ****** eggs again. We eat in silence.

After breakfast I am forced to the yard, forced to smoke, with no gun to my head.

Run run, shoot, steal. Basketball used to be fun.

1 oclock, and I decide to read. Not much choice on activities, but a crate full of books to read. Yet what's the point?
Why fill my mind with wild dreams? Wishing the problems of the protagonists were my own?

The cell is colored a hue of gray, and yes my retinas can manage.
Freedom to think, no choice but to.
Choosing to eat, but why not?
Funny how prison works, especially when it's reality.

Wake up at 7, the nap was delicious.
Pockets are empty, and with two cigarettes to show for it.

Dinner at 8. Oh **** it, its the same **** every day.
Sleep by 9.