These words...
They traverse the fine line between earth and sky.
They dwell not, surface-deep in the dirt.
They be haloed not, as the chorus of heaven.

They're just murmurs that swim intangible.
Like reticulated wisps of smoke.
Incapable of materialising...
Or take definite forms on their own.

They only await to be carefully selected,
rearranged and harnessed into a jar...
Before being sealed infinite with a title.

Be quiet and still...
For you will hear them.
Milling and floating in the silence
that exists between your heartbeats.

Listen close...
For they are fragments of you
and the universe.
They're thoughts and feelings that come awake
as you slumber.

Awaiting to be selected...
Awaiting to be rearranged...
Awaiting to be harnessed...

By you,
the conduit with a pen.

me, fate, and uncertainty
we're a trio you know.
fate introduced me at first,
and i really was hesitant to know her-
but uncertainty is fine with me

you apologize when i let you ramble on
about  god, the stars, why you're here and our purpose
all i see is your soul and i don't think i can
understand why apology is due because
the more i see of your soul and idea of
sense of worth and significance to our blind world,
the more i want to break down this silly facade
and the happier i am to see through your skin.

I have a secret!
But you'll never know!
I find it amusing,
But won't let it show.

You see, life is puzzling
And I aim to be
The most puzzling person
I could ever be.

I won't let them spill,
(these thoughts in my head)
For no one will know them
Until I am dead!

Do not be afraid
I don't mean to say
That I am a danger
Or I am insane.

But I still can't say,
It's all locked away!
I'll hand you a note when
You drop by my wake!

You are the rose with fake petals
You are the diamonds worth less than lipsticks

You are the Converse with untied laces
You are the Svedka mixed with tears

You are the jacket that was thrifted,
You are the star with a light switch

You are the angel with foam wings,
You are the unseen thorn in the garden

You are the cigarette smoke that drifts
You are the needles in the dear sewing kit

You are the duchess of comfortable silence
You are the countess of disclusion

You are the sweetest pill in the box,
but the most bitter drink in the afternoon