Drink in hand, and a perfect face
An empty glass is just a disgrace
Conversation is simply asinine
Like a vulture sipping on wine
Just waiting to begin the feast
But the beast is slow in dying
Ignoring the soul that's crying
Talking to the hand, instead of the fist
Never would the words flow like this
We'll always have this at least
No cease to the lesson learned
That emotions are not earned
They're drunk from the deepest well
Spilling into a levy, where they dwell
Mayhap the chatter will surcease
Silence is achieved in rotating worlds
In a universe of unspoken words
When realistically all that will matter
Is this dizzying, inane chatter
*Where only syllables will decrease

I check my followers every day
and when the clock turns back
it makes my heart sink

because it's not that I think
that I've been unfollowed
I certainly don't think that
no, as my clock ticks backwards it's
because who I follow also declines
by each tock, according to the stats

So yeah,
every time I lose a follower
my heart shrivels inside my chest
because another person I admire
has laid down their pen to rest

How many of you here counted
your last moment?
How many of you wondered if
your last breath breathed would be
the moment you would own it?

How many of you published words
as if it would be the last you write?
How many here read those words?
Hugging them long into the night?

How many of you tried to say
exactly what you feel, but failed?
How many times did you edited it
every single word, every line?
Just to post it so it was unveiled?

How many times did you refresh
the words that you have lied?
How many times have you typed
every tear that you have cried?

How many times did you say
I love you in a thousand letters
As many times as it takes you
to make the world seem better

Your poetry is as important
as the balm upon a soul
Your words caught upon a page
*are a literal bomb

Its been a long time since
I had anything important to say.
Still don’t.
The focus that writing requires
is distant,
fog-like and out of reach.
I feel it misty on my skin sometimes.
I turn my hand around and its spirit
touches me softly, tenderly.
I feel it held up in silence.  
It is brief and then its gone,
or I go, or both,
and then the sun burns bright
and the clock runs fast
forward through the day
like an hourglass where
the ringing in my ears
is the roaring of the sand
through the gap,
and though it is contained,
it brings down with it everything
my mind cannot hold onto….
  
There is no focus.
Mainly guilt,
but I catch a glimpse  
once in a while in the mist,

and when the mist is on my skin
there is no roaring through the gap

rather drifting, slow,
methodical as intended…..

Just not very often

don't you ever try to peg me
into your narrow little view
I'll change shapes, so as not to fit
and lay back, just to watch you
scream and shout,
foam at the mouth,
let expletives fly
just to leave me lie
discarded,
unworthy of a place
an unwanted puzzle piece
manufactured to take up space

don't you ever try to label me
I'm not a 99 cent basement bargain
my million dollar price tag got lost
inside your uninteresting jargon

don't you try to pin me
as a monument to your prowess
this butterfly has learnt how to lie
becoming a dragonfly under duress

don't you ever try to change me
I'm resistant to heat and *******
I'm resistant to your loquaciousness
a never ending river of it

don't you ever pigeonhole
the gregarious of my effervescence
nor tunnel upon my vision
because when you understand it
we'll both just be stuck
*inside the same prison

Should I just walk away
or should I just pretend
that others will know the way
and I'll make it to the end
If. I. Follow. Them
Am I just a sheep
or representive of the people
do I bleet with power
or am I just a sheeple?
That minority that herds forward
seeking single blades of grass
to munch on arbitorial
swallowing questions not asked

How. Come. It. Cuts. Like. Glass?

am I misrepresented
by the shame of not being focused
missing the road to everlasting
Salvation

my ticket says I'm on a one way trip

to *Hell and Damnation