The pen is heavier than expected,
dragging on the page,
requiring more effort,
ruining the wondrous beauty of being effortless.

Epicurus beating through my head,
creating The Garden,  I ponder through happiness,
admiring how he can simply be peace of mind,
and how striving to be him feels completely mindless.

Waking up through a coma,
into a nightmare,
questioning reality, dripping with fear,
but ever so slowly becoming fearless.

Because embracing the idea of non-existence,
like you embrace the thought that maybe somebody loves you,
believing in that empty space makes sense,
creating the realm of possible, the realm of love, of senseless.

Language is what links us with anyone, and anything,
human beings merge the world of word with the physical,
so when you are experiencing great pain,
remember you are always in control,  to create the realm of painless.

there's a slam of a front door
that sends a signal to my lungs
to tell them that they need nicotine
and another to the dry throat that
says it's time for a cup of coffee

i conduct a symphony of
slowly getting out of bed

taking the first sip of coffee
always reminds me of that
first kiss we shared on
new years at midnight,
i knew i would regret it

lately, the drinks i pour in
the evening feel worse than
a burnt tongue, because it
slides down my throat, into the
into the stomach, into the veins,
into the brain that usually tells me
do not think about this tonight but

i am drunk
i am obsessive
i am harmless

i have grown so exhausted of
always being the wrong kind of
brave

Men went happily to death
But they were not the men
Who marched
For years
Up to the line.
These rode a few times
And were gone
Leaving a heritage of obscene song.

My son runs, wrapping arms around
my nebulous waist.

"l love you, Mom!"  He squeezes tighter,
as if letting go would be his black hole.

"I love you, too, " I squeeze back, absent mindedly.  (Where is the cream? I need coffee.)

"I love you more!" he breathes, without pause.
He gazes into my eyes,
searching my planets.

"Oh no, that can't be true," I retort.
I forget the coffee, his eyes are starlight.

"I love you to infinity!" he exclaims,
staring harder.

He wants to sail the Milky Way with me.

"Me too," I reply, and remember oxygen tanks.

I'm speaking in light years, and I hope the sound waves will catch up to him.

His face cracks into a million years of forever, before he lets go,
dancing across the universe of our livingroom,
his solar system intact.

At least for now.

He holds the strings to my every move
Makes have to win, never lose
Those blue ribbons up on my wall,
Weren't worth the work, or the fall
The trophies lined up in a row
Weren't worth the mental blows
The 144 gold medals hanging still
Weren't worth the adrenaline, or thrill
Because he's the puppet master,
He's holding  all of my strings
Gotta win it, be number one
Anything less than the best and I'm shunned

We are all burning at both ends.
Some more than others,
On the clock we must depend.
Let's hide under covers
and never give in.
Let me wear your bad days.
Celebrate you when you win.
It makes for a beautiful dance.
A Childish romance.
It all depends on more than just happenstance.
It's the kind of work you carry in your spine.
"The back breaking, soul fulfilling, leave me supine" kind.
You know it's something worth it when it transcends time.
Like if we could just have this forever, we would be fine.
I never want to give up what must have taken all my lives
to find. Something that is truly one of a kind.