I’ll probably just take a walk through the stars like I would a field of wheat.
Run my fingers over the reeds of starlight protruding from a time long dead.
Spend a day with the sun. Take a nap on our quiet moon.
Then I’d like to awaken in an ancient forest by a silver waterfall.
To build a fire. So if you should ever want to find me.

I never got that sunset with you and now my skin feels heavy. Auburn moons and crimson leaves, yes. Not one sunset though. Dragging my quill like an oxen with its plow, my hands as blind as they are always seem to find you.
Tell me again. While I can still hear you. As if it were a whisper from the other room. That something you say from under your breath because the power that keeps you from saying it is failing you.
It feels bound at times. As if hindered by barbed wire. Like a lamb that was frightened by the storm only to find itself ensnared. The more it struggles, the worse it gets.

Just prop me up against the fire and pour me a drink.
My seraphim gave up on me today.
She couldn’t stand the cold any longer.
Hence the blood and broken glass.
She covered herself with the first pair of wings.
Told me where to go.
Unfurled her other two wings.
Took off like a **** in the wind.
And I'm pretty sure she stole my butts.
Because I can’t find them.
She said something.
Something about futility.
Practice something.
Oh. That’s right.
She said I'm a practice in futility.
In the distance there I can still see the fallen windmills and burning bridges.
A stray dog stole my last shoe.
Cerberus I think it was.
After Pan tied me to this post.
He said they didn’t know what to do with me.
That’s when I gave it all away.
So when you find me.
Tied to this post here beside the river of fire.
No shoes, bitter, and with nothing to validate who I am.
Just know.
My seraphim left me today.
And I’m positive she stole my butts.

We could say we’re here and there when we are not together.
On each other's minds regardless of the whether.
We should be side by side or a thousand miles apart.
If ever I should need you, I need only touch my heart.

I like to imagine each new day is like a fresh page in a book.
As the day starts it’s spiral down the drain, I rarely hold the quill.
I’ve always kinda just let it do it’s thing.
Because I didn’t care.
At the end of the day I skim back over the page.
I don’t read it, the events of the day are of no matter to me.
I’m just looking for your name.
As long as when I look, I can find you there.
I don’t have to tear that page out.

And just as the morning sun forages through the forest floor.
Like it’s looking for a dropped contact lense.
So too I, a mercenary of reason. Waking and trudging through each day.
Starved for purpose. Understanding.
Instead I’m asked to just choke it down. The hypocrisy, the indignant righteous illusion of free will.
Tongue scraped with charcoal. To the point I question whether or not.
Would it not serve me better to just bite down on my own throat?
To clench my teeth and pull back just far enough to watch the light fade from my eyes.
A poem like the ghost of a memory that was never real. Floats just out of reach.

I envy the preacher and shaman. I envy their faith and their flock.
Those deluded non sensical *******, just running down time on the clock.

I adore the rabbi and lama, the beards and the tans are the tops.
And whenever I want to party, the imam is pulling no stops.

They live in worlds of certainty, where convictions are set in stone.
While I’ve been somehow left to wander my world all alone.

While others were able to forgive a world that can’t be rationalized.
I got stuck, became enamored, and now I’m pasteurized.

So I’ll laugh until my eyes bleed from staring at the sun.
And if we meet again one day we’ll say “yeah well that was fun”.

There runs a path just to the north where wrinkled giants stand.
A thorny worm as it were that yields upon a river.
There’s not much light along the way.
It’s too sad a place for the sun.
Ancient ghosts whisper their tales along the riverbanks.
There are those that visit here once.
The sad ones.

They tell me to write what I know.
Pen out the feelings inside.
Well I’ve been holding this quill and smoking all night.
And I think that I’ve already died.

It’s like reaching into a vase.
And finding nothing is there.
Cold blind hands scraping the walls of nighttime in a bottle.
What’s worse is I can’t even care.

So I put the vase outside to soak.
And watch it grow cold in the sun.
In the fall it fills of death, in the summer it’s colors will fade.
And sadly no where to run.

A moment unknowingly waits.
This vase will surely break.
From water and mud it came, to ash and dust it’ll be.
It suffered for sufferings sake.

Fingers dragged kicking and screaming across an illuminated dance floor as if this were some new age line dancing competition for people who have no idea what they’re doing.
That’s what this is.
It’s like being asked to sculpt out a scene from MacBeth in jello using a chainsaw after doing blow with a hyena who has a grudge against HR over the comprehensive dental plan.
Do you see where I’m going with this?

Candle wax and sweaty backs
Empty packs of butts
Balled up pants, and a passing glance
What more could there possibly be

Empty bottles the hard **** waddle
And the chicken got left out
Your kid is crying, I’m over here dying
Surely we are blessed

A morning beer dost make things clear
Underneath that callous sun
A new day calls I scratch my *****
Truly this is heaven

My heart has grown quite heavy and I’ll like to lay it down.
To leave it here amongst the wood, on the moss by the stream.
To bask in what light finds its way between the leaves and branches.
Where the ravens watch the wolves who watch the moon.
Where eyes like emeralds caught in the light of a dead star.
I could leave it with her. And she could keep it company.
Though I won’t come back for it.

So then I told her I toss off dolphins as part of my charity work.
She talked about her ex, the pastor, and I said that he’s a ****.
Her sweaty calloused hands then seized upon my thigh.
I know it’s called vitiligo but her face just looked like rye.
The night was going swimmingly so I ordered another drink.
I put it on her tab again and asked about her kink.
She said she’d like to have dumpster *** and probably get chinese.
I scattered soiled diapers down so she wouldn’t hurt her knees.
We ordered teriyaki sticks and I think she got chow mein.
I took a cab and let her walk as she said she liked the rain.
Back at her apartment she was over thirty minutes late.
I said she owed me **** and there would be no more debate.
Well I didn’t like the **** and I probably wasn’t very clear.
So that’s why I’m in the hospital, now tell me why are you in here.

We’re coming close to the end of things, of things I’d like to say.
Here’s a list of some of those things I said before I pass away.
I called an old woman a **** one time for reasons that are my own.
I don’t regret it not one lil bit and let’s just leave it alone.
I once told a small child I’d cut off his face and use it to wipe my ***.
But to be fair he was stirring my scotch but he went and chipped the glass.
Then there was that time in church when I said “what in the **** is a ******”.
Or that time I told my girl that I might as well go **** a sturgeon.
The end.
Don’t forget to tip the coat check girl. She’s homeless and afraid of homeless people.

I don’t want your help.
I want you to help them.
So that there’s no one like me left to help.

Next time.
Next time someone says “I love you”.
Ask them why.
If they say something to the effect of
“because you make me feel blah blah blah”.
Run.
They’re looking for something that makes them feel a particular way.
So it’s not you they love, they love the feeling you bring about in themselves.
If someone says “you make me feel warm, safe, and happy”.
Well then you can be replaced with a blanket, a gun, and a bag of ****.

It’s not your job to make someone feel a certain way.
Love is a constant unconditional thing.
It’s not hindered by feelings.
Feelings are flawed, ever changing, and easily misconstrued.

Actual love is evident in the giving.
The giving of yourself.
You have a garden of flowers.
You love this garden.
So you devote time to it.
You nurture it, support it.
You’re giving of yourself regardless of how you feel in the moment.
The garden becomes as much a part of you as you do it.
It can’t go on as it is without you and you can’t let it die.

It’s ok.
I know her.
I’ve known her all my life.
She told me she’d wait.
Though if I ever needed her,
I need only die.

I hear her when the pain in my heart rouses my sleep.
A soft whisper as if from another room.
“Jamison”
Her breath curls up around my neck and falls down over me.
It’s a warm sleep she offers.
An end to my pain.

Were you to ever take me there, to that place you find yourself
In the darkness amongst the rows of pines like terracotta soldiers
Bioluminescent dragonflies floating wistfully through the mist
Ensnaring sapphire streams of fire cold and hungry
Sleepless hours wandering aimlessly throughout
I’d ask only to stay a while longer
If it meant I could know you more

Where the wind runs it’s fingers through the fresh grass of spring
Or those moments of solace to which we all cling

Where the waters are warm to touch with cloud capped dunes
And fireflies play under soft crescent moons

Where the mist gathers and turns the world cold and grey
When you think of that night, that story, that day

That’s where you’ll find me if you’d fancy a chat
Just look inside
I’m where you’re at

The harshest of realities
Is when you realize
They feel the same way about you
As you do

There might come a time when you think of me
If so, put the sun to my back.
Can you see me?
Am I smiling?
Just remember, it’s probably because I’m there with you.
Reveling in the moment.
You meant so much to me,
I hope you knew that.
I’m just going to leave you with this lil message.

I miss you too.

I don’t have anyone to write for, or to-
I do my best writing when it’s inspired
So now it’s just muscle memory.
If I don’t write my fingers will go on strike.
I think they’re sad though, like me
They know that with no one to write to
It’s all in vain
Unfortunately, it’s all they know how to do.
They don’t get held.
So, they write.
If for no other reason than spite.
They write.

I do not fear death
It’s widening jaws await
Evermore
Nor do I fear time
Cells die off like stars
Evermore
I bring my own pain
Self wrought and nourished
Evermore
Tis but a thought
That weakens my resolve
Evermore
A moment between
Love and hate
Evermore
Where my hands shake
And terror takes hold
Evermore
When I imagine you
Know how I feel
Evermore

An obsidian lake lit up by white fire before an army of cypress trees.
That seem as though they marched upon this lake only to company halt at its beauty.
So awe struck by the depth of this void.
They failed to notice they were sinking into the marsh on the lakes brim.
Now stationed here until time consumes them.
Wisps of clouds skate upon the onyx surface until called upon by the sun.
The silence here collides into the chorus songs of the frogs, the birds, and the wind through the trees.
Fireflies, aglow with a cold light, dance with their reflections along the shoreline.
A fish jumps and the ripples approach like waves of black satin.
A crescent moon glides across the celestial sea like an ethereal swan.
In the waters flawless reflection of the heavens one feels trapped between two galaxies.
Just, just leave me here.

I should be able to tap out.
That’d be nice.
If I could just place my hand over my heart. Give it three quick taps.

Do not praise your children.
For I ask you what have they done?
Have they accomplished some great task?
What battles have they won?

They’re weak and insufferable creatures.
Riddled with stupidity.
I’d just assume have a yak.
Then a child here next to me.

I saw one once out on a farm.
Crying and wailing away.
If I hadn’t had found that well.
It would have gone on all day.

My friend had one, a girl I think.
It did nothing but ***** and ****.
Then it would laugh like a demon I say.
Until it latched onto a ***.

Horrendous monsters these children are.
They only want and whine.
Consuming all that was good on earth.
And breaking what is mine.

All those words overhead
Are simply just untrue
Not a day goes by that I don’t stop
And smile when I think of you

I wake up with a cigarette clinging to my lips like a wee man hanging from a cliff.
I relieve him momentarily by swilling a beer.
I peel myself off my leg and hope my aim is true.
If my leg starts getting wet.
I know something’s off.
General Tso stops in for breakfast whilst I judge the breast of the weather *****.
Fill up the worlds tiniest salad bowl before setting fire to it.
My eyes redden like morning suns before an afternoon storm.
There was something I was suppose to do today.
Or was it yesterday?
I’m hoping tomorrow never gets here so that I don’t have to stress about whatever it was I forgot.
Imagine that?
Wishing for death as opposed to having a memory return.
**** yeah.
Cast some thoughts into the ether, burn a bridge, and stare into the sun for a while.
One more cigarette before bed.
One more night alone.

I’m not good
Or
Evil
Nor am I drunk
Or
Sober
I just am

So check this out.
I go to this bar one night.
Usual place I’d avoid because I just couldn’t imagine there’d be anything for me there.
I’m scanning the place like I’m secret service
And I see her
It was like my heart had seen a ghost.
I’m talking straight ****** and Shaggy a “gh gh gh gh ghost!”
Everything in me just came to a screeching halt.
And none of it was wearing a seat belt.
So it came rushing forward hitting me in the back of my head.
It wasn’t so much how she looked.
Her smile, her ***, none of that non-sense.
It was just her.
Save for every molecule in my body simultaneously exploding at the speed of light; nothing was going to stop me from meeting her.
As cringe as it reads in text as it does to hear it in person, it was magnetic.
I made no presumptions about her.
I didn’t need to.
Because from somewhere, from some point in time. I knew her.
Whether we died in a tragic gondola accident somewhere in the Alps back in the 60’s.
Or perhaps we were banging in a clay pit in Pompeii when Vesuvius erupted.
I don’t know.
The draw to know her, was, is, and will probably be the strongest force I’ve ever felt.
Every second I spent around her was what I imagine walking in space is like.
Just surrounded by starlight, breathlessly in awe.
My will didn’t survive that adventure,
and that’s ok.
I’ll be alright.
Would I go back?
Would I do it all again?
Does ****** want a ****** Snack?

I was never there with you
Where you were
I couldn’t go
Far away I roamed
Through ancient forest
Haunted by stories
Of things that are gone forever
Over rivers of sunlight
And blue deserts
I’d wander tirelessly
Until I found someplace
Echoless and boundless
Where I could be alone
To think about you

I want to burn it all down but I don’t want the responsibility
To laugh at a joke I didn’t hear while drinking from an empty cup
To see her again for the first time and then never again
I’d consume her from the within and never shat her out
Wherein did I leave myself?
The old me.
Under that bridge
Still waiting for the storm to pass
He’ll die there, if he hasn’t already
To hear Fur Elise once more
Under an August moon
I’d die to live in the heart of another
What good is there in good if apathy is king and are we out of maple syrup

Some of us write from the heart
Some of us from the head
The thing we all have in common
Is one day we’ll all be dead

So we put our thoughts to words
Penning our woes and such
Silently screaming into the night
Using poetry as a crutch

If you’re lucky someone will hear you
Your words might strike a tone
Though most of us will go unnoticed
Forever remaining alone

A genuine person, wouldn’t be a genuine person.
People, whether as a group or as individuals are disingenuous.
It’s a human thing.
You see.
We’re a fairly young species.
You must keep this in mind when dealing with us.
You’d think that having been around for thousands of years,
we would’ve learned a thing or two.
We figured out the technical stuff.
We went to the moon, cured polio, and found the goats ****** is very similar to ours.
Though, that’s about it…..figuratively speaking.
Though when it comes to being better versions of ourselves.
We kinda threw the baby out with the bath water, into the trash, off to the dump, and set it on fire.
You see.
Despite our extremely advantageous position in the tree of life.
We're not very high up,
ethically speaking.
It’s because we are so young.
And stupid
**** are we stupid
I don’t know if there’ll ever be a world
where we treat each other with unbiased kindness.
Champion empathy and compassion.
Crave honesty unto ourselves and others.
And abolish The Red Hot Chili Peppers because **** if they aren’t just awful.
It’s a nice thought though,
isn’t it?
Kind of like how an **** where everyone pronounces you the king and you get cake and balloons fall from the sky and **** all your enemies, is a nice thought.
Tis all it is though.
Still,
one day we might get there.
Hope springs eternal.

The snow was deep but she had found the sacred burial plot
An ancient granite archway over a tomb that read only Cain
She looked up at the crescent goddess and closed her eyes
Embers arose from the ground and danced about her
She whispered her spells fluidly and a fog crept in from the moors
Her freshly sharpened teeth bite her lip until blood spills
Whispering one last spell she takes a smile upon herself
The stones supporting the archway begin to fall out of place
Embers brighter than before envelop her arching form
She feels a surge of warmth emanating from her core
Granite falls and breaks, the smell of rot permeates the air
She collapses to the ground her red dress splayed out
A dark figure emerges from the shadow of the tombs embrace
It draws a deep breath to take in its new time and world
Kneeling down beside the beautiful raven haired woman
It traces its ashy finger down her cheek to her lips
Long had its hunger suffered against itself in vain
Her neck slightly throbbing with every faint breath
The silhouette of her body like the angels who dance with fire
A shimmering of moonlight catches its eye against its will
A gold clasp on a leather bag she’d brought along with her
Securing the bag to itself it found amongst the items currency
It took the gold and stood up before dropping the purse on her face
Then went up the road to Dairy Queen for a chili dog
It met some tourist and got a ride into town on their way through
It set about the next night feasting on  virginal blood
Forgetting all about the lady back at the tomb
And it lived happily ever after

I’ve read about it.
Seen it in the movies.
Watched other people experience it.
Somehow
I got left out.
They told me I would.
They said it was because I could never matter.
I thought about that for a long time.
While other kids were playing.
I was walking around wondering.
Why?
For a while there I thought that surely someone would come along.
A person to whom my existence would mean something.
Instead I got the four horsemen.
To whom I loved as deeply as I could.
I raged hard against the tides that sought to hold me back.
To prove myself worthy.
In the end.
No matter what I did, I was still of no matter.
I watched from the gutter as the four them made their ways.
My days are closing in on me.
I’ve isolated myself.
I know now I’ll never know how.
Or why.
So I’ve gone from wondering to wandering.
Up and down the cavernous halls of my thoughts.
I still have questions.
That can’t be answered.
Idiotic, insipid, nonsensical, cringeworthy questions.
What is it like to be loved? To be wanted around? To be desired? To be cared for?
To matter?
Someone once told me.
“It’s like feeling the sun on your skin, even when it’s raining.”
I’ve been cold for so long.
I didn’t even know being warm was an option.

Here’s the vig where nihilism is concerned. You have to learn to live with unanswered questions.
Because, the answers don’t matter any more than the questions.

Nonetheless, here I am.
Bowl in hand.
A lil orange fire flares up every time I want to forget.
It’s become my truth
My only truth

Oh woe is the heart that is denied that which would give it a reason
Hath thou discovered my will I mighteth made the season
Tis not to be this mystery, this bane of loneliness
Exceeds my grasp, just out of my class, forever in distress

You’d think by now I would have thought to myself to consider whatever you’re thinking.
Really I would, the truth is you see, that I may have or might have been drinking.

It could have been then, it’s for sure right now, and I’ll probably be high tomorrow.
There is no balm, suffer me not, for I’m nothing if not sorrow.

Stars are like glowing snowflakes that have yet to fall. Now show me your *****.

I guess there’s not much more to me than what I say to you
Butchered words, arranged just so, to make you think they’re true

Fact remains, it’s not just me, it’s me just as I’m not
Charred, broken, underwhelmed, and hiding what I’ve wrought

So here I am to try my best and make you feel what I can’t
Drinking whiskey, packing bowls, and penning out a rant

I think back to when I just assumed I’d be ok
And I smile to myself
Staring into the sun from my brittle nest of dead leaves
He would have bet you a dollar that things would surely work out
That there’d be a day when he’d know what it’s like
To be warm

I’m going to write you a poem
This one is just for you
It’ll be yours to have and hold
And I promise you it’s true

I can rest my eyes upon a thousand setting suns
The dressings of fire and water splayed across an ethereal landscape
Each one a symphony unto its own in splendor
And with the conviction of a hurricane
The only ones I’ll remember
Are the ones I watched with you

Until you’re declared the lord of all creation.
Give things the benefit of doubt to be something other than what you perceive them to be.

What am I
If not nothing
Am I what you see
Or am I what I see
Does it matter
And if not
Does nothing still apply

And

You were the love of my life
Right up until
You told me I was the love of your life

I’m haunted by memories
Ghosts of those I’d put too much faith into
Chain rattling, crimson lipstick wearing, hopeful spirits
They dance about the decrepit ballrooms of my dreams
Scrawling on the walls
“Ketchup isn’t for hotdogs, you’ll never matter, and *******!”
I’d be lying if I said I don’t get sad.
Then though.
I pour another glass of whiskey.
And she reminds me.
That the spirits are right
Ketchup does not belong on a hotdog.

Spending too much time alone with your thoughts
You start to wonder
Are you really that alone
It’s almost unfathomable
To think
That no one else is there with you
Quietly pacing the halls
Every fiber of your being wants to shout
“Am I really alone!”
But you don’t
Out of fear
Because the thought of hearing no one echo back
Well, it’s unbearable
To most
Some
Well some did ask that question aloud
They got their answer
They’re the ones
That never say a word
Walking by us in the shadows
Longing to comfortably slip into the void
Without so much as a whisper