I’m lost amidst the closets of curiosities,
Trapped within the fibres of a page.
Desperately humming lackluster songs of
Redemption.

Straining my eyes to see into the dark,
Scanning subconscious horizons in search
Of the rocky cove where the sun will be.
Reborn.

My fingers are bleeding from trying to grasp.
The peonies and gardenias in my skull,
Losing my grip on the garden in my mind.
Shrieking.

Obscure obscenities as the angels stand and
Stare. Nonconformity has eternally failed me.
Garden nymphs move their wooden mouths.
Whispering.

Songs of sorrow and the skies.
Constructing.
Oddly-shaped windows of eternal insignificance.

The earth is hollow.
Banished mortals scream from below.
Our space feet crush the phony sounds.
Unwavering black X’s.
Pass through their innocent lips.
They are the silenced symphonies.

Playing the darkest of hymns.

There exists no core.
No fiery depths to burn and rot.
Only caverns of black upon black.

Her body is hollow.
Relentless wolves howl from within.
Their earth feet grind them further down.
Pretentious white lines.
Surround the face of the wild.
The shorted soliloquies of wind forgotten.

Turn away from nature’s song.

There exists no core.
No fiery depths to burn and rot.
Only caverns of black upon black.

There’s a sale on neon miracles,                                          
Everything must go.
Half price.
Fake light.

the skies are bought by

Sidewalk Gods that strain their necks,
To see the new you.
White gold.
No soul.

brand name clouds and

Jesus bleached his hair today,
You must follow suit.
Cutting edge.
Still empty.

heaven’s merged with hell.

The skies are bought by
brand name clouds and
heaven’s merged with hell.

You will  find me  
Just east of infinity.

Lying in the grass at
The outskirts of forever.

The decaying wooden sign
Above the hard flesh that

Has been housing my degenerate
Brain for the past 18 years, reads…

“Welcome to Evermore.”

A town grown from dirt.

Where gracefully savoring one’s
Last taste of oxygen is the only

Way to take back the concept
Of being alive. Existing outside

The opaque glass box that
Modern minds maintain.

You must imitate young Alice.
And fling fragile fingers through

The looking glass.
  
This is where I wait.
Wavering just north of Neptune.

It gazes
up, up, up
at electric blue skies.
Inhale, exhale
purple clouds of phosphorous.
Witness royal violins gently weeping,
For their players charring within the flames.

Bits of eternity escape their eyes and mouths.
Incomprehensible present horrors.
Seamstresses sew sutures.
Inhale, exhale
Error ceases to exist.
up, up, up
It gazes

Grains of sand speak to one another,
Spending their brief existences; wishing.
They have been eroded from limestone,
Yet the illusion of their significance remains.

Grains of sand are smaller than driftwood.
Miniscule particles residing in the dunes.
Sand dunes are merely an element of beaches.
Beaches are products of repetitive ocean tides.

Oceans are microscopic compared to skies.
Skies are crucial parts of blue and green planets.
Blue and green planets are but motes of dust,
Momentarily suspended in an infinite black.

Liberation is writing about nothing.
Nothing exists in a material world.
Our paths are illusions basked in light.
Inner workings enveloped in darkness.

Within the soul exists vast valleys of shapes.
Circling our deepest desires in fear.
Poetry always turns the words ink black.

Stumbling upon the laws of nobody.
Nobody in this world is anybody.
They look upon us and laugh at our naivety.

We were not wrong about the people in the sky.
Our error was in our belief that they were superior.