Some days i get trapped
In my own head. I might
Stay there for a while, and relish
On the fact that my insanity
Can run rampant and my
Conscious decisions cannot combat
The thick cloud of confusion.
I think so much that thinking
Is now obsolete. When I don't have
A soul to speak to, I engulf myself
With willful depression.
A mental cocoon to protect
My butterfly, even if it has no wings.

   But that's only on some days...

I think too much. The fact that I think I think too much means I definitely think too much.

one by one the
people go away.
Single-file.  like skipping
stones that bounce on
the water, only to sink
back to the bottom.

We are all nothing ,you know.
Just a bunch of wiggles. We know
not how or why, we just wiggle.
The words and symbols we use
to describe the impossibility
of what is going on around us
will never amount to anything.
They exist only in minds, the
universe connects much beyond
anything we can see or think.
Or how we consider thinking
something we do, and our heartbeat
is something that happens to us.
How much of me is me?
How much experience does it take,
for me to be me?
The answer is, of course, infinite.
Time is only relevant in the
Eternal Present, which is how
we experience the world,
... but often forget it.

We cling to these symbols
   on paper, in tongue,
behaving as if they
affect our experience.
These feelings are
so real- the words ****
   the life right out of them.
I don't really know what
"love" is, but i know when i
  look at you and your mystique, i  
can see the whole universe staring
back at me. There are simply
no words or symbols for that. But
if that isn't their "love", then i feel a
  deep sorrow for the people who say
they are in love, and stop there.

I wanted to ask how you
were doing today. I'm sure you
didn't notice. but you were
trapped in my head.
I asked you to leave and you
said "You can't help what you
feel. Just don't **** it up."
So I will stay mouth shut, eyes
absorbing every inch of nature's
perfection. And hear your laugh
rather than the world's cry. I know
we were meant to cross paths, but like
they say, soul mates are not necessarily
for life. They are the people who awaken
you to your own truth. To be shown true love
by someone you could not love yourself,
a true silver lining.

It is easy to understand that everything is connected.
Just a matter of perception, I guess.
If you stand on the beach, you will experience the ocean as waves crashing independently of each other onto the shore.
It would be foolish to assume that because there are individual waves,
the waves are not part of the same ocean.
In exactly the same way, life happens in many different "waves,"
but everything is part of the same ocean.

In other words, you can't have yourself without
everything else. There has to be a distinction.
So yes YOU experience the world, but if
the world wasn't here, there would be
nothing to experience.

So cheer up! Everything is working together
and you are the universe experiencing itself!

These symbols come out
as I hit these buttons. But they
could never grasp the way I feel
about you. Even IF they could,
I would choose not to speak, for I
would want these feelings all to myself.

I can feel the sadness,
the disinterest. the choking
and distortion of this illusion.
  The empty eyes they all give me.
Sometimes i try and look for
    someone that means it. But
nonetheless, the same is in all
of us. Fear of not knowing, or
denial of the inability to understand.
I just want to say- Wake up!
  this is it. Every moment in time has
led up to this one. So why be afraid?
  Death is such a painful thought,
inconceivable. but simply ask one
"where were you before you were born?"
And all the sudden their eyes light up.
  We were everywhere and are everywhere, all the time.
This is the good news.

Someone once told me that
language is art. No way that
  Bukowski could be a
Picasso. But I think I may have
been wrong. The words give the
collage of ideas a meaning. Purpose.
Art is purpose.
At least, if you paint with words.

I have been swept away now; haven't we all.
These words are muttered and mumbled,
crowding my head like the bar I
left my soul in. The smoke choking
   broken thoughts- my mind
can't breathe.
Another cigarette and i'm
on my way through the
empty streets, looking
for the others who have
  nothing to give or
receive, just themselves.
And when the sun
comes up, we will
  go back to our aimless tasks,
praying life
would just take us away.

sometimes i shut
the blinds and open
the window. i don't
like for
  them to see me
but the sounds of life
are too precious
    to miss.
especially when i
hear your car pull
in, and i prepare
myself to be
  happy again.

I might have found
  myself today. Or
maybe not.
I might
have found
who I want
to be today. But
maybe it was
I knew who I didn't
want to be.  Either one
  works for me. I guess
I will have to see.
  But maybe I could
stop wandering if
you said you loved me?
  Just Maybe.

To watch the dead leaves fall
onto the bleak, white ground,
     It's cold out now.

I realize there is no why to
this, but just a faction of
probability,
       Or maybe not?
Perhaps I created this; the
ultimate, delusional reality.
   To satisfy my soul with
emptiness, or maybe to condemn
my mind unto my misguided
   perceptions....

Change of heart- I am what is inside and out,
if not for me it would not be.
  Everything in this universe
could be called the What,
  But only I am the Why.
What I have learned through a tempest soul,
which I could in a way, call me-
"Sometimes you need not open your eyes
to be able to see.

"The sun filled days, as well as the darker ones,
will all come to an end. It is the ever-changing
state of things. These changes act as a symbol
to show you that your soul has many different
phases as well. The change is good. It brings out
the hidden beauty of uncertainty."

I write my words in sand not stone,
realizing the impossibility of forever.
The moon reflects the sun as your eyes
reflect my soulless being. The sea roars
calm, quiet breeze. Deprived of this spirit
as all else is. We are now more than forever away;
and the sun- eternal as it is today.
So now i write my words in sand,
the waves know all that I have to say.

Standing outside time
many different hues
yet the  colors don't rhyme.
"Leave them be, they know not"-
the wind picks up my prevailing distraught.
Standing inside the space where-
yesterday arrives today.
Past and future throw their,
irrelevance in the air.
The truth felt not spoken-
the mind bent not broken.
Elude myself, for the truth I sought,
Leave them be, for they know not.

"O how I have died a thousand times, yet death is not what pains me.
It is life that drives the stake in my heart, not the after. Whether one
has been living or dying, there will be an exchange and only one prevails-
I wish the current strong enough for the wind to push my sails."

And then she looked out the window and cried-

"When I asked how you were doing, I did not mean
your deadly cells. I meant your broken heart and soul,
another soul you'd never tell. But if you should leave me
to live (or die) alone, just remember those words I whispered to you can
be the wind to push your sails.Now you have been here too long and the
smell of this place has irked my bones. Before you leave, just remember
one thing: The trails of memories you have left me to walk will be only half as good alone."

As we enter upon the caged world; souls
innocent to the discontent of the future, our lives
prescribed the finite paths to choose. the guiding force
being the influence of others who have settled for boredom
and deceptive comfortability. The hand moves us through
the crowded city blocks- all we see is the grime and muck
left behind from past residents whom are held hostage to the cynicism
and ego of population. It is not until we travel through the abstract,
unsettling chaos that we realize the other choice. The streets are nothing
more than our own mental constraints, and the meadows on the other side
were always there. Where the concrete building and thinking end, and the ego and cynicism
get swept away by the breeze of possibility; of uncertainty. When the sun rises, I will tear down the glass and cement walls to live and think in a new way. A way that allows people to be people;
without their possessions, without their worry and fear of judgement.
You see, a true utopia does not exist externally, only deep in the soul.
Understand that when you WAKE UP, you will walk along the narrow
constructs of noise and pollution, a path made for you before your conception.
But I, I will be on the edge of the tree line- staring at an open field untouched by the mind.
the only guidance being the spirit itself, searching for the energy of that eternal being.

its 3 am and the noise has suddenly ceased.
the light is tired as I, from a full day's thought and action.
The flowers spring toward the sun when its high in the sky, but
when night falls I know not their course of action.  Maybe they
stay pointed to where the sun used to be, hoping the light will come back
and allow their growth and comfort. Or maybe they retreat,
accepting defeat whilst giving way to the unknown.
Maybe we are all sunflowers- we lie awake at night, hoping
to sleep through the unknown and awaken to a new light.
The hardest part being when and where to look for the knowing.
Not too early, not too late.

I will finally have the time to
tell you everything, one day.
i live in the past not by choice,
maybe a misguided sense of
self, or an inability to deal
with the loud noises in my head.
it was not long ago that i was free,
but i wouldn't know freedom if
that's all there ever was.
just please give a bit more time.
one day.. i'll be waiting with the key
in my hand, and the cage will
unhinge. oh how i can't wait to
see you, smell you, feel you.
one day...

It's nice out.
I am alone here but
that's just alright. I
don't really mind missing
out on the rest of the world.
I can watch from a window
the child's happiness when
daddy comes home, or the teenager
who slams the door and walks down the road
in unattested anger. I sit here, in my mind,
wondering how I got here and how I
will leave. And so it goes.
I have always said "I don't mind
being alone, I just hate being
by myself."

It's not everyday,
not even every other.
  It's that one time every now and again
   when I stop to look at what I
    have done and what I haven't.
     The old man who holds on to
      his old lady ever so tightly,
       the dog owner who yells at his pal
        but the dog just wants to get
         the most of his time; shouldn't
          we all? Is there something I have  
missed?
            This is that every now and again,
             when I turn around to see the bumpy road
              with cracked pavement and barriers
               galore. The tree roots desperately
                try to push through the stubborn
                 pavement, but I guess I just won't let them.

"I live in the now. "

              "What about the future?" one asks

                                      One day, the future will be here
                                                        and you will wonder where these times went,
                                                                       and sadly, I will reply

                                                                                 "I believe it was merely wasted time spent."

the trees talk to me
as they move,
calm, free,
with the breeze
that's all they do.
you see the tops lean in
toward one another, to shelter
from the storm of
experience.
as soon as i forget about
the trees, she leaves.
i call for her in
my heart, but there in
lies no return.
the dark clouds have moved
in, so as always when they do,
the trees invite me for
shelter, but there's
no room for two.

i stand at the motel balcony
watching as the junkies
walk aimlessly toward their room
pock marked and helpless.
i light my last cigarette of the night
and think of how i
should be dreaming
of new stories to write
but i say to myself
there is no story.
only an end.
i flick the **** and take a last look
at the sunset before i
slam the door and drink
myself to sleep.

to be free in a world that is not,
your illusion safe with me.
but do not come to me with your horror.
For truth comes from within and
we only see the sun in the sky
and not of our souls.

The mind- a blank canvas for some.
To throw hues of joy upon their spirits
and color their souls for the world to gaze in awe.
The mind- a steel cage for the rest.
Subjected to the wills of the many
whom steal their innocence and
tear down their carefully constructed walls.
These people, they try to control something with concrete thinking
and dogma, but the world is anything but controllable.
I see their rulings as fear. They live out of fear, I out of love.
Who is the real ******* enemy now, huh?