I see two fire trucks pass each other
going opposite directions.
As I’m trying to think of a clever metaphor
for poor planning
I remind myself that at least one family
is standing in a thigh high pile of fine ash
that was their home
just an hour ago.
Maybe two families.
These thoughts and others haunt me when I’m pulled from my duck footed sidewalk reverie
by a lottery ticket stuck in the riff-raff that separates
Gateway Ave from the parking lot of the Nervous Hospital.
It is laid bare like a mugging victim;
crumpled up and inches from the gutter.
That was someone’s dream
just a day ago.
Think I’ll cross the street-
give that homeless vet a dollar.
It’s my last one.
My house has fleas, but
it ain’t on fire.

The eyes of her;
Are beyond beautiful.
Much more than I, myself, can imagine.
The wondering eyes of me;
Can never stop staring at the beauty,
that swipes Thy heart for herself.

The kind heart of she;
hides throughout the brutal darkness,  
Never for seeing the need of light.
"Those who wonder in to such;
Futuristically get broken down,
And end up where I, myself am now.

For every slight attempt,
I am turn down.
No trust as expected,
For I am one of the unimportant.
Inside the brittle heart of thy;
And past the walls of hell,
She knows I love every part of her.
The mind of mine;
knows the beauty inside,
has been torture by those of the weak,
For past, and present centuries.
The brain of me;
Understands,
"For thy myself;
Think and feel the same."

As the shining stars cover the dark,
Night sky,
I think to myself
Beyond the darkness of her,
She still amazes thy heart and soul...
Never more

And she said:
       “ I have been here before
   Swimming along your rocky shores.
And I have felt your waves echo along my ribs
and beat along my heart.”
I have
       seen you in sandy planes like Mars.
                (You) have transported me to a world I feel but can’t remember.
I have
           wandered here along these rows of pines.
            They turn their faces to me like ghosts I’ve spoken to
            but remain nameless with unfamiliarity.

But I have felt these tremors once before.
walking along your rocky shores.

How strange to
miss
a city.

Like saying:
I miss the way you were loved.
The way you felt busy and full
I miss your gloom your cold
your
sidewalks that felt
                           (foreign)
with
new boots to fill and new skies to kiss.

I miss you like a city.
I could navigate your walls
For
      ever

Concept: It is dark out and I can see all of the stars. One by one they fall to Earth, into my room, and light up all the dark parts of myself.

That was being alive
Being loved for acting five
Reliving the child inside
As adulthood goes to hide
That was being alive.

You saw teardrops from stormy clouds
And asked, ‘why the sky was crying’?
‘Why is the little boy next door dying’?
You were really just lying,
To your conscience.
The pain never really stopped,
It was just a photo with edges cropped
The way you zoomed in on you and her
And the background started to blur.
Not everything changes, some things do
Because the sky will only ever be blue
Some days you’ll have patches of grey clouds
And teardrops that lonely puff enshrouds
You’re left with the thought of the inner kid.

The kid inside that didn’t think about crying,
The kid inside that never knew about dying
The kid inside that conspired to hide
Like it was playing a game of hide and seek,
Never knew that clouds could even leak
And the salty discharge between eyes
Were just sugar coated cookie lies
About how we were meant to grow old

That kid is not dead, just hidden inside
like a clumsy cat caught between drapes,
That kid inside is stuck and trying to escape
And will only ever come back to light
When you realise that you can grow up
but maybe growing up is simply enough
because growing old is not a must.

Relive that kid hidden inside you,
Because otherwise that kid would die
And then skies would be frail blue
And you’d realise why the skies would cry.

There won’t be bunnies in clouds
Magic dragons in built in closets
And all you will know is crowds
That were more invested in bank deposits.

**** GROWING OLD.
Constant search for hands to hold
Where weather only felt cold
Because warm was too much to handle
And you’d reminisce on scented candles.
**** GROWING OLD.

So forget what you have been told,
About how you were meant to grow old
That’s just a tear stained dream society sold
You don’t have to grow old
Because sometimes growing up
Is simply enough.

This is for those who have had a broken heart
Who wept and screamt as it fell apart
People telling you the end is where it starts
"DON’T TELL ME WHERE IT ******* STARTS."
It stems from a belief that maybe, just maybe
if we were right they would never leave,
so we fall just a little harder than others
left our fathers and our mothers
out of the equation because we were in love.
And being in love was enough.

You promise yourself to shut that beat
To silence the sound of love’s heat
because you know the next time
it will be the same.
It becomes ingrained in you
to never trust that the sky is blue
saw cars running over cans
like it was about to run over you.
You fell at the feet of those
who stomped on you countless
believing that that beat will
vanish…
It doesn’t.
You’re deluding yourself
It doesn’t ever stop for anyone
including yourself.

So fall in love, have as many heartbreaks
Have so much heartbreaks that your heart
becomes just art because he
would have left with everything
washed away beyonds the seas
saw no waves of content
only waves of anguish
HE LEFT FROM YOUR HEART.
**And ...now all that’s left is art…