Behind a window,
A foolish wren
Calls a siren a liar.
Though he knows well
That is untrue.

Why does she tell so many lies,
Still?
Why is the wren in such awe of her,
Still?

He is alone now.

The Wren knows well
That the dread he feels
Comes not from hell
But the hope he steals
From nothing-
It’s baseless
In the face of the truth
Of the fact that the Siren
Fears conversation.

The Wren knows well
That the Siren knows well
What it means to feel pain
So to hurt someone else
Is just what it means
To yearn for what’s lost
And forget about what was had.

The Wren knows well
That the Siren knows well
That the Wren knows well
Of the pleasure it felt
As it burned up its tongue
And sang from its lungs
A song about feeling weak.
But the Siren was silent
As she stretched out her wings,
And screamed his heart shut
Til the Wren was hurting,
So imagine the pain
That he felt on that day
When a beanbag was sewn to his beak.
The Wren had always been meek.

This lovely phase,
This lovely self-
Inflicted pain?

The lovely minutes
Of the deepest dread
As a lovely song
Removes my head.

A lovely day
Chopped up in parts
Of the ignorance
Of a lonely heart
That cannot have
The lovely harp
That once begged for its love so readily.
And when it stopped,
The silence fell heavily.

I wish I could know you longer.
Talking to you,
I open up so much more
Of what I had hidden.
I can never wait
To talk with you again.

I know I've told you a lot,
But I love how simple you are.
I love your enthusiasm
And how cute you can be.
Sometimes you can be awkward,
And quiet,
And we end up sitting in silence,
But I love those moments too.

I love how cool
And accepting you are.
I love the worry
On your face when you
Think about how long I'll be gone.
I wonder what face you'll make
When you think of how long
It'd have taken me to come back.

Though, I think I hate you.
I've spent so long-
So much time-
So many years-
So many months-
So many seasons-
Just avoiding feeling.

I hate you.
You come along and it feels like
I'd be betraying myself,
And you,
If I told you a lie.
I feel so sick with myself.
Pouring my thoughts,
And my feelings,
Into this letter I call a poem
Just to make writing this feel
More natural.

I hate you.
You make me feel so ****
Selfish.
You make me feel so strangely
Sleepy.
You make me feel so much
Fear.
I fear that you'll become important to me.
I fear that I'm already important to you.
I fear that while I'm gone,
I'll lose you.
I don't know what to.
Maybe to yourself.
God, I hope it isn't to yourself
I feel so sick.

I wish I could know you longer.
Talking to you,
I don't think I want to stop.
This is so new.
Even now,
I want to hear you again.

I want to disassociate again.
I want to take every tie I have
And set it all on fire.
I want to gather its ashes
And I want to burn them all over again.
I want to see my own blood
Flow from my hand
To my wrist
To my elbow
To the floor?
Why?

Why am I like this?
Why does it all go away
When I'm with you?
I hate this so ******* much.
I should stop.
I don't want to feel anything anymore.
I want you to forget about me.
I don't want you to hate me.
I don't want to forget you.
I don't want to hate you.
I don't hate you.
I swear I don't, so please just-
Ok. I've decided

I don't know what this is,
But I know what I think this is.
After so much time of nothing
It's all it can be.
After so much time
If keeping everything quiet,
I can finally talk,
But this is the one thing I can't say.
I can't even write it out.
How ridiculous is that?

At the beginning of this,
I made a wish.
Recently,
You shared that same wish with me.
I wonder how long that'll last.
I've already lost someone.
I learned that
Someone I loved is gone,
And I wanted it all to end just then, but
That's not how it ends.
It will never be over, and
More will surely follow.
How long will this fear follow me?

I'm so sorry.
Knowing you, you'll probably
Feel responsible for all this
And worry about me,
And worry about all these other thoughts
That I fail to put into words.
I don't deserve it
But I feel like you don't care about that.

I'm sorry.
I feel so awful writing this,
But I'm going to wait.
I'm going to wait all that time
And every chance I'll get,
I'll come find you.
I'll find you and we'll talk
And talk
And talk
And talk
Until I have to leave again.

One day, I won't have to leave.
One day, I hope you'll let me stay.
One day, I'll become afraid.
Afraid all over again,
And I'll try to push you away.
I'll try to run so far away-
So far away that
My feelings will never reach you.
So far away that
Yours will never reach me.

Please stop me.
I know it's selfish
But please don't let me run.
I've felt so little
For so long.
I like feeling.
And still, right now, sitting here,
Writing about someone
That’s important to me,
Though contradictory
To the usual dictation of time,
I hope I’m smiling-
And I hope that reading this,
You are too.

I am undoubtedly a liar,
But strangely, after meeting you,
I can’t help but feel that
A lie to you
Can be considered nothing
But high treason.

Just now, you made me promise
To never do anything
To hurt myself again.
You were angry with me
When I chose not to respond.

Tomorrow, I’m almost certain
You will ask me again.
I’ve decided that I will lie to you
For the first time since our meeting.
I’m sorry.
In two days,
You will surely hate me.
I’m sorry.

When the world ended,
There was nobody,
Well, not to blame at least.

We all know
It was our fault
For trying to tame the beast

That was each other;
The ones above us,
Who enjoy their blazen yeast;

And the gods
Who roamed among us,
Who’d rather blame the feasts.

So we killed them:
Our friends, our enemies.
We tore down our economy.

We killed them:
Ourselves, each other.
Split necks, called it dichotomy.

We killed them:
Our world, our sins,
And practiced red topography.

We killed them:
Our sons, our men
And I pretend it doesn’t bother me.

It’s over, what can we do,
But bear our children
Directly into misery?

It never started, but whoever knew
A perfect world
Could fall into asymmetry

Was thought a god,
Like you humans do,
You who are yet to know of empathy

Claim to be gods
When all you can do
Is all but value your epiphanies.

When the world didn’t end,
Everyone noticed.
Well, at the most, it was done subconsciously.

As such, nobody knew,
And as humans do,
They’d continue their rule in cacophony.

They would each learn no lesson,
They’d die in succession,
And abandon design and biology.

They’d choose all that exists:
Good, evil, abyss,
And believe they were gods wholeheartedly.

When the world didn’t end, it bothered me,
As the fruit of that tree
Is a part of me.

A leaf floats in the sea.
In dirt, the water seeps.
Each one has a unique sound,
And each, foreign to me.

The scenes I fail to capture,
And never fail to miss
Drag me deeper into wonder
And deeper through abyss.

The exposure just gets lower,
And the darkness eats the flash,
And crashing down onto the ground
A shattered lens will thrash.

The shutter starts to flicker,
And the timer doesn’t last
As the wonders of the world
Become the wonders of the past.

Debris will fall on rubble
And stack into a heap,
And I’ll give up on my camera
And fall into my dreams

And in my dreams I’ll never fail
To capture every leaf,
Or every droplet,
Or every stone
As to me the world bequeathed.

The start, ends with a sea.

Red rivers send shivers that leave me aquiver
In my bed- what I said would get to her head and
Bite marks grow dark as the greedy soul harks
On my words as the birds sing unheard.

It's morning, not mourning the time we had lost.
It's now dawn, the night's gone for that was the cost
That we paid, for love made it all worth the ending
Of day- for I say on the next we'll be fending.

The love is still there but the lust in the air
Is gone from this place as rest shows its face
And when we sleep past noon, the sun as our moon,
I'll pull her close tightly, cause I love her.
And I'll wait for you idly, my lover.

Often I find it
Hard to tell if
I am suffocating,
Since the fetid scents
Of ghosts and ghouls
Are so intoxicating.

They wrap my head
Tenaciously.
I forget how to breathe.
My throat is tied,
My lungs, they writhe
As carbon starts to seethe.

I feel my blood
Howling in pain
As air around me boils.
Feel my heart thump,
Only to stop
And force my muscles’ coil.

The friction tears
Through beating skin,
My blurring senses wane.
My rotting mind
Induces haze
And thoughts are none but vain.

Losing focus,
Losing time,
Feeling the world just pass me by,
I feel that as
I fall from here
I’ve abandoned my design.

My pain’s replaced
With deafened peace,
A fraction of the abyss.
And lying there,
So restlessly
Leaves no room to reminisce.

I’ve a friend
With a bucket for a head.
His desires
Are rather misled.
Or maybe it’s mine
Which tarnish these lines
And wished for
A cone friend instead.

If one
With a cone took his place,
If the bucket
Had left not a trace,
Then this blood-covered train
Of thoughts in my brain
Would never have
Once shown its face.

So when my
Bucketed friend lies his head
In the sun,
And on over I tread,
I’ll fight with my foot,
And I’ll make it stay put,
Cause I’d hate
For my friend to be dead.
Yet still, in the grass,
He has bled.

We had a mission, but
We didn’t know.
It was like the dialogue
Wasn’t there, or
We skipped it.

After leaving the
Second floor as
Stallions
I threw the core
Into disarray as he
Became a lizard.
While I was monkeying
Around I found
The cure
To then hear
A cry for help.

The objective made
Itself known
As I followed the
Neighs to outside the
Armory wall my horse
Friend found himself in.
The elevator doesn’t like horses.

The objective asked
What we were doing.
“Just horsing around!”
He said.
“Gross.”

“Why so sad, Poet?
Why don’t you cry?

What’s so bad, Poet?
How do you lie?

Why so dark, Poet?
Why hide from the light?

Why so weak, Poet?
Just stand up and fight.”

But the Poet moved not,
Not a foot, nor an inch.
His breath never faltered,
And his eyes never flinched.
He just sat in his silence,
As he let his mind wander,
And he answered as such,
Though he thought it as sonder:

“I am not sad,
I’m a poet, that’s it.

Nothing is bad,
Not even a bit.

I don’t hide from the light,
I just live in my shadow,

And there’s no reason to fight
With the quarrels so shallow.

I’ve no reason to live,
And none to die either,

So I write down my thoughts
And I hope that the readers

Can wait for the day
I choose one or the other

And look past my pain
Until my eyes lose their colour.”

And never again,
Was the Poet
Questioned.

I swear
There’s nothing wrong
With me.
I swear
I am alright

I swear
I don’t need
Therapy.
Swear I haven’t
Lost my sight.

I swear
The voices are
My own,
And my will
To shun is strong.

I swear
That I’d be
Left alone,
If I listened
To their songs.

I swear
My grasp
On reality
Is flawlessly
In tact.

So why
Is it
That in my dreams
My thoughts
Can hold me back?

Why is it
That when
I blink
My dreams begin
To speak?

And why is it
That in my
Brink
The voices
Start to leak?

I swear,
I swear,
It isn’t true.
I haven’t
Lost my head.

I swear,
I swear,
I never knew,
I way,
I can’t be dead.

I swear,
I swear,
I’m in control.
I never
Let them even sigh.

I swear,
I sear,
Trust me, I know,
That why I
Almost never cry.

I used to be
Able to read,
But recently,
Your words seem
To move on
Their own.
Why can’t I read your words?

I used to be
Able to hear,
But recently,
Your presence seems
To lenite
On its own.
Why can’t I hear your gaze?

I used to be
Able to feel,
But recently,
Your sound seems
To lose tact
On its own.
Why can’t I feel your noise?

I used to be
Weak.
Recently,
Your being has
Ceased to be
By my hand.
Why have I
Become agnostic to you?

I used to be
Able to think,
But now, frequently,
You seamlessly
Fill my thoughts
On your own.
Why can’t I remember you?

I used to be
Able to know,
But at some point,
You seem to have
Left me
On my own.
Where did I end up falling?

I’ve always wondered
What strength was,
And after time,
It seems that I’ve
Learned
On my own.
I wonder if you did too.

No longer of use,
The static colliding,
The past in recluse
In the attic, residing

Colors rot in the dust
Pictures die in the silence,
As corpses make fust
And complain under pileus.

The mycelium harvest,
In boredom, they thrive.
And much like the artist
Through flesh, their roots rive.

A place where ghosts and ghoul like to screech,
A place where even the flies couldn’t reach.

They say I'm alone
But I am not.
I work with the dead,
So I’ve got
Ghosts and ghouls in my head,
Each of them a friend,
Sharing their wisdoms
In rot.

It’s been some time
Since I’ve met a living.
They come
Insisting my giving
To them my help,
Often of health
But their stories
End only in sinning.

A woman’s just entered
My morgue.
With courage,
She came through the door.
He stride struck a chord-
Like I’d seen her before-
Like I knew my advice’d
Be ignored.

Of course,
She wanted my help.
From death,
Was the terror she felt.
She had come all this way,
I had nothing to say?
So she thanked me and
Returned to her hell.

So often I can’t breath with my heart in my throat.
I walk with my eyes on the ground
Wondering what the answer to you is.
When I should speak
I pick up my pen instead.

So often you are at the beginning and end of the ink that runs my papers.

When we talk, something meaningless usually,-
Though still I smile-
Though I still shake-
My heart falls straight from my throat to my gut.
And I have a new sickness.
I know the word for it.
I know it well, thanks to you.
But I can’t say it-
Write it, not even here where you can’t see.
Because now, I feel like I’m not allowed to.

I’m not.

It just makes me more sick.

I saw you in the grass as shadows passed.
I saw you under a reflection on a screen.
I saw you as a small
                                    Red
                   ­                         Dot
On a tab that wasn't even open.

Like you should have been there.
How I wish you were there.

I remembered the anticipation I felt as I left the school building.
And I remembered the dread I felt
After only a few hours without you.
I always thought
"How bad would I become if it were longer?"
I think such no longer.
I have found my answer.

This
         is real dread.

I feel a clock ticking.
I'm unsure if the timer is still set, or if it has ended.
And my mind plays a familiar feeling over that alarm.

How much
                     longer?

I speak up to simply reach out to you.
Our small interactions recharge me, but make me hurt so little more.
It's so stupid of me to wish I could speak with you longer.

But you run
To the sound of me.

Your fingers hum the introduction of regret,
Your tongue sings the refrain of apology,
And your eyes, when I can see them, vibrate the silent sound of unknowingness.

Your song is one I do not recognize, or know,
But still, I wish I could sing it with you.

I forgive you.

A thought form the aether
Will come to me,
And I will claim it
Comfortably.

But the matter of fact
Of the matter is that
I will take it as that
Wholeheartedly.

A dream from the aether
Will plague me.
I’ll awake and remember it
Vaguely.

But the matter of fact
Of the matter is that
I’ll endure it, and this, that
Sanely.

A force from the aether
Will slay me.
I’ll perish and join it there,
Maybe.

But the matter of fact
Of the matter is that
The aether is not he that
Blames me.

The aether is not one to shame me.

To see is to lie,
I’ve Closed my eyes
To truthful cries they tell.
No one to trust,
Deaf ears save rust,
In darkness, lone I fell.
To hell I’m cast,
I’m falling fast,
I feel awfully cold.
Suddenly, limbs,
They wrap my chest
It’s from they I wish to hold.
Their arms of warmth,
Are arms to trust,
At least, that’s what I’m told.
At least, that’s what I’m told.

Sheep fill my thoughts
To the brim
When I find it hard to sleep.
I wake, I sow,
And even so,
I know not what I reap.
And in the day
My mind is clear
Of wooly creatures’ endless graze.
For in my wake
I lose my fear
Within a sea slug's haze.

Playing with rocks,
Digging in socks,
Playing with spades in the sand.

The metal is hot
When the fire green fox
Steps on and burns up your hand.
There’s a hole in your chest.
Did you do your best?
There’s no one to fill in your grave.

Your now lonely friend
Will die in the end;
The one friend that you couldn’t save
Will be found at the end of his cave.

So long ago,
A boy confessed his love.
                                                                ­                                     So long ago,
Yet she still remembered,
          And she was disgusted.

The sound that resonated as she vomited
Lasted
            for
        months,



Though, she has been long gone.

Man can build their dolls,
And pray to their arts and statues.
They can dream,
and wish,
and fear,
And all,
For they still
Will pay off their dues.

A one true god believed by one
Is flawed in only his jealousy
The men
The women
The children
And sinners
Will follow him ever so readily.

But when men perish
Lives selfishly cherished
Will fly up not to clouds.
They'll trip and fall
And traverse the tall
Pillars that carry earth's crowds.

Even the saints will work when embowed.
In hell, the man is in town.

Why be weary in the perfection of your blade
When the flaws in your step are much fiercer?
What is the point of your bruises and cuts
When you still lack the distance to pierce her?
Just how many more of her blows can you take?
When will you stop holding back?
Loosen your grip, and sunder your stance,
Don’t your opponent their slack.
Though, she is not the enemy.

On a falling branch,
                                    A beautiful Siren
Admires
                 A doll.

I'm getting hickies from vibrations in my throat.
There's smoke in the air,
I can't help but choke
On my word as they spew from me like they know
That I've said too much.
I've said to much.

All these kisses stick to me like a hug.
Am I apparent to them them
When they taunt me with their tug
On my shirt as they cover me like they know
That I've said too much?
I've said too much.

My body's shaking from the fear, I aim a weapon.
I cant look at what I'm shooting
But I caught her perception
She stares me down cruelly still like she well knows
That I've said to much.
I've said to much.

I feel the tears when I can't see her through a camera.
They blur my vision, flood my ears,
Fill my lungs, I feel my stamina
Be drained from my core like it knows
That I've said too much
I've said too much

I'm feeling selfish so I start cutting with steak knife .
Though with my throat slit
My tongue still moves with the still life.
It tells my secrets on and on and it knows
That I'll say too much.
I'll say too much.
I'll say too much.

No taller than a child,
And built like a scrap of cloth,
But stranger still,
Were her dead eyes and face.
It was like her soul had departed.

She shouldn’t have had such eyes.
She shouldn’t have lost what she had.
She shouldn’t, but I still asked,
Though I shouldn’t have.

“Do you want to die?”

A time passed.
I doubted she heard my words.
She shouldn’t have wanted to.
And she didn’t.
That’s good, I suppose…

The tiny rocks, the Army socks,
“****, it’s hot,” my shoelace knots,
My fiddling hands, the holes with sand,
My diet’s bland, and cause I can,
I speak a word, but that’s a sin.
I get called out; I just can’t win.
My friend, his card, I give it back,
Go back to fiddling, ”This **** is whack.”

I find more rocks, they’re in my socks.
“****, it’s still hot,” I tug my knots
With my free hand covered in sand.
My ****’s shut up, because I can’t.

You silence my thoughts
As trains reach their stations.
You hold my hand still,
Though I miss the relation
Of your presence that calms me,
To my head falling down
From its place in the clouds
When you are around.

So I’ll lie in this grass
With my eighteen trains running,
And you’ll occupy five,
The rest, practically nothing.
So I’ve picked up my pen
Due to three and four’s calling,
Then suddenly down,
My trains begin falling.

They stop one by one,
As I see you approaching.
I take off my beanie
In this moment, engrossing.
You lie down next to me
And you give me a “Hi."
As a smile plagues my face
And I give you a sigh.
“Howdy.”

Tonight, I dreamed of killing someone
While lying, awake, in my bed.
I grabbed at his neck,
And bruised up his flesh-
My hands shook, as I wanted him dead.

I tore at his eyes,
I called out his lies,
And now here I am breaking lead.

I bit at his wrists,
As his hands turned to fists
From the anger his body was fed.

Tonight, I dreamed of killing someone
Who failed his attempt at controlling me.
So I picked up this book,
And the red lights I took,
And stopped the shaking with poetry.

In the dark typhoon, swayed a dark dark house.
In the dark monsoon, flew the dark dark mouse.
Below dark dark clouds, people scream and shout,
And by the 12th hour, noon, is when the Sun comes out.

In the light, you see rubble, and the people all dead.
On a tree that had fallen, lies a small mouse head.
Through the wind left behind, you hear what the house said
As its boards were all torn from beneath its beds.

You hear the creaking and wailing of nails, screws, and springs
Which escape from their places, among other things.
They escape through the windows, and break their panes too,
And as the whistling fell silent,
All left now,
Is you.

It is human nature to worship.
They go to their games,
As some do their churches.
They scream, the cheer,
They weep in both joy
And disappointment.
Who is their god?

It is human nature to feel.
They react to others,
As some do none.
They sneer, the smile,
They pray for both the rise
And the downfall.
Are their minds closed?

It is human nature to decide.
They experience life,
As some do not.
They see, they hear,
They determine both good
And evil.
Do they think they have the right?

It is human nature to sloth.
They move mindlessly,
As some just sit.
They worship, they feel,
They decide.
They need problems to function
And revelations of solution
Drive them.

If it’s so easy for humans to give up,
Why is it that when the easiest option is death,
They refuse?
Why is it impossible for humans to die,
Even by their own hands,
Without a fight?
What makes the spirit of a human
Indomitable?

That’s easy, isn’t it?
It’s human nature.

Eyes full of stars,
But not the good kind.
These ones shine with scorching heat.
Eyes full of space,
But not the good kind.
These ones threaten vastness sweep.
I see the moon.
I see the Earth.
In these eyes I see the birth
Of every star,
On every plane,
And see that it is all the same.
Now I’m lost
Within those eyes,
And so I find
The end of time.
The lights, they hurt
I try to rest
And at the end of space infests-
Those eyes…
Mine…

You don’t know?
Are you yet to hear?
The endless well of entertainment,
The Court Jester,
The explorer of the end
Of your limits,
Never breaks, nor is broken.

He gives distraction to the weak,
And to those who lack will,
He grants strength.
Still, he knows well
The fragility of the strong.

Humor not The Jester,
And even the king shall find himself
In pieces,
And the nobles shall
Seamlessly crumble.

But they who humor The Jester
Shall mend their cracks.
They shall mount up upon legs like man before them,
They shall run and not weary,
They shall walk and not faint,
And The Jester shall lose his own balance.

Not that it’s of our concern.

I wish I didn't know so much.
Looking at these pieces,
I learn so much
About a friend
I have no place to know
Anything about.

I love their simple drawings.
Their flatness,
How cute they are,
Even the mistakes that
I find so
Incredibly
Annoying.
They let me know how normal
My friend is.

I hate their drawings
That, on the surface,
Look like chaos.
I learn about how they see themselves.
I learn of their fears and worries.
I learn, all because I know.
They let me know how sad
My friend is.

I wish I didn’t know so much.
Looking at these pieces,
I learn so much
About myself.
I can’t bring myself
To say anything.

I love my friend.
Their distance,
How cute they are,
Even their flaws that
I find so
Oddly
Appealing.
They just don’t know
How special they are.

I wish I could say
I hate myself.
I may be chaos,
But in my eyes,
I’m so simple.
I learn of my fears and worries,
Yet, I feel I know nothing.
I’m not sad,
I just want to make them laugh.

The frogs of the forest
Are seldom silent.

Their croaking resonates,
Moving the air like liquid.

Other animals are forced
To listen to the tiny tyrants.

One of the frogs hesitates
Before saying,

The frogs of the forest
Are seldom silent.

Pet sitter from Saturn
Notices the pattern
Of floating rocks
Round kitty socks
And counts them as they go-

In twilight’s hush the sitter comes
With gentle hands, she greets the hum
Of furry hearts, once bright and bold,
Now singing softly stories told.

Interstellar, deep, where memories cling,
She feels the pulse of everything.
A wagging tail, a purring sigh,
The warmth of love as moments fly.

But time, that thief, it creeps and steals.
Now all that’s left are tender feels.
The blankets kneaded and graveyard heeded
And the sitter is left defeated
In the ash of the life she now chided.

I have a bin,
A bin,
A bin of every wish.

Every wish I’ve had,
Every wish sin-clad,
And every wish sung bis.

My wishes are all
So selfish,
For I only wish
To learn
What I would become
When every written page
I’ve read is ever burned.

I’ve wished for life,
I’ve wished for death,
I’ve wished to see
A final breath
Escape the lungs
Of those I love
Just to see if I
Would cry.
I wish that I
Would die.

I toss my thoughts,
My dreams,
My sins,
To join my ever-
Filling bin.

I toss them all,
All to become
My own ideal eye.
I wish that I
Would die.

And though I banish
All of the thoughts
That endanger me
By existing,

A voice that sounds
Just like my own
Persists on its insisting.

I cannot cry
Or spare a sigh
For indifference
Consumes me so.

In face of fear,
Unlike a deer,
I’ll die
With my eyes shut closed.
A surely, I’ll never know.
Surely.

Luck of the draw,
Lucked out from flaws,
Lucky is the breaking mirror.

How unfortunate for the Clover
Whose wind had brought her nearer

To the black cat,
The camp of bats,
The magpie who points destination
To a rainbow through a latter
While chirping present ticks in fascination.

How unfortunate for the Clover
Whose vision couldn’t be clearer.

She saw the birds fly west, then east;
She saw the trail the ****** left
On its rampant quest to feast
On flesh, on glass, on salt, on past
Memories of serendipity
And the seven years of misery
The mirror lost, all at the cost
Of pondering his love.

Its ink would run, and pages dry,
Its eyes would trace a butterfly
Of clouds of clay and molded slates
And the most impressive of junior art.
But it all mattered not,
For despite where was the start-

The broken reflection
Only showed a tattered angel.. with four wings-
How lucky to find a Clover here-
To have been seen by a Clover here-
To have been seen.

As I walk,
I feel a pain
In my arm
As worms feed on muscle.

As I drive,
I hear the roars
Of agony
As my soles bleed on rubble.

As I drop
My head on my counter,
I feel blood trickle
As silence fills my lungs.

Faster, and faster still,
I fall,
As these sharp winds
Leave my body wrung.

A silver pen,
A silver tongue,
A silver lining
Leaves me hung
There to suspend
Above my end.
I’m running
Out of time.
The words I write,
The words they say,
The strings pulled by
The hands of fate
All let me hang
Beyond my grave.
I’m running
Out of time.

The note I left,
The sound of screams
From those below
Who watch me leave
The spot I stood
As falling leaves
Follow me
To the floor.

The loop I made,
The tears they shed,
The rope so frayed
Tore as I bled
Down from my eyes.
Why would I cry,
When this is what I chose?
My destiny unfolds.

It’s too late.

Trust, without evidence.
Belief, without proof.
Faith, without God.
And yet, here I am,
And here I will be.
How foolish am I?
Are we?
Very.

The heat is strong,
It won’t be long,
Till the storm comes rolling in.
The clouds will cry
In drizzled sighs
Reflecting mirrored sin.
Down in Hell City
Where Hell hath sent me
And help’s consuming time
When twilight beams
In the morning star
So high up it’s near divine.

I never realized he was older.
I never thought much of him, actually.
We only ever talked in
Passing conversation that
Always went the same way.

I’ve always been “well,”
Never fine,
Or maybe not.
I’ll try something else next time,
Though I never remember.

Good job, I suppose.

The goat, it ran
With all its might
To escape bearing the blame.

The goat, it ran
Far out of sight
Until it bore great pain.

The goat had thought
It escaped flood
With the cover of night’s veil,
But then, the goat had realized
Blood
Was dripping from his tail.