Welcome to the land
Beyond the coastline of the sea
Where we read poetry
Under the light
Of the moon.

Welcome to the world
Where as far as god’s decree
Words are written
Just for flowers
To bloom.

In this inky place
It’s found
All that’s written
Has no place to die,

And as the blotches
Fill the page
We find there’s
No time to cry.

And so we read,
And read,
And read,
Until we fail to see.

All just to write,
And write,
And write,
Until we cease to be.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The scent of sin
Is ripe in man,
Yet the vision isn’t there.
The scent of sin
Rains burning sand
Yet the sinner fails to care.
The scent of sin
Consumes the land
For at nothing does it halt.
The scent of sin
Is spread by hand
For they build top pillars of salt.

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…

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.”

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.

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.

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.

I’ll tell you the truth,
Your world will break.
All you had thought you had known in your wake
Will fall apart,
And in the end
Your broken heart will fall.

I’ll tell you a lie,
Your fate holds true.
Everything which you had thought you had knew
Will lose its stride,
You cannot hide
From the cacophony of calls

From the end
Of the Judgement Hall.

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.

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.

I remember it all, actually.
More than I'd like to have.
I remember waking up to
The scent of breakfast
I’d soon find was made for one.

I remember walking down
The stairs to lock eyes with you
As you were opening the door.
I remember the feeling
Of dread that crushed me
Under its weight as
I understood your gaze.
I don’t remember being sick.

Even though you were gone,
I remember the dark shade of
Canary that reflected from
The plate in front of me and
Tinted our home.
I don’t remember the lights being broken.

I remember hearing your voice
Call me from our room.
I remember the sharp ringing that
Endlessly reflected off the
Carpet walls of our home
Despite the silence.
I don’t remember picking up the fork.

I remember when
My senses returned to me.
When I was cured.
When the lights were fixed.
When I put the fork down.
I remember the
World refusing to warp any longer.
I remember the scent of
A breakfast made for one.
Your final gesture of kindness.
I don’t remember deserving it.

I remember sitting.
I remember eating.
I remember the
Overwhelming taste of guilt,
The taste of wetness,
The taste of salt.
I remember the taste of
French toast.
Though,
I don’t remember crying.

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 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.

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 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 looked at nothing today.
After an hour
It asked,
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
I, of course, didn’t expect this.
I thought I may have
Been staring at someone on accident.
Though, It was just me here,
And I suppose someone else.

Another hour passed,
As I continued staring at nothing,
And suddenly, I felt eyes
Right connected to mine.
-They felt spiteful.
“Doesn’t feel so good, huh?”
“I.. suppose not,” I said.
So I blinked.
I regained focus on the
Darkness in front of me.
Weird.
I looked at nothing today.

-Eat of the Fat.
But for why?
-Because you have to feed.
Drink of the sweet.
-But for why?
Cause your gluttony is greed.
-Save a portion.
But for why?
-Because your fruitlessness is nigh.
-So save a portion.
But it’s mine.
-Then all of them will die.

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.

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.

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.

Ideas flow
Through my head
Like voices.

When I write,
There are many.
A group.

In the dark,
There is one,
Alone.

When I work,
There are none.
Void.

But when I sleep,
They are one.
Log.

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.

The Raven flies,
But just to die,
For the children that it bears,
Bit of the hand that fed them
In a land bereft claimed fair.
A world where god bids all to live
When they say “If we dare”.
A place where all that was is not,
Yet The Raven does not care.

The Raven, dead,
Its children fed,
Its life, long forgotten.
Covered in red,
They laid their heads,
Leftovers, ever rotten.
With its soul fled,
The life it lead,
Its memory now shotten,
The land it left ignored its death,
And upon it grew soft cotton.

The Dove, it flew,
Passed those it knew
Whom lived to hunt its hide.
Creatures give chase,
Each with great haste,
The Dove, it lost its stride.
It meets its end.
It missed the bend.
They hear the fledglings cry.
They need not chase,
They meet the base,
And the Dove loses its pride.

With the Dove dead,
Its fledglings fed,
To creatures of the night,
Covered in red
They rest their heads
Completely in delight.
Its spirit fled
By death it’s led
A story not so bright.
Its legacy said,
And sin it’s shed,
The Dove had lost the fight.

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.

All are made of porcelain-
Or on the surface, at least.
Like masks of glass,
Where beliefs pass,
Leave hidden truths bequeathed.

All are made of porcelain,
Their fragile faces strong.
The truth, it hurts;
They lie the worst,
Yet nil be there all-ong.

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.

In room 214B
As far as I can see
Stuck in my mind,
And my bed’s binds,
Lacking mental affinity.

Respiration is a curse.
My mind just makes it worse.
It creates these tiers
Of endless fears,
And inspires my every verse.

I know my life is ending,
My heart has not the mending
It needs to live,
And only gives
Away the time I’m spending.

Can’t waste my breath on crying.
All hope is only lying.
I hear my fate,
Outside he waits,
As the strings of fate are tying.

So in room 214B
I’ll know, by Death’s decree,
I’m out of time,
So I’ll write my rhymes,
Awaiting my darkest infinity.
A void that steals my humanity
In room 214B.

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 Lifter,
Up.
He questions,
Up.
He wonders
Why
He lives.
The Lifter,
Down.
The top.
The falls.
The end
Of rope
He pulled.
Grab hold.
Look up.
He sees
The top.
The Lifter,
Twice,
He falls.

I feel forgotten,
I feel lost,
I feel the rotten,
Burning cost
I had to pay
When I lost faith
In the rock
That held me still.
Blade pierced my bones,
My foe reproached
Dailily unto me
“Where is thy god?
Why cast ye down?
What of disquiet in the?”
Atop the sands
Lean on my hands
And begin my ascent to the surface.
“A valid question,
My soul, my friend.
I suppose I lost my purpose.”

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.