“Stop!”
“Thief!”

You steal me away,
when you want me.
Throw me away,
when you don’t.

You feed me a bone.
Then stand on the clouds,
and look down upon me.

“Stop!”
“I’ve had enough.”

And I can’t even see you.
You hide yourself beneath your gold,
beneath the shade.
The shade of the trees,
is where you laugh,
drowning out the world.

And you ask if I am feeling well,
As if it is a card in your game.
And feed me tales,
about hiding beneath the ground,
burning in my fire.
And why do you want to burn?
Or talk about being burned?
When all I see,
is dying.

“Stop!”

“Thief!”

“I’ve had enough."

Another Fleshy Idol,
          
         to whom I sew myself,

Nameless to he.

That red-eyed squirrel, so common, yet so unique, follows them without being noticed. Emptiness.

As soon as he woke up, he walked out of his room into the hallway and saw it sitting there. Someone left his top door open, and a little squirrel wandered in. He cautiously walked up to the squirrel, afraid it would jump at him, or run away, but the squirrel remained still. The man made sure not to scare the squirrel, for there was something about the squirrel he couldn't quite get. So the man stopped right in front of that squirrel, right in front of his top door, the man thought he was dreaming for the squirrel had not moved. The sun was red, bright, burning him, blinding him, so he shut the door. The door fell shut, and the outside world was gone. All that was left was the man's home, in his hallway between two doors. He turned around and the squirrel was following him with bright red eyes, red like the sun, but not blinding. The eyes were enticing, and so the man followed. The squirrel led him back into his room and the man picked up the squirrel, the red eyes still following the man, the man still following those bright red eyes. Their eyes were getting wider, swallowing more and more. And the red eyes still remained. The eyes are getting the best of him, and he can't resist, so he drew his own drops of red, being pumped away more and more. As it poured through him he cried and looked up and noticed a glimmer of light shining, shining so bright, but not blinding, not the sun, nor the squirrel's red eyes, but a new light. The man looked back down still open, still staring, but saw no enticing red eyes. He looked back up, and saw the light was gone. All that intrigued him was gone, he mind in pieces on the ceiling, still trying to find light on the floor. He ran tot he hallway. The faucet poured nothing, the light switch turned to darkness when he wanted light. Finally he went to the mirror, his eyes still wide, but this time, red. The squirrel he saw, not himself, but a new self, a red self. The monster he saw was not him, it was not a creation. The sight of the beast shocked the man, causing him to jump. He didn't land. There was no gravity. There was only that monster, the monster with red eyes. He was floating in a new place, he saw Alex and Emelia whom he thought had passed, but next to him floating, falling, crying.

He blinked, jumped, and gasped for air. Ran out to that hallway, between two doors, both open and saw nothing but the outside world.

That red-eyed squirrel, so common, yet so unique, followed him, until he was gone. Emptiness.

This morning I woke up with a scratch on my glasses.
I don't know how they got there, I was asleep.
My world was turned upside down because of my glasses.
Something so small, so subtle, but so key.
Once divine, now earthly, my glasses once were.
Lost in a turning cave of batter I feel like dough.

Busy, much to busy.
To even have time to write, to think.
"Work, more work."
Never ending work.
I can't even find the time to remember what I was working on,
or to remember what I was trying to remember.
But still, I find time in the day.
Time to write on the walls,
connect dots,
Daw constellations that present shapes of things I cannot be,
things I cannot see.
And yet still,
I'm much to busy to think, much to busy to breath.
It's like I'm caught in a lucid dream,
yet I'm awake.
And although these constellations may pose a problem,
to my mental health,
they represent something greater, larger.
I bigger part of me,
that I may finally get to see.

Following the signs
trees smell of cinnamon.
Sweet.
Brisk.
But faint.
His breath throws
crystals onto my tongue
I have my own taste
of the gods' nectar.
Sweet.
Brisk.
And strong.
But my shadow hides
and I'm lost.
But happier than ever
dancing in Angels' tears
to the sound of their music.
Yet the shadow returns:
to dance with me,
following my steps,
one in one
as if we were whole.
I fall, and my shadow with me.
To feel the skin of the world,
and to enjoy the tears,
the music,
the nectar,
and the cinnamon
from the trees.
Sweet.
Brisk.
Faint.
Yet strong.

Daddy dino, daddy dino, where are you?
I've hatched from my egg, but where to?
I'm cold. But I feel so warm.
Daddy dino, daddy dino, where are you?

This displacement
seems infinite,
as my tongue
ties itself
in knots.

My eyes are blind,
but my mind is dancing.

But it begins to rain.

The Slaughter itself,
is inevitable.

I am just a seed.

Lifeless.

Ready to bloom
into another cycle.

Where I become
tainted
with the blood of my soul
whom seldom bleeds.

I leave a trail
drop
by drop
of pieces
of a puzzle
we call life.

Stained are
the clouds around me
with the words
I can never find..

This is nothing but a puzzle box, an apparent paradox.
Another tree starts to sing, as his house bells ring.
One small sparks it all, as the maze begins to fall.
As the sights turn to dusk, another box burns to dust.

And in my body I feel no pain

from the emotion that anyone can feel

unless I subscribe myself to that level.

To feel or to love

something I wish to obtain.

But how can I tell?

When I feel what is love?

Or when blindness of my mind

clouds judgment as I am still just a man.

Hungry, eager to feel what the gods called “love,” “lust.”

Where all this mind, this body, wants to feel is wanted.

Desired.

I am still just a humble person.

Shy,

Shallow.

Living in my own world,

not yours,

but you can see me as I pass through this earth,

as we share the same home,

but different worlds.

Will I ever find someone who

is in the same world as me?

A heartbeat is all it takes
to turn on the lights.

I’m grounded but unable to be steady.
Up. Down. Up. Down.

I’m curving the world around me.
I’m as dense as I’ll ever be.

I can't open the doors.
I'm in a foggy mist of hallucinations.

I’m caught up in the clouds.
But the ground is above me.

My heart keeps beating.
But the lights are always off.

Four that lead to four more.
I spend all three trying to cure.
But I see space in new eyes.
A new king to show the skies.
But I still try to refrain,
for I still can feel the pain.
With little hand given,
I hope I'm forgiven.

Solely is that leaf which fell from their tree.
It shook to try and get back up, but he can't.
He misses the other leaves, the ones who didn't fall.
The wind is dragging him further away from four.
This world is unfamiliar to him, this sun is much brighter.
The wind deepened him, high stop a mountain.
It's getting colder for that leaf, dryer, more fragile.
He is starting to crumble, his nectar is being taken.
But a new fluid fills him, and he erects to a new tree.
He wants to recount with his old leafs, but he can't.
He'll never awake now, his other leafs will never know.
Solely is that lead which fell from their tree.

Imagine if life was just a cup of tea -

So simple,
leaves steeping in the steaming water.
Only to spread what they have
to the joys of all around.

But instead,
our lives are just large scale mitosis.
Splitting between emotions out of our control.

What starts as a seed, roots deep in the ground,
not a flower, nor a tree, but a mountain.
Growing taller than we give can see.

See, mountains are just like our lives.
Starting deep in the ground,
yet growing far out of eyesight.

And, still, when lightning strikes
that simple, vulnerable point.
It all collapses around us.

And we are left,
alone,
in the rubble that was once something great.

How can I live in this old world
full of guesses and assumptions?
With so much to touch and feel
but there is nothing to reach;
For my arms are too short,
to spread the clouds,
and see myself.

Turned up, my head illuminates.
Knocking at the door it creates.
Free from this I do implore,
There's another creature at my door.
Clawing, screaming for his turn.
I have no key, for me to learn.
Sights of these, the mirror lies.
Another knocks with his disguise.
A new hole opened, the world to see.
The door wide open, in sanity.

All the words I learn,

           are lies.

Until all the words I know,

           are lies.

And now the poem I write,

           is a lie.

I spend my light searching for stars,
       My dark shivering, but I'm not cold.
I asked for a life not ground to chars,
       To find and end to the dependent way of old.

When I look down at my life from the rooftops,
I see colors spilling out from when I was down.
The gray took over as the truth began to pop.
But I spent so much time prodding, looking around.
And the reasons began to fade as I reached up.
The higher and further, the more I saw.
Again a witch gave me no turn to let up.
A witch of a mirror, opposite in me as I fall.
So I searched harder, lowering my tree to a seed.
A seed like me, one I could be with to be free.

Merry Christmas from an egg that has finally hatched,
into a new creature of something so attached.
It's really Christmas eve! The eve to the best.
A double for my one, who started all the rest.
The eve to the eve, or so I thought.
I've grown to hate the joy which I was taught.
But we all feel some joy, to see the things we love.
But how? When the head of our tree is another dove.

Of the time spent: all I know was a mask.
How could I learn even the easiest tasks?
I'm blind that I couldn't see the truth.
But it was best I didn't know the proof.
But a mask is something we love to see.
And Santa brings us cheer, gifts for free.
It's raining in this room: but I'm so dry.
A father-daughter dance I stole on the fly.

So just imagine; Christmas every year,
Without a seed, to light the tree in fear.
So the lights we hung: I take alone,
as I hear the words in every tone.
Those songs, we all know so well.
Those beautiful lights I wish fell.
So Merry Christmas, really, from me to you.
But I'm counting faster: to see you, too.

To how we cleanse,
The stars do see.
Destruction eminent,
but relaxed they be.
How quick they move,
in groups they seem.
So fast themselves,
but so slow to me.
To whom do I owe,
the honor I see?
A God or gods,
Just mortal, maybe.

I lay alone, dreaming, hoping for a dream to fly.
So I can finally reach my sacred place to die.
But still! I'm blocked by Fate, who feeds me all her lies,
preventing me from reaching, my Castle in the sky.

But this tiny sheet of love, for all the things who die,
stops the thought of thought, hiding in the tide.
Yet all the shades who say they love, who turn on me my side,
are stopping me from reaching, my Castle in the sky.

And still! this curse I hold, is keeping me alive.
In the cursed earth: the Devil's best disguise.
But I've finally found a path, where I won't ask "why?"
Where I'll be seated in my Castle in the sky.

As I sit across

from the ghost

who occupies the empty chair

I realize the emptiness

that we both do share.

But as a ghost you are free

but chained to this world

as we are chained

to these cages we admire.

but we sit

and write

and sing

and laugh

and love

all the things

that make us whole

but this ghost

is empty,

shallow,

gone.

He is waiting for me

to speak,

to compose,

to create,

to feel

something, anything.

But I cannot,

I will not.

But waiting is he

and I for him.

but then I see

this is not a chair

I sit across.

It is a mirror


And in it,



I see nothing.

In my alternate world, I shared a dream last night.
Where he lay alone, searching for a life to light.
But the man who thrives himself, is split in two.
But stitches arise from the sea soaked in ocean's blue.
None were beasts, but they they all bore crowns.
Each fed right through me: hidden in their gowns.

He remains in two: one to dream, one to die.
When I'm fully drained; prepared for one to fly,
a crown-less shade appears: face shares plenty.
The opposite of he: whose face conveys empty.

A shade to stitch: a ghost whose life shares he.
I dream of him, and he dreams of me.
But the dreams I dream, are mirrors of he.
While he is nothing: but the emptiness of me.

How so easily in our world we can be lost.
The divine setting we surround ourselves
reaches out to us to whisper in our ears.
To touch our soul and open us up to see.
This Mother is speaking to us not in words
but in grace. Grace for us to admire.

From the monstrous frames that let us see
past the edge of our blue life force.
To the forests too far for us to reach
or the crevasse to deep for us to touch,
the world's beauty lies in places even
we can't touch, but there for us to see.

From the hands of man or something divine,
elegance is erected in every corner.

Another piece to this puzzle I distress,
of a map to this maze I digress.
The council I come across, I seldom borrow.
In a deeper pit I drown my tomorrow,
A wordless cut which leads to no gold.
A defenseless tower with no help, just bold.
Back in the maze, with no choice but down.
A new treasure sits waiting to be found.

As I recall times
I immediately
begin to lose
all control.
I stand up,
beginning to see stars.
As my mind
begins to drift,
I can’t even read
a single word.
And I feel the ground.
My legs fall,
my heart speeds up,
and I speak
in a language
even I can’t
seem to understand.
I begin to fall
not to the ground,
but to dreams
as I begin to come back.
Slowly I realize
where I am,
who I am.
And I can breath,
I can speak,
I can stand.
But my mind
is wiped.

Stomp, stomp stomp.

All I hear through the wind,

Beneath the boot of regret.

And as my eyes begin to dance,

it doubles,

triples,

again,

and again,

and again,

until I am blind.

Stomp, stomp, stomp,

is all I hear,

all I feel,

beneath the boot of regret.

Stomp.

Stomp.

Stomp.

Beneath the boot of regret,

it never stops.

Stomp


Stomp



STOMP.

All that the Red Vampire did was think she was best,
but face to face with a mirror called fate she lost rest.
Every stroke is just a ran down house evicted by my mind.
And every flash just as gravity pushing into line.
So I just use numbers as my stake, respect which repels.
The common Czar who only whispers in shadows' spells.
Entering an empty world surrounded by vampires.
I stand alone in a lab finding a God who inspires.

Across from me poses,

hope for a future.

But blocked:

By the hammer of lust

I seldom feel.

Hidden secrets stitches in an Indian's pallet,
but the fire from the dragon's breath burned.
As the totem from the great tree fell silent.
The secret of the star a fake to be turned.

Everywhere I fall I see that brace,
         the shadow of her name.
Every time I break from sweat,
         the shadow of her name.
The Hand Toucher read those two,
         the shadow of her name.
The leaves change color in that shape,
         the shadow of her name.
The way the river's currents change,
         the shadow of her name.
Forever blocked from the sun,
         in the shadow of her name.

The gold I feel, is so unreal.
     Because I live my life in shadows.
Every night, reacts in fright.
     Because I live my life in shadows.
What is love? But a hallow dove.
     In this world of shadows.
We all live in the lies we give,
     We're in a world of shadows.

The smallest splinter
I can conjure up,
is the biggest thorn
stuck in my side.

Ever wave I see
or wish to hear,
phases through me
like a ghost.

They fed their Demons
with the words they spill.
Unknowingly, they shun
the shadow which lurks.
Apparently a friend,
but nameless, faceless to them.

And even my mind's eye
can't fill the holes
the Princes leave in me.
Conjured by the people
who surround
my ever move.

Caught in a three way exchange
where only two exist,
where each card played,
is an attempt to persist.
To break down a wall,
fortified by lust.
As the top card lays showing
the mistaken face of trust.
And in the middle
I'm all that's left,
mistaken as nothing
but a silhouette.

The more my eyes open
the more my lips
are stapled shut.
To tear them
open would
only pour
pain and
nothing
would
stay.

But
outside
this world
I would be
able to tear
these so apart
and I can pour
out the illusion
that I am who is
filled with the soul.

But I remain opposed to
everything I wish to be.
To being filled past
belief that I can
be whole again
to tear these
apart. But I
cannot. I
am gone.
Empty.

In the corner of my eye,

the rabbit runs.

While in the corner of my eye,

I am confined.

As the giant elders whisper to themselves,
in their secret, silent, oaken tongue,
we pass only hearing the rustle of the fallen.
Their shadows keep us cool, alive.
Their kin share the same eloquence, beauty.
But ignorance leaves the beauty unnoticed.

If we were to just open our mind and see;
our feet would be cemented in the ground,
but our lives and souls would be free.
Her beauty lies everywhere. Like
the sun's true colors we seldom see.
For her beauty is not only seen: but felt.

Our world's serene scenes are rarely seen
for we never seem to search hard enough.

This friend of mine in a warm, well-lit place
Told me of her mind's mistake.
A Dove she holds, in a path he flies.
But a mask he wears so she still tries.
She can rise and fall, as her mind makes.
A change of heart, or a change a pace.
But that doves path I walk but often stumble.
I'm just a Lion living in her bi-polar jungle.

I'm as visible as much as the next person.
But myself is invisible to he.
My character is a shadow to she.
And my downfall is the Next Person.

The Universe keeps putting blocks in my way,
on my knees crying for an end to this disarray.
I keep following this map lead by a dream,
but I still strike the wall til those twin paws bleed.
Lost in my ways, gospels won't break this wall.
Searching for some former clarity before I fall.
I tried to hide these marks from that same dream,
another un-necessity that came to stream.
This hopeless message never has a chance to relay,
The Universe keeps putting blocks in my way.

The Universe is a She, and she is out to get us. Inescapable.

I had a friend named John. John was locked inside a circle of never ending nightmares, one after another, never ending. He prayed to God, whoever, or whatever what listen to him. He couldn't get out. He never woke up, just constant nightmares. In his nightmares, he had nightmares and the paradox never ended. John thought there was an easy escape, to jump of the edge of the world, his world that is. His world was flat, and he didn't know why. He had a mountain in his world, the tallest mountain he could imagine, but he couldn't climb it. If he would've climbed his mountain, his world would be round again, but he didn't know. He blamed the Universe for all of his problems. But the fact was, the Universe was his mountain. That infinite, never ending mountain that John couldn't climb, because he didn't know how. John's dreams disappeared once that mountain arose, but he let it happen. He let her happen, the Universe. She took over, John's imagine was infinite. But infinite couldn't compete with the universe. And so John screamed, and clawed at the wall designing his own perfect Universe. But she wasn't the real Universe. The real Universe was on him, harassing him. John hid in his own mind, in that world he designed with the mountain, and there she was. Inescapable she was. So John finally jumped off that edge-less world, and John ended his tie with her, but she never left. John was finally free. Free for that instant he was falling, and then he saw the light. The ceiling lit up and the world was back to normal, John was back in the Universe.

The Universe is a She, and she is out to get us. Inescapable.

How I see myself,

how others see me,

I often wonder,

"How," "why."

Why pass The Gavel

past something

faint,

small,

shallow,

scared?

After all,

you seldom see

beneath a mask

worn to hide

that same

faint,

small,

shallow,

scared,

soul who can't find

his balance

in some other's world

where he can't even

judge himself.

Kettle steaming from the maze,
whistling out louder water.
Poured inside, scarring speech.
Sit without a flame beneath me.
The air now, all silence.
But whispers of storm turned to sorrow.

I found a door

which leads me

to the next level.

The door led

to a new land

a new world.

And now I stand

before a bridge

and across it,

my dreams.

But before I can cross

a witch stops me

and charged a toll.

The toll to my dreams.

But the price:

my life.

I'm tripping over myself, no five to help me up.
Too easily i'm causing treason, making the knot tighter.
I'm reading the ground trying to find a lasting string.
The angel's feather seldom fell, but into my hand.
A divine map led by a demon himself to inside.
It pumped so hard, but the four were so broken.
I still sit and feel the world rotate around me.
Just another movie left to be replayed.

Water turning.
Bells ringing.
Wind Blowing.

Stop.

"Drip,
Drop."

"Drip,
Drop."

He whispers in my ear.

Crawling. Just looking for food.

Stop..

She screams.

As he gets to close with his
"friendly weapon"
She hides.

"Friend" is all he wants.

Alone is what he seems.

Dead.

Is what he is.