I'll write a poem a day,
and maybe that way everything will be
okay.

I'll look up at that oil covered sky,
that peculiar black stained shade of grey,
those wisps of condensation tilled out,
like fields of wheat and
creased tightly through golden streaks,
of setting suns' last gleams,
and I'll sit lack jawed, if just for a second,
and wonder if truly my existence is worth it.

So much doubt running,
so very deep.
Yes, I'll write a poem a day,
as if...
nothing,
really.

Aye,
Eureka, I know my meaning,
Yes I will express that frustration,
of an infinite empty feeling.
That little almost insignificant voice that says to you,
It doesn't matter, none of this is real,
Well for each and every one of you I'll feel,
quite intensely in fact,
that ignominious void,
the elephant in the room,
and with tact and poise,
I'll illuminate it for you,
so you can live, and I can dream,
Sweet fruitful dreams of nothing.

We all just want a moment where we feel in tune with our environment.  And we'll all just chase that feeling of home. We'll climb hills change states follow every road. We will struggle and claw and crawl. We will fight through snow, earthquake, and hellfire. We will never settle. We will pack our bags, and we won't look back when we close the door. We will leave our lovers standing there crying. We will leave childless fathers and fatherless childs equally. We will drink on our journeys. We will breathe black and exhale white, burning red to feel alright. We will lose touch with the colors of the sunset. We will fall down the staircase, break a leg and keep moving. We won't have food on the table. We will isolate our beings. We will die alone in the cold. We will quit our jobs. We will waste our freedom. We'll bury ourselves alive. We'll swim the seas, we'll climb the mountains, we'll burn the trees, WE WILL fight till we die, WE WILL say no to everything stubbornly, WE WILL cry as our feet bleed, WE WILL sing songs no one remembers, and we'll leave our homes, we'll break our families hearts, oh we will never be satisfied and we will do it all for the sake of... what? We will be human in the pursuit of something more and something less. And no matter where we go or what we see I'll tell us all now, don't you worry, we'll all be buried together, with our sins, in the same Flaming Sea.

All I ever wanted left me,
So I took it all.
All my lovers betrayed me,
So I ruined thee.
All I've ever known was subjective,
So I really knew nothing.
All my advice was selfish,
So I grinned right throughly.

I'm a wonderful caricature,
of what it means to be human.
Clowned up, and distorted,
that is the vision of me.
But worry not, fair sweet.
I'll be here as you worry and rot.
And I will feed.

I am all six circles of hell,
I am every demon.
I am the lie in the truth,
That glints so eagerly,
In the soft blue eyes of mine,
That can almost... make you feel mine.
Almost, but just out of a trance,
nay nothing ever was, just a circle,
That has never closed, just a cycle that,
has no history, impotent, yet
all consuming, I can't find the truth,
So I'll live in the lies, and they shall be,
The ties that I bind,
myself and others, delicately,
deliciously enjoying the feast,
I provide, alone, in the dark,
talking to those who live,
far far away in here, so that in my hell,
I can reside as king, and feel in control,
or an owner of something.

Yet still I awake,
stilly, I create,
These little poems on my own,
That you'll read on your own.
And you'll think, something but,
It'll be gone abruptly, as if you almost held a star,
but it twinkled unlucky.

I find it interesting that
We place ourselves
In the sight of others.

I ain't ever gonna be the man
I was supposed to be.
Oh no, that shining soul,
was washed out to sea.

But maybe, just maybe,
I'll become who I am,
Turn in, quite magically,
To the best version of myself.

One day, on a wish,
I'll stop dreading my being,
I'll look into the mirror,
And accept the fact I am seeing.

I will no longer mourn the skin I have shed,
The layers of self,
The visages of what could have,
Should have been.

I am that I am,
My brother and mother are long dead,
My father now, distantly,
I will climb.

This pit will no longer hold,
My essence, no longer keep,
Me imprisoned, I'll decide my limits,
I'll reach my heavens.

And I might even take you,
I might very well build a home,
A place for us, and our living,
I might just become who I am,
Before I turn into dust.
I only have this one chance, to turn around
Before my life crumbles in rust...
I must, I don't know, but I'll struggle,
Until I can handle,
oh or till the day I can trust,
The way you look at me.

The once little, little prince,
stood wide-eyed, unto the sunless sky,
there, winged was she,
Rapunzel fair, princess no longer for he.

You see, he doesn't remember now,
how long ago it was he was told,
To find a princess, locked far away,
and if patient be ye, so too will treasure most pure,
be
his own.

And when, after many years traveling hence,
he arrived there upon the scene,
of the long, lonely tower, spiraling up,
there on and until the single window,
opened gently, and residing faintly,
laid a dream, he could not appease,
nay, no matter how much he rubbed his eyes,
Still, did the little prince look up and see,
Fair Rapunzel, in all her resplendent beauty.

Wait, she said, smiling gold,
In just a few years hence,
She laughed, merrily,
Will my hair grow long enough,
for you my dear Prince,
To come on up and truly rescue me.
For now it is good to talk,
and dream and be, for surely still,
must my luck be overwhelming,
with you here, to keep me company.
With just, YOU, here, little prince,
eyes nearly watering, she whispered,
And now not for me to be so lonely.

The little prince's heart, somewhere long gone,
Along the way, had already flittered up,
Though she could scarcely feel it,
With tower keeping them at bay,
Indeed it it land on her doorstep,
And there, long, did it lay.

So for many years, the Little Prince,
And Rapunzel did lay,
Her up high, and he down low,
With her hair, growing more each day.
And he was happy though, he was not sure,
If he was more trapped than her,
encased, but with each days growth,
of her luscious golden hair, did each time,
take a bit of his aching heart, beat by beat,
before mind barely had a say.

And then, alas, a few seasons hence more,
Around the corner was he, into her arms,
Evermore.
But cruel fate did lay, such plans for naught,
For at once her hair doth shed, and wings did she partook,
Yea, Little Prince, said she, Though doeth I love you so,
And the price I paid was dark and grave,
No bargain have I pursued could ever be forsook,
As this, one feeling, oh to fly over stone,
valley, canyon, and brook,
To be free, untethered, beating release,
NO LONGER DO I NEED WAIT,
OH WITHOUT SUCH WASTEFUL WORDS AS PATEINCE!
Now I am my queen, and you,
She looked down softly,
Not even my cook.

And the little prince looked up in awe,
Always believing in that which he was seeing,
awful though was his mind, that, Even still,
as his heart did empty,
did it endeavor, hurriedly quick,
To deny that reality, of waiting for a trick.
I was a game, he thought, but still,
if this be a quirk of god or fate,
Even now, in its very face will I,
Lucifer, be, Agnostic in this,
my hell.

So he closed his red eyes,
as his angel did ascend,
ne'er close did he ever reach,
someone.
Just a story now,
for children,
and growing young men,
Don't wait so long for someone,
you love in a tower,
or else you'll find yourself,
too, A...
Little Prince, not so little,
Anymore.

Insomnia thou art my lovely mistress,
Enticing me further into the darkest mornings,
And then leaving my bed lonely at day break,
to go find another man.

Still, half loyally, you come back to me...
And oh, though otherwise I try, fitfully,
I find myself always opening my sheets,
And snuggling up close to you,
As if the cold of death and desperation,
is my only warmth.

It begets only painful awakenings,
And much like a good mistress,
The womb of your efforts,
Bears no fruit,
Nay just desecration of my psyche,
Just a half step in one realm,
and a half step half asleep.

Ah, what should I do,
Fight your presence off dearly?
I'm afraid I"ve had you round so long,
I can't remember myself lonely.
Imagine that, I guess,
I'll have to settle for your back handed love,
And ponder many more twilight mornins,
With you, my beloved insomnia.