Always wait 'till it's gone
Always blind even when taught
Always deaf even when sought

Only looking back at what was
Only pilling bricks on my walls
Only gulping bile in my rue

Coulda had, coulda got
Coulda grabbed, coulda talked
Coulda laughed, coulda loved

Emptied comforts, emptied joys
Emptied rooms, emptied possibilities
Emptied mind, numb false serenity

Only broke up by
Intense flashes of
Sanity.
Disgust.

Happiness scares me
it truly frightens
a pitter-patter, pitter-patter
thumpening of the heart
I cant breathe, cant see
I want to run away
I dull the emotion so I no longer
have to feel this terror
oh god its everywhere I cut it cut it out
ah thats better its gone shes gone its gone
isnt that so much better I can stand and sit alone
my knees dont feel so weak, just numb
i like numb it fits so much better

Ah I love the sadness I love the catharsis
how do these people go on in their lives
in their pursuit of happiness
doesnt it scare them? don't they feel that fear?
I don't understand I don't understand I don't understand
Am I the one that is wrong? Am I the one that is broken?
no one ever thinks like this, I think
So therefore I'm right to think it's them not me
The logic is cold and comforting
warmer than a blanket, more nourishing than a womb
but not joyous no, not delightful
just a release, a pressure eased, a knuckle cracked, a muscle popped
a dark room with a cold breeze
a lone mountain with foreboading clouds
a lover gone, a possibility erased
ah-- bliss, in emphatic apathy
I am safe

What an Auspicious night my friends,
    What a day in fact,
What a life
What a reflecting Knife,
What with it’s ticker-tack bindings taught with rife,
Yes with the moon’s self served cursed light
That’s right down into my very soul
The pull of which yearns evermore for yet
Another empty ***** and tet-tet
It gets what it rents, it bleeds what it brecks,
It feeds what it mets, is leads where it regrets
Oh yes my friends
Oh yes
What an auspicious night
What a day in fact
What a death


And you wake up alone
In the village you built years ago
Not as you as you are
But you as as you were
Or some oft changed memory of, like soft spun tar
Molded shaped and bent,
Broken in fact by the ravages and scars,
Of nothing, of no one, of nobody,
Of everything, of everyone, of ever body,
All humans, all animals, all life
No people, no beasts, no strife
The cold carcass of the molten sun
The future the past of another man’s son,
What does it mean, what does it mean,
You turn your head in the village
But every stone is me


The night ends to the rise
Of not a start but a doom

Luck is gone Love was a chemistry
Engineered and now revereried
Lipple lap the gods they laugh
As the dice has been cast low and strung
Aye further now you’ve fallen but higher you have come
You split yourself in pieces unbeknownst to anyone
Even your own mind unwitting to the deception
As the chortles bortle onwards ad nauseum
This prophecy disintegrating as it goes on
What is left what is left
You sat there alone for years stuck
This is just the price to pay
For the dam of time to unbrook
What an auspicious night my friends
    In fact
What a day
In fact

"Mother?" Say the child to it's mom.

"Where, oh where, does the platypus come from?"

The woman smiled, and laughed,
and she told the story of where the platypus did come from.
To her sweet, darling, little one.

Once upon a time, there was a duck. And the duck was alone in the forest, because its family had grown up much too much. So the duck went to look for someone, to make his own little family with. The duck just wanted a place to belong, you see.

So the duck went to the lioness and said 'Miss would you like to make a family with me?' But the lioness was proud and scornful, and turned the duck away.

The duck was sad, of course, but he was much more saddened to think that he'd be alone. So he kept on going until he found a deer. But when he asked the deer, she ruefully claimed she already had a family. And that there was no place for a little duck.

So off he went.

He asked a spider, but the spider had a home.

He asked a walrus, but the walrus couldn't be bothered.

He asked a cat, but the cat just laughed.

It came to a time when the duck had asked just about everyone in the forest if they would love him. But right as he was about to give up he came across a stream, and in there a beautiful little otter was there waiting for him.

'Oh wow... uh' the nervous duck said, 'What are you doing there?'

'I'm looking for a way to make a home,' She said, 'I've been looking all day because I'm all alone and quite lonely.'

The duck swaddled and gleefully said.

'Well I don't know if you'll have me, but if there's no one better, you can take me in your stead?'

'But otters and ducks don't go together,' The otter complained.

'And why not? You're a little better under water and I'm a bit better on land. I think we could make a good team!'

'The forest will never accept us,' she continued, but--

'Will you?' The duck interjoined.

The otter sat there puzzled for a moment, and simply said,

'I'll try.'

"And it wasn't easy, my dearest little one. Love never is. It springs up in unexpected ways, and finds you caught unawares. You may find your love in a place you never would have thunk. But it is out there, if you're willing to search for it. I promise you that much."

"But... wait, mom! Where did the platypus come from?"

"Ah. Of course. The duck and the otter went on to have many children, a platypus each and every one. The result of their love was the perfect child, someone who could combine the best of them, and someone who could finally make them a home."

"Wow... mom, that is amazing! I wish I could be a platypus!"

"Hmm? But didn't you know, little one? The otter in that story is me, and you're my perfect little platypus who gave us our lovely little home."

The Mother embraced her child,
as the duck watched at the door, happily forlorn.

Beautiful pink petals,
supple layers of humanity.

So close
but so thin.

It hurts that we cant reach other deeper.
We humans are just so,
weak, after all.

So we try to cover our weakness on others.
You press your wet entrance to mine
but we can't connect.

It's lacking, but baby it's all we got.
It's cold inside, but girl all I can feel is your heat
and I am no longer dying.

There are tears down your eyes,
but I can't take them away from you,
I can't pull my self apart.

I'm just a reaching empty void,
trying to find a way to drown you down into my heart,
and my weapon is a kiss,
and I think that I'm winning,
Until you pull apart.

I saw you just the other day...
you know my days and nights they are
blending together more than I might like.

People say they are lost. But I am found.
I am found lacking.
I am found empty.
But I am definitely here.
I am definitely watching.
Thinking.
****, you haunt me.
That stain, that sigh, that lie.
The fear, the joy, that cry.
The letter you wrote
The songs we sang,
in the night,
in the night.

What was your name?
Where did you go?
How have you been?
Would you, like to,
try again?
Are you happy?
What's it like,
do I stay in your heart
Or am I washed away in the tide,
in the gives and pulls
of a younger time.

Yeah, I saw you there,
and I must admit,
it all ran through my mind.
I saw you there, back turned,
but I knew.
Even in front of a Hello Kitty store,
I--

And then I walked away.

It's that last sound on her lips,
that little whisper on that phone call,
the affection and warmth that lingers beyond.

It's just the way she said you were adorable,
as if you were cared for,
for the very first time,
that maybe you thought to yourself,
maybe this is alright,
you didn't think it then,
you couldn't you were speechless,
powerless, weak,
as of yet untested by the vestiges of time,
of the loss of even that connection that line,
you had no idea of how uncomfortable peace could be,
of how ruinous letting your hear love,
could be. You just didn't know. You couldn't

So you sat there, and smiled, and
you couldn't see your face but you know your eyes shined.
In a light that hadn't been seen before,
That you're unsure if it has ever shined since.
You listen to those light piano keys,
on random youtube videos,
and each and every melody takes you back,
and it's just that last little sound on her lips,
just that last little whisper on that phone call,
The affection and warmth that lingers beyond,
When she said,
"I love you."

Man.
Always.
Entranced.
By that,
Horizon
Dawning, radiantly
In the dusk of the valleys,
In that place where only, kings and.
Vagabonds, go
In that secret place where,
you and I know,
That secret whisper that
Lush moonlit smile
That smitten meal
With hidden doves aflut
Good god there is none
Yet still, angel,
You
Are
One.

So where does that leave me,
I wonder, I ponder,
Lost and alone,
Across time, space, and a simple screen,
Across the fragility and powerlessness of the human heart,
The unwieldy empty reach of my dreams,
Those lost
Hidden valleys, oh,
Just the thought of the sight,
Just the temptation of that,
Empty horizon, on the tip of my tongue,
Those beautiful curves, twisted upon every single one
Of
My
Nerves.

Good god there is none,
But, maybe if there was,
It’d be someone and something like you,
Just a precious little thing,
Just something out of reach,
As Icarus reached out for the sun,
And I only your waxing moon,
Content now and again,
If I dare say it,
To reflect some of your own shine,
Upon those who would wear it,
Just over reach,
Just beyond heaven.
Therein.

I’m sorry that I’m the problem.
Oh let me tell you I’m sorry for being the way I am.
I’m sorry that I like you and I like her.
I’m so sorry that I want you in my arms..
I’m sorry that I can’t change.
I’m sorry that I create issues.
I’m sorry that I fight for what I say.
I’m just sorry that I disgust you.
And I’m sorry that other guys who do the same.
Get called better names.
I’m sorry instead of playing with a taken person, I stood my ground and walked away.
I apologize for like women, in the selfish, self serving, greedy way
That only I can.
I’m sorry for respecting, at every endeavor, to walk away.
Yet still yearning for them to turn, and off their hands.
I am sorry for being lonely, strange, weird, annoying.
I am sorry for being human.
I am sorry that your feelings matter more than mine,
I am sorry that who I am gets lost in the shuffle.
I’m sorry for arguing, for fighting, for not denying certain truths.
I’m incredibly sorry for this pain I feel, not even knowing you.
I’m sorry that you felt the need to isolate me.
I’m sorry that you don’t know me.
I’m sorry that I’m needy.
I’m sorry that I push too hard, as others don’t try at all, or try much harder.
I’m sorry that I don’t look that good.
I’m truly sorry for all my knicks, mis-intentions, and flaws.
I’m sorry for this stupid poem, for venting.
And, gosh, I’m just so sorry, that I’m nothing at all.

Except the jokes on you. I’m not sorry at all and neither are you. If you read this, you’ll blink nary an eye, all your suspicions will be true. What a creep. How uncomfortable is this feeling, in my seat.
Hypocrisy is a wheel, lookism an ideal, and people like me, the pieces that don’t fit.
Truly a sorry lot, all.

Patriotism, dead, dying a decrepit old region

Such violent imagery, juxtaposed, versus common refrain

Love of country, we cannot escape our past.

Patronizingly ignorant, embolden our greatness,

our ironic freedom, memorialized the blood shed for it,

the wrong blood.

They call it guilt, John.
That's what the voice in the dark of the night,
would always whisper upon me.
But I was deaf, so I would never hear it.

Oh, it's just what they'll all say,
"It's not your fault",
That your brother died,
That you're a broken husk of a man.

Worry not, worry not, fair snakeskin,
fair caterpillar,
surely you, too,
will shed your skin and fly, fly away.

But he doesn't get to fly now does he?
No all he exists is,
as a sad, cold face,
dead, under the refraction of light,
that pool's death gleams.

Hmm, but you enjoy this don't you,
John, the voice said to me.
The tragic backstory, the shameless reason.
For such gleeful ecstasy, surerly,
The small price of the lie called brother,
of innocence, of life,
of something you never really had, something you never really lose,
what an even sacrifice, John, what a fair toll,
in fact how favored are you, to so enjoy,
self-flagellation.

I won't tell if you won't, she says, whispered. Why always a she and who? It finishes anyways; whether I want it to...

Spencer died,
So I can have,
my whip in hand.
That is my truth.

The me that needed you back then,
did not get the you who needed me
not as I was but who I used to be or
perhaps a better version of what I am now.

So our misbegotten love ached and tore,
and you belittled me with an angels laugh,
and I cursed you, forever marking you,
in the decrepit depths
of my now stone dead heart.

They say that everyone has
'The One' out there for them.
But they never tell you what to do,
when you meet them wrong,
and they are long gone.
Long,
gone.

I heard it said once,
"All love is tragic,
it dies so very young."

On that throne you sit, zealous confidence yielding,
where on bent knee, I smile, basking in the madness flowing,
You came here, providence guided, gazing upon this neon kingdom,
You saw it as a dumpster full of trash, one you could build,
and mold into an empire becoming of your Lord.

But in the wool you keep over your eyes,
in that bountifulness energy, that ever effacing drive,
only built on the most beautiful of lies, that this is your purpose,
your place, your calling... ordained!
That you lose all objectivity, sir, and you fail to see,
that this dumpster is but burning, and you can grasp nothing,
and you can not change anything. For, if only you'd known,
that a dumpster of trash, that can, razing, burns ever long into,
the cold steep night. And that by huddling it's warmth you only have but two selfish choices. You can put it out, and sit in the cold and the dark, hated by those now without it's warmth. Though you may find yourself closer to God, like Adam, you will leave the rest of us in suffering and sin. A true hero. They'll sing your praises hence.

Or, you can let it burn. Let your kingdom set flame, crackling in the shadows of a lightly moonlit night. Telling stories and dreams, of where you're the protagonist, the king, to a captive audience that drools, and remembers naught. You'll smile and laugh, a reverie of life and death, the Knowledge that you have claimed, in your short life spewing forth. And then, alas, you'll awaken, and your kingdom will be nothing but ash. And it will slip through your fingers, like it has so many others. And it won't be your fault. No, just a test, just a task. God's will, and you his humble servant. The fire after all, when it burned, was so bright. And your God has always been a fan of such light. The sun will raise, alas, as you look on the dying embers of your morningstar. The irony won't reach you, Michael, until ages evermore.

So I left that dumpster burning. In your ignorance, you may still be molding and building. In your zealotry, you may not even know the scars you are molding unto your body, mind, and soul. Yet you are captured by the devil called cash. And you deem it holy. Surely you are not wrong. Surely, if only. Those who see you gasp, aweshook and flabbergast, truly this is the will of man, inspired! What belief in myself can bring, in wonder! I shake my head in bland aching numb. Temples pulsing, life wrung. I shan't speak anymore, as if I know how the story is really won. For it's so easy to see yours, but I can't write my own. At least you're an author and not a tool. Even if it is only for evil dressed so pretty, at least it's for something you at all. While to me, I get no barrel, no god, no fire so bright, so deceitful, just empty words, with less substance and meaning, than the inevitable ashes you'll deny as God's light, misleading.

A voice whispered out to me, years later, in a cold room, alone, as voices often do. "Whose story is it John?" Hmm. "If only I knew."

The worst part about my life is
I still dream of you
And when I do
I wake myself up
Sit up slowly
And look to my left.

A metamorphosis she wrote
a little death he hoped
a matter exchange
a frown in the window pane
among a weeping black sky
in the middle of the day time
alone

oh the box is your home
little one you know
ive tried to get you to move out
but my words feel on sour notes
comfort comfort
as you choke

its digusting its morose
its beautiful its enthralling
its the truth its a hoax
its ugly its withdrawing
into your shell your cocoon

though no butterfly promotes
only carcass as your womb
just a shy regret
entombs.

A friend came to me,
and showed me some
genuine kindness.
I felt plastic.
My face wasn't right.
My pounds weighed heavily upon
my stone heart.
The alcohol
which brought some lies
in the form of false facade.
burnt away, thought the mask remained
She looked in my eyes
Smiling,
knowing.
I hate the knowing.
Because I know not myself.
And I know all too well.
It is disgusting.
I wanted to tell her everything.
As I bit my tongue
I understand
I interrupted
I'll think about it
I appreciate it.
I listen but don't hear
I can't.
My life story is a burden
I refuse to place on others
This weight I bear.
This depression, always in the back.
She had seen.
Naked. Raw. Open. Exposed. Defeated.
I feel at a loss.
When I know I should have won.
Someone irreplaceable.
Someone I should not love.
But show me that genuine kindness.
Understand. And I am done.
My gift is my curse.
My heart beats for no one.

If ignorance is bliss,
then I am the sunshine
of a spotless mind.

If self-deception is peace,
then you are the moon
to my bare earth.

If a lie is the truth,
then we are the glimmer,
in the eyes of the blind.

If your love was wrong,
then I thank you
for ever making it feel so right.

I could see the way
Light formed from the opaque
Wrapping around the white whisps,
of clouds long past now.
Becoming solid, filling with mass,
casting shadows, glancing past.
I had tears of a feeling not quite joy,
not quite fear. Not quite empty.
Not quite. It was just the tip.

I thought of a lover.
One I could now never introduce to my Mother.
In more ways than one.
More ways.

Yet, I look across the open field,
Of others vast imaginations,
romantic meanderings,
and dramatic, emotive yields.
I empathize, and oh, I can find a way to feel.
But this warmth is wounding,
This hope, isolating.

There are parts of me that are gone.
And you reading,
And those who have heard,
And those who sit staring,
thinking, dreaming,
that it will come back,
That I will change,
or become as I was in their minds,
once more. That I'll grow up.
Move on. Recover. Become whole.
Feel human. Be an adult. Find a real reason for being.
Not just existence, unforgiving you.

That just a little religion,
some art, or expression.
Maybe a girlfriend,
wherever or whatever that is,
Can somehow complete me.
Bring me back.

But I smile, fondly,
Melancholy.
It is now a part of my  being.
I am that I am, said God.
And I am the God of my own choosing.

Depression is the worst of all diseases.
IT never leaves.

Poems can be like prophecies;
walls on the heart can build themselves.

Oh Jericho, what I want is what I fear.
The horn that will never come.

The words you say to yourselves,
can mean more than those to others.

A truth you spoke in a lie,
Is just your insecurities, crumbling.

A light in her eye,
Fading, now with time.

Your mind is weakening,
your love is perverted.

A poem is prophecy, he said...
I wrote Macbeth; and now I die.

Existence is
too
Meaningless
to
Contemplate

All over the stars She said,
Across the milky way,
And along kepler's bend,
Not as men or women, but as fae.

I'll hold your hand,
And I'll take your carcass,
And I'll strew it across orion's land.
Till no one else loves you, till your blood marks less.

Upon the Nebulae,
Your mind will be wrote,
On the lines of each and every lie,
You told me, and I coat.

You'll sing for me no longer,
Nay I'll have your very throat,
Stranger still you'll remember,
The love you broke.

I looked at her, I smiled.
A heart on her breast,
And all to see.
But still she's my goddess.
Even if I'm now,
nothing but dust.
Religion sickening.
A death at her church,
Her jesus, unblinking.
Her love, her lust,
Long gone.
Now unto someone else's
Milky way dream.

Im finally ready to talk about my mom
Now that I feel this numb
she died half a decade ago
and I loved a woman half a decade ago
When I was playing video games on the couch
on the corner imagine of that L shaped green couch
and I slowly realized out of the corner of my mind
more out of the corner of my consciousness
that my mother was dead
laying right next to me
Cold unresponsive and unbreathing
It was now looking back on it
a direct parallel to at least two different moments in my life
When my brother died and I stood outside my mothers bed
barely gathering the courage to wake her
often crushing eternities of silence keeping me from prodding her
from daring to say her name much after
I dont remember when she did awoke
I dont remember her unbearable fear
or the wanton panic in her eyes
but I remember my own
Oh I remember my own and
I kept her just out of sight of cognizance
Before moms funeral
the latter correspondent showed
I had *** with a lie
a lie I knew well
But I kept it just out of sight
No just at the edge of my mind
The drive home
with her brother in the back seat
and my *** deep inside her
fertile cheating womb
My Dark Twisted Fantasy
Bent right around me
I dont remember what I said
Panicking
I couldnt look her in the eye
Id only see myself
And I have to keep her out of sight
just on the line
to where maybe I didnt get here at all
maybe not me but another me
isnt experiencing this reality at all
shock they call it i think
fear
coping
dissociation
compartmentalizing
the trauma
the oh not me
I sat there for how long
playing a game I did not remember
as it was going on around me
my mind was already bleaching
forget forget fade to black
and still she laid there
not breathing
covered in her own blood and mucus
in a position that was disgustingly revealing
till they came
and took her carcass away
and I held someone
some family member or friend or some such
not even blinking and her
just out of sight
just out of thinking
until she left
and my weakness unyielding
exited too
only cold reality now reaching

The epilogue
of this ugly selfish poem
isnt all that revealing
not like before
not like after
I havent been able to form a real relationship
even at twenty three
I maybe came close but
Ive realized im very much a broken being
there was some sort of lesson
or personal growth
some sort of fundamental strength or courage
that was supposed to be found in hope
theres supposed to be a happy ending
a someone special waiting for me
no its not whats on tv
its all my sanity can dream
yet i cant share or feel
these dark deathly thoughts
i cannot even risk now
being rejected instead of
alone in my haught
oh ill only look
in the dark corners of the web
and ill only take and ill never give
i dont know where else to look
i never really did
and i have no moral compass to guide
only my experiences now to abide
so the epilogue is simple now:
Maybe I'll see you one day,
Around the corners of these ugly selfish words.

Riddle me this,
Riddle dee dee.

How does one
Be Happy?

Isn't there a better way?
O'er this snakeskin shedding,
Than this slow emotional death
Looking for cartharsis
Never to be?

Please, make me, me.
Release me from the birdcage,
And tell me where to dream.

Ah, I look for a tool of my own,
Somewhere buried in the dirt,
Because I am a plow without purpose,
A sword in peacetime.

Sheathed, but mostly lost.
Meaningless, but not wandering,
and so there is no journey,
no art.


Stagnation. Ah.
And a slow morose breath.
Just one long, inhale
For no greater cosmic purpose,
Than the exhale, fleeting.

What a beauty, she said in my agonizing reverie.
Smiling, turning, leaning,
Oyasumi, Good morning.
And the sun's lights ne'er did beam.
The morning stayed dark.
I died, there
heart still beating.

La, la la, la.

My life got ****** up fast.

Ha, ha ha, ha.

The best is past.

You heard your music wasn't as good.
You heard your voice wasn't
What it used to be.

You heard your lyrics weren't as raw.
Being healthy was no help.
No help at all.

The Millions faded, and you went from a day,
a way, a life, a future, a time, a moment,
ongoing, growing, building, moving.

And now you're faded.
You're that shirt I've worn for far too many days.
You were told, told.

Oh, but I know,
I'm nothing special myself,
I won't pay your bills.
I won't pay mine.

But at the right moment,
Oh at the right time
Your music,
Was my Possibility Day.
And I told you.
Your music. It's fine.

Oh,
lonely,
  broken
   little
    soul.
Cute little doll, porcelain and rogue, little magical empty being.
I know that place, mmm, that never land.
Tiny little heart, beating so bold
the black it oozes with every pump,
beautiful raven's gold.
Precious little one, I want to give you my hand.
I don't know whether you'll take it,
Whether I want you to,
Inevitability, I'll break my toy,
But if that's okay with you,
then it's okay with me.
If you got jagged edges, I'll smooth em out,
If you're shattered on the inside, I'll lick it out,
If your nightmares come to life,
They'll find a place with these demons of mine.
The
Thing
  You
   Don't
     Know
       is

How far does the rabbit hole go?
Is wonderland a dream
or a lie?

Jump and see.
Jump and see.

My favorite part about love
Is also my least favorite
The way you look in their eyes.

The gift is the curse.
It's one of a kind

Be Careful who you love,
Your heart will follow them,
Wherever you Go.

Guard who you trust,
Despite what you may hope,
The world is filled with lust.

Watch yourself growing up,
Just because you get old,
Does not mean you've reached the mountaintop.

Don't let your pain make you,
Hold the scars on your heart,
And become who you must.

Find your consistency,
The world will beat you down,
Be the rock others, gather around.

It's the quiet moments,
of existential dread,
Where your character opens.

Be the happiness you seek,
Worthy ones won't come,
Unless you are at peace.

Find the strength to say no,
The easy way deceiveth,
The hard, long road, will provideth.

And you don't need a religion,
But nurture your soul,
Even if it's with,
A simple little poem.

Write poetry, his heart did tell him.

So he closed his eyes and described a tree,
But it's verdant leaves built upon great,
Amber seams. Did not settle the ache.

In fact the more his minds eye did capture the veins coursing, Pre-written, as if trapped by fate, so too did he feel more empty.

The harder I sought to hold the feeling of the wind, cool and comfortable, like a child's blanket, on that warm day.

The deeper I needed to tell the world, or just a someone, how the city lights gleamed upon the burgundy sunset, how right it felt to be there in that moment as the world changed, just so before me.

The desire continued only more, the hunger it would not stop, it was ravenous, as I idled by thinking of how to capture the light in her eyes, even as my heart now breaking, like raging waves upon land anchoring some apple dangling, twisting, and snapping back just out of the wrathful sea.

But the fruit of knowledge isn't for me. Even if I were to have it, never could I see. I'd be blind, even with omnipotence, ah even with her praise... I'd just smile for a little while... but then... I'd get hungry.

How can I get it back, how can I trade my love in word? No when I can only paint the shades of black. When I want the horror and lust, and not the beautiful rust, of words and ink bleeding on the page of, just... I don't know.

My metaphors ran out. I guess my hunger won out because they say at the end you don't starve anymore. You're delusional and delirious and the endorphins and your mind finds peace, and the emptiness that lies beyond.

Ah because that's where I am now. The place which poetry has given me. A gift or a curse. I know not anymore to decide.

It was a dark night,
and the man laid along the road,
and the moon wasn't there,
but it never shown so bright,
He dreamed a dream,
But the sun shone,
and woke him anyway.

I woke up still dreaming,
A silly little seeming.
I dropped a cup upon your door,
And your mom to my wonder, beckoned me forth.

She asked questions I must confess,
My mind remembers not but my heart craves, even at rest.
She smiled down knowingly,
and in that, Moment, greedily,
My mind played tricks to give me reason
To find you again, to beckon forth
As if I was ever a prince. And you anything but, a nevermore.

Oh, such, poison, sickly sweet,
In those hazel eyes, and bountiful *****,
In your perfect hair and perfect smile,
That in my dreams a stranger convinces me, it's worth a while.

Oh, broken heart, still beating,
That even yet still needing,
Something from days best forgot,
From traumas that still burn hot.
Go away, I say. Find a new devil to ache.
Nay, nay. Nay.

Ah am I more scared to remember, or more afraid to forget?
And I may never find a lover, not one that's here,
I only look in the distance now.
She's the only one who can get near.
Just me and my regret.
Still just you. My Amanda Dear.

The Boy walked a path,
A quiet little road,
and the passengers came and went,
But no one joined the show.

The blue sky never changed,
The clouds would not grow,
The sun could not fade,
The moon will not glow.

It twisted, it turned,
Yet the more forward he bent,
The more the Echos came, and went
"Remember, Remember,"
And the Sky still would not change.

He lost his way,
But the path never went away,
Silly little boy, silly little problems,
Lonely little child, Smiling dutifully.

Where will he go?
Oh, just aways.
What will he see,
A few passengers, blank as the sky.
Reflections of... something, gone by.

What will he hear?
Oh, just the sounds of his fear,
"Remember, Remember,"
pit-pat, pit-pat,
Nary, nary on her December.

The Spring birthed for others,
For him only death grew,
And the bees pollinated,
Each and every one of those bright seeds.

Cute little boy,
Grown so big,
To hold in all the clouds,
Because he's too small.
Too weak,
To look up at that Sky.
Anymore.

Can it be understood?
The storms of another.
He ponders.
He ponders.
And the passengers exit here.

A simple poem,
Of an Algernon mind,
Once great now low,
Every day I simply love,
A little less.

Can't. Won't. Will not.
I see you there. My weakness.
You aren't always there. You pick
And You choose.
Heart bump. Instagram. Dread.
Same old game. Can't grow up. Can not move on. You're always there. Waiting.
Apathy. Desire. Fear. Loathing.
A cycle of reincarnation. An atheist Buddha. The same life. Feeling new by it's blistening intensity. Just raw.
Festering and sterile.
I do blame You. For everything. But I won't walk away from You. Depression is obsession.  I'm consumed by You.
Cold. Can't see. Can't think. Blood moving eerily. Playing Axis and allies. Can't speak.
You hit me the morning after. I don't like myself. I'm late for work. Again. I dissapointed my Father. Again. I Made bad decisions. Again. Even this sick soliloquy, is  no therapy for me anymore. You watch me. You'll stay for a while. Your face is painfully expressionless. Your eyes dull. You'll be back again. Like the cold winds and goosebumps. One leading to another. Fading, for only a while. If I make it this time I'll see you on the other side.
And if not, at least I'll, go in the light. Even if hell fire is all I right.
Maybe You'll be there waiting. And you won't ever go. I'd miss you. I'd miss you so.

Moon's light,
Reflected in this screen's bite.
Pale reflections,
of others glory in flight.

Artemis, oh, knowledge anew,
Overflowing, and empty,
Substance withdrew,
Only the absence feeling quite right.

The bird, unfurled again,
Makes one last dash to end the tension,
But the philosopher's king knows no bounds,
His emotions, long failed him.

And I'm alone, I implore.
A faint dream, a perchance, perhaps,
Passing out my naked membrane,
Evermore.

I'm a ******,
I look at blue skies,
Yearning for gray.

Oh, baby, I'm a ******,
I dream to be great,
and Stick myself in the Mundane.

****, I guess I'm a ******,
I need a woman,
Keep myself well locked away.

Turned out I was a ******...
I loved you so much,
But it led you to profane my...

I've always known I was a wierdo...
Apathy never seemed  anything but pleasing,
Not since I buried my heart,

Now I close my eyes, in front of my friends,
A ******, Unabetted thoughts racing through my head,
It's just another

I'm already thinking
of how beautiful
the next epitaph
will be.

Oh, Music
The kind of music
that excites the part of my mind
that makes me feel separate from mankind

The ******* rush of the void
slick softening comfort of the dark
like the sick arousing relief of your wife leaving you
the smile you swallow in the back of our throat, the only truth

As if, at last, I don't have to be... anything to anyone,
I can just hate and wallow and satiate,
my own made up desires
a husk. a beautiful dusk of a once bright human
being.
As if. But tomorrow always brings,
that disgusting dawn.

Every time I se her name
On someone else's face
I want to cry and die

My late night malaise.
My recurring waking dream.
My vestiges of depression.
Turning inside out on me

Uncomfortable feelings.
That I do not know how to control.
I lay here passively.
In the dark. And let them wash
Like tides ebbing and flowing
On my tiny soul.

Late night malaise.
I'm stuck in your
Twilight zone. Trying to pick up someone
Who will make me feel at home

But my golden years feel so long gone.
People look at me and wonder
How I was ever good looking at all.
Failing to understand who I am
Again .
A light malaise. Yes. And endlessly deep.
A perfect fit for
A broken man.

Half Empty.

The beautiful girl she Sat alone
Her hair of fire and her eyes of stone
Prettily covered a void now grown

It had always been there but even still
Now at last it felt unreal.
As if she was not herself. But a caricature a void of ladies past.

I could see her sitting there in her half emptiness.
I felt my other side waiting and I looked her
In her eyes.
With soft shown bliss she smiled. And I said to her simply
You will be mine for a long while.
While before you've never felt whole
Upon one look the truth shall be told
You were made to be mine.  And I shall
Have you body mind heart and soul.
Though it may be scary because of false prophets long since past
If you take a fall into my rabbit hole
You'll find yourself awoken as you really are.
Alice in Wonderland
At last

It always shocks me that people love
My poetry.
When you are enveloped in flaws
And develop through,
Get this,
Critical thinking,
You find yourself a self same mess
Just getting older and clinging to
The chemical bliss your brain elicits
When someone says yes,
This poem is something I loved.
It's an addiction, honey, but it's worthless,
For the second it arrives my consciousness
Comes in with three different thoughts,
First the emotional and egotistical
I'm the best why isn't there more love,
and then the collusion rational,
My personal poetry is meaningless to
Others except by a voyeuristic view,
There is no intrinsic value,
Finally, always, the doubt and internal
Degradation. This poetry is really
Nothing at all. Just failures like
Adam grasping for straws reaching for God
But I aspire to nothing really,
And I don't care much about anyone or
Anything anyways
I just want to be special. And it's easy.
And the talent does sometime flow nicely.
But it gives me nothing. No bread on my table.
At what point does therapy and sharing
Just excercise my own limitless desire
For pleasure and devotion.
So many counter opinions so many theories
But every time my mind acts the same
I'm just a disgusting human with a
Dastardly perspective and I enforce it on
You in lines and rhymes to be God in your
Mind if only for a little while.
And I always think,
For those this bothers most,
How shocking it is that people
Love my poetry.

The blood moon
Fell softly in the night
Just another night
Alone
Nothing special
Nothing different
At all.
Just a ******* red moon
To mirror my long
Fall

You can ******* lie to me baby.
If that only means
I can be back in your life.
If I can see those eyes again
And that smile
And that presence
I almost feel alive
Over a ******* lie
4 years since

Catharsis is my blood on these lines
I exhale and beat myself dry
I ****** and die all over this mouse
A little less of what I was
And a little more less human.

Catharsis is when I tell a girl
A two page response on why I want her
And I never hear back from her again
And I sit there alone and close my eyes
My heart not even beating the whole time

Catharsis is working all day for minimum
Wage working all night for my own delight
Knowing tomorrow is sleep in daylight
And my body is dying a little faster
So my mind won't have to think these thoughts much Longer.

Write a poem
To change my soul
So maybe I won't feel
Nothing at all
Decrepit
Mmm sweet release.

All along the midnight prairie,
Across the twilight plains and rarely,
In those oft forgotten and half imaginary,
Waking dreams of bygone maps,
Lies that kid you used to be a lack,
Lidless moon and starlit flack,
Illuminate loves long lost track,
Wherein , perhaps, dear child, dear friend,
You'll find a way to here again,
But in this world oh so blue,
Where twilight never gleams nor shines on through,
Where going back is no mend,
And dying forward is one's bend,
Verily little boy listening clearly,
My wisdom sense I pass on dearly,
You'll get nowhere on this life I fear,
Without losing your innocence,
In a midnight prairie