a mother got on the bus
with her little boy
his hand wrapped completely in hers

they took their seats
by the window
he pressed his head
against the glass

and he looked out
at the passing cars
the people
the trees and lights

blurs
colors and noises
a cacophony of life

he saw it all
and smiled

some people were made
to do great things

a wife, children,
a 401k and
a built in pool

and some people were made for
drinking, ******
***** jeans and
Chef Boyardee

to be happy
you just have to
realize that
not everyone
will live that
seemingly perfect life

some lives are made for
nothing more than
being wasted

skin covers
my bones
my organs
maybe my soul
maybe my mind

it covers me
yet it is always
searching
for more skin

skin to
touch
rub
feel

always searching
always finding

maybe never
the right skin
but
it finds something
someone

and then
if you're lucky
your skin
and their skin
become one
somewhere.

I should not be held
Accountable for
Everything I say
Everything I see
I am a vessel
A model of
Someone else's ideals
Someone else's thoughts

My mind is not
my own any more
There is someone else
My cognition isn't my own

Controlling my mouth
Limbs
Eyes

I am not me

I am

There is a sorrow
In the world
So profound
So heavy

So heavy
You can see it

You can see it in
a newborns eyes
completely absorbing
everything around him

You can see it in
the woman on the corner
waiting for the walk signal
completely engrossed in
her cell phone

You can see it in
a balloon,
tied to the wrist of a young girl
pulling towards the clouds.

That balloon
has the right idea.

Close your eyes,
and let yourself float above
That sadness

Towards the clouds
before you wither,
deflated,
and let the sorrow
engulf you.

Everything is a paradox
From the fireflies to the boondocks
There is no paradigm
No pattern to be followed
You have to climb
Through the slime
the crime
the grime.

Time?
None.
Everyone will be outdone
In a world where anyone
Gets a trophy for their shelf
It's all about yourself

Relax while you can
Doctors, rapists, the businessman

Set fire to the bible
This is it, you're tribal

**** until you die!
Drink, steal, lie.

Because nothing matters.
Now go,

run,

scatter.

I watched the drop forge
Across from my home.
My window faces it
and everyday,
I watch.

I watch the metal being poured
making washers, pipes, rings
and bolts

And I feel the hammer fall
It shakes the house
The windows rattle

The dishes clink-clank together.

The floor vibrates with the BANG BANG
of the hammer
and there's nothing I can do to stop it

Somehow
I've managed to sleep through it
slept through it for years.

I can sleep through the pounding
the shaking, the noise.

But my thoughts, though silent,
keep me awake.

And there's nothing I can do to stop it.