coated in confidence,
my cuticles grace over
my keypads with
an unruly air of
sophistication.

the tips of my fingers
are a canvas
to be removed
in a week’s time.

i am a modern day
michelangelo,
whose sistine chapel lives
on in the form of
hand gestures and
improvised mannerisms.

there is definitely
something to be
said regarding the
prestige of polymer.

My hypothetical goals
lay ahead
Their presence reminds me
the reasons I tread
towards a mindless existence.
Each memory I led
falls deeper
heavy
into caverns of thought.
I'm forced upon valleys
stone-filled and grey.
The hard depths continue
to oppress.
Revolutions will be
denied.
I'm a drought of freedom
unprepared for storms
where opportunities might
embrace.

Mirror, mirror on my wall,
every glance I do appall.
My conscience tears through my wit,
chasing sanity to its fit.

Interlaced with grace and charm,
these habits mask conscious alarm.
Once delusions are unleashed,
they trample and choke facts unseen.

Alas I sigh at this note,
where fear and shame stick to my coat.
A worn mind I bid adieu,
a tattered fragment must make-do.

Hello’s are comfortable
In a world where awkward is
dreaded, avoided desperately

Goodbye’s are imminent.
The closure concept
never fails satisfaction

When will the colloquialisms
universally celebrated,
contradict the least sought
after desires of humanity?

Our relationships are divided
by stoppages in play.
With swift waves of hands
of fingers,
compartmentalizing nothing,
on a cluttered desk.
Where was my hello?

humanity remains inexplicable,
in that conventional fears paralyze
the movements of existence and routine.
our foundations are binding,
yet our projections are lonesome and divided.

My denim leg is perpendicular to my knee,
I continue a light shaking of my foot.
Its constant rhythm seems to match
me internally.
The couch is dull and used,
with a history of insanity and progress.
It never has intimidated me.
I now sink hard into the cushion’s depths.
His opposing presence tranquilizes
the tangents and tragedies.
My mouth releases words
that first entered the gates of my conscious
with astonishing ease.
I am a balance,
it’s all about the balance.

A reflection of silence wobbles her eardrums.
The throbbing of her temple is an electric current
of her descent, of her plateau.
She remains a paralyzed catalyst,
a blatant mirage into isolation.