The beauty that meets my eye
diminishes my supply.

Not an aspect of features
in her figure escapes my sight.

It’s the greater
that I can’t understand.

So powerful is the draw
I’m sketched a thousand times,
but I’m just scribbles within a frame
and, by comparison, she’s the real thing;
painted marble from head to toes;
crafted by hands that are not of this world.

And I, myself, already know
that moment's breath screamed past my grasp,
as my lungs could not even laps,
as if they were as desperate as
asphyxiation due to water deprivation…

But sub lines there’s a confusion,
and a resolve that’s a ****** resolution.

To write withered worried thought
and never to do more than trot
along on my way…

As if a gallant gallop
could save someday
that goes unmentioned.

There she is in time;
here I sit within
the primal nursery rhyme.

“Scared away…”,

It rejects to say,

*“You’ve not only wasted your lines,
but I’ve also wasted mine.”

what's left unsaid?

if never the time was taken to be read.

in the fields of flowers
where pollen falls
and nothings there to collect
lies weaves
in the petals veins
in the sorrow that is bleed
from the honey comb that stuck to the roof of my mouth.

what's there if never?

what's better?

if forever takes so long that we have the chance to forget.

and if I had one regret
it would be that regret.

Whether here, across the table from us
Or they're just a fading rememberence
The radiant truth burns brightly as thus
The stars must confess of their existence

Somewhere, far away, linger thoughts actions
Told through the universe's consciouness
Which are now freely dancing vibrations
Enticing souls with their vivaciousness

And here we are; the long lost counter parts
Lighting the till where time taxed the stars tolls
While the trepidatious mourn hums it's heart
We make our seperate ways as complex wholes

Yet as far fetched as this story all sounds
We are reflections in the stars rebounds

Here we are,
there we were,
watching matters
flutter by...

Without sight,
out of mind.
Closed off from the view
that we all carried…

With, or without me…

Or the line passed onto you.

I can see still
a place we have,
like looking back
at the stream we passed…

Laying down I’m taken back...

With a flash I see again…

With not a care
we float on by
on the ground
while in the sky.

I heard that greatness
once transferred
through three artists
as they envisioned
upon the same piece
over the course
of our lifetimes.

One being transferred
their explicit mind into
the chiseling away
of white stone.

And now
he stand's
protected from
the elements,
but time will
bring him
to his knees.

I heard that we all
finished something,
but it was left to dissolve
in never has-beens eye’s

The same eyes
that watch over
an Achilles heel
that belongs to
the giant's victor. . .

And the sling,
a seemingly
unimportant thing,
would have
you believe
that the stone
will take us all. . .

Eventually.

Alas it seems
that they have
just exchanged
David's fate
for that of
the giant's. . .

In an ironic twist,
a flick of the (artist’s)wrist.

So soon do we go bye
that it’s almost impossible
to recognize the beauty
before it passes.

They told me to stop and smell the roses,
but the roses have been set loose
and their out of the light before I’ve come to a truce
within my own mind,
or when I look up to the sky
to see the sunshine.

If too long gazed
the blaze will make me go blind.

Dressing up to something you want to be
(or something someone else wants you to be).

Before you know it
your something you never thought you’d believe.

A situation you never thought you’d see
like looking up at a smile to be had,
and held,
and kissed.

Next thing you know you’ve already missed,
as they pass by on their public transit.

For all to see.

Walk into the giving machine
with who you don’t agree,
but holds your fortune by the throat.

Digging a personal moat
becoming remote
and not giving back
until you not only ask,
but also make and take.

She’s here not there,
not waiting for me.

I don’t care unless there are three,
or one less - for you - I feel passion without a bless
and to attest I know that I will.

No bitter pills,
no sorry shrills,
and nothing to ****.

I’m back in the egg,
I’m in the void,
and I’m ready to be re-undeployed.

Even if I get annoyed
I know I’ll come back
to where I’ll be in the stack
and without a lack.

To all who are near
the joiner is clear

...

A flutter of her eyelashes.

Her flicker has forever lasted.

I’m too much of a predator for this place…

Or maybe not enough…

Somebody will strike tonight
and it’s on the face of them all.

This place is as awkward as a high school ball,
but with our chaperones allowance of alcohol.

If I sound bitter it might be true,
but more realistically
it’s just the reflection of the portrait of you.

I stare and turn away.
(out of embarrassment)

I look again
and force myself to turn.

The third time’s where I stick around
and try to figure it out...

To try to learn....

I see dark lights
and friendly faces;
bashful peeks
and longing glances.

It’s not enough to say,

‘Hey.’

You have to scream it.

I wasn’t meant for you
but I’ll make you believe it...

The night will take us all
and tomorrow will take us back.

I’ve been had between them so often
I’m about to crack...

Oh no,
I’ve gone and said it...

It’s there for the stare;

Used and abused
pushed locked cut blown fuse.

I’ve been miss lead by
a beautiful muse...

Yeah whatever…

I know it’s no use.

I don’t know
whether I love you,
or if I loath you…

I guess I’ll just take
the middle ground,
and say,

‘I like you.’

The scratch on your face heals
as my attraction comes and goes…

What am I up to?

Making something beautiful,

‘I don’t care.’

Easy as that,
and I’ve turned it into something ugly…

Paint me again
the poor boy that I am;
laugh at me
and pour me a drink.

All in one Sentence
if you please.

All in one motion…

Emotions have brought me
from here—

—to there.

Like reliving every
eventful stare.

Was it you or I
who cared?

I seem to forget…

Thank me again,
and receive your tip.

I think we’re similar enough,
after all,
we’re cut from the same fluff.

And knowing that is—

Far—

Too—

Much.
*(rough)

The place you’ve arrived,
dived,
and returned to the surface;

gasping for air.

It was all around,
but nobody cared...

until it was no longer there.

What a sparse remark to make
around something that can’t be saved…

Suddenly I feel like
I’ve been here before.

I followed emotions that
bring me to the floor.

Plastic and currents,
breaks and neck aches...

They relate to a lake
where swimming once occurred.

Was I here?

Am I there?

It’s hard to concur
when you speak
such sleek
negative
things.

I forgot as you chimed in on me,
or about my personality.

I’ve had a fill beyond the rim.

I've spilled out
and everyone can observe my ****.

Closing time passed,
and here I stand with nothing left to grasp.

The promise land was not mine,
but another’s who I blindly followed...

How much longer can I endure?

...I have not the strangest of clues.

I’m sick,
can’t you see?

I’m unwell,
can it be?

I don’t understand
what the intentions are
towards me.

I feel like there are ticks
burrowing beneath my skin…

My mind exasperates the hate
and twists the praise
into disgrace.

Never good.

Never good enough.

Never great.

Like a memory
built upon a dream...

but real


and



without







escape.

Humanity is a ****** up fiend
looking for it’s next score…

I think I just tore
whatever there was left to tear.

Please put me back in your stare,
I do not mind if you glare.

My righteousness was not enough to keep me here,
nor you there.

I wish I didn’t have to find it this hard to care…

...I could never be an untrue phrase;
you would lie to save your face
for a friend who will leave you
before your final days.

Do you care?
Not in the least.

Did I?
Only when I could gaze upon your personal space…

Fracture and harmed,
another passer by with something to say.

Everything is wrong,
nothing is left undisplayed.

Thank you for your time of day
I thought yours’ precious...

on the other hand,
mine IS a waste.

You've just got to wade it out until
you can catch the next wave.

Then you'll be soaring.

The time between talking
leads to the thing to say next.

And if we’ve grown so far apart
to think a thought
that the coherency of our relationship
stops making sense
then I'd wish for you to point out this.

I wouldn't want an act of understanding
leading me to believe that everything is alright,
while you go over inside
about something you're too afraid to express.

Going over the same old things
without a point
can be quite useless…

I wouldn’t want us to become this.

She sees me there in minutes past.

I give in for something that relieves the pain
of things to give.

It’s not without the games we play.

It’s all within itself.

Self contained and exploding at the seams.

And if the end is now
I still want to be dreaming
one last dream
about all the many other dreams to dream.

And so it seems it goes by in the blink of a cry,
or the tear of the eye.

And an answer to the many:
Who would know what's best?

To lurk in the shadows
while waiting for all the dreaming
to be put to rest…

But it appears to me
to be
an impossibility.

Even if this is
The End.

I’ve been converged upon…

Now I can’t even see her face.

My brain is preoccupied in thinking
about the most bizarre things.

Too twisted to describe…

Although I will try anyways...

Mostly;

‘deathmeltexplosiverots.’

That can’t be helped.

That can’t be stopped.

I take my time...

The gathering passed.

An empty seat…

where she was last.

It’s there where I find my plot,
rummaging around
in my flattened heart.

What a cold place the world can be
when nothing’s left to gain reprieve.


Stuck in a picture,
without blush,
knowing that the teals and hues
will never be used to set you free...


No longer being
able to believe
in the least degree.


Life’s a funny thing though,
for one day you can see
what the day before
could not be gleaned…


The white turns off of the grey stage
and prisms onto your own page.


With vision restored
you’re welcomed into
the colors warmth.

They colour in dabs
that spark the streaks
long and drawn
about how this and that

don't correspond.

And out of place
to save some face
within their own space
they end and get back to the point...

back onto the same page.

But everyone's to tell
what words to those who are heard
and never to be
fall friverously on vincibility.

They seem to see...

that the sun paints me
tangerine
and tangents are all
that's ever been.

They’re pinned to pages.

Their feelings have flown away
with the last flutter of their wings.

In the index we are all in content.

Filling the pages with our individual faces…

***** we’ve all felt before
make it until the pages fold.

Kissing her in the darkness,
as the binder finds pressure between its hinges.

My larva sits in sacks waiting to be hatched.

A protein batch asks for it’s usual back
and cares so much about when it cracks.

It doesn’t think at all about the beauty that's about to be had
more than the flower it rests it’s legs upon,
or the skin of a fruit in its ripened state,
or now the rigamortus that it stills in its deathened wait…

Wait?

The beauty in what?

The obsessed,
as the butterfly net settles gently on top of another victim.

A classic beige villain cups and cards,
jars,
and pokes holes to breath.

The winged beauty is re-confined
in a place of un-metamorphoses.

Crashing into the walls
like any caged animal would.

Settling on a leaf,
while a female flips free in front of the reflections of light that plays on the atmosphere and condensation.

I clip myself and wash chemicals on my figure,
so I’ll never decay.

Suffer the stage with a name
and play the same pose that impresses without rest.

My cloudy eyes would cry if they could,
but they can't.

And all that I hope for now
is that when my counterpart ends
she’s staple to the page across from me,

so when that book is finally closed
we’ll be face to face
and our soulless remains
can finally embrace.

So humble it is we have to die
No matter how hard we try and try
How humble it is that we have to wallow in our own ****
As the filthy become apprised
The wealthy and well off become despised
the poor and deprived become revived
Turning a blind eye leads to one being poked out
The other left to look upon what was so often left drawn
To swallow even the most gravest of swans
Left to wallow oh how I will dote upon
The word I sought
I sought
And I sought
But they were gone
Gone
Gone!
To where they were frowned upon
I wrote new age ledgers
That I doubted on
And when I'm gone I say at least
How humble it is we have to die
When all we did was try and try
So humble it is we have to die
The freedom of verse
Forever cries

(like much of life)

we’re on the inside
looking out,

while longing
for someone

on the outside
to look in

(Along with the Atmosphere)

Here we are again...
another look to stare.

You’ll wait for me to come your way,
I’ll stay over there.

I can’t seem to be bothered to be
removed from my selfish chair.

Didn’t you know that I no longer cared?*

It’s as worn as my welcome,
which is gone in such a way
that one could believe
I was never there...
                
...or here.

I forgot what moment was which…

...It’s too late.

I’m already bewitched
by the thoughts that I have streamed
and it’s gone along with every dream
That we have ever dreamed....

...which didn’t seem too important to me.

I heard reality,
abrasive and pane’d,
she was cruel,
but not as cruel as thee...

Who can only serve to fit
                                                             ­                  the most unfitting of endings.

The eyes on the back of their heads are their friends
watching out for their best interests…

Or looking out for the interests given.

I started to believe that there was a difference,
but I’m constantly reminded that we are the same

only with opposite perspectives
that seeks the others reflection...

Two parts of a singularity...

Little Yang's big Yin...

Same-same, but not at all.

I’m over grateful for the dot that has been given
and where my portion transforms into a solo point.

The point where I become one with my other half...

A circle that goes around,

*always.

Arriving in the corner of my sight
I see you for the first time.

I follow light traces
until they leave the other worldly surfaces.

You look like a ghost,
an apparition,

that’s appeared
only for me to see.

You walk on by
to where my eyes go blind.

I think my stunned looks
have turned you away

and now you’ve passed
beyond the corners glass...

As if in a dream
you return to me within reality

and I see you
as you see me…

as our images cross and merge,
separate and disperse,

we are never to be

re-aligned
*(again).

Don’t stay
with people
who make
your world
grey.

But give them
a chance
and hear
what they
have to say.

Maybe
your colours
will rub off
onto
their easel,

and a streak
will change
their canvases
complexion
forever.

Was it all worth being
blown away,
floating on by,
captured in a ray,
and then invisible
without a taste?

The ghastly dark lit place
plays positives
that would not exist
without their counterparts,
or a nagging nuance
that’s overstayed
and welcomes in
yesterday.

You can not hear it
after it leaves,
but only within
a memories dream
where imagination kisses
the glitter of the stars
and their time to shine
is spent on speaking their minds.

I still haven’t thought of an answer
to a question that I had forgotten...
(was never asked)

Before opportunity breaks preparation
and luck flees forever,
leaving usurped substance
behind in an eternal void,
I see the wind changing direction
and what I thought was lost
comes back again to greet me…

Once more
I find the thought,
and then go on
with the rest of my plot.

(A Slight Tug)

Sweeter than poison rain
down my storm drain.

More graceful than a passing dove
landing in a frozen frame
on the branch of a family tree.

More belonging than me…

Information gathers at the tips of wits.

A type of rope by a blamed name
and the street starts and parts the same.

I read myself in a remembrance.

I watch the time to forget this,
but the time doesn't forget me.

It knows the keys I played in reality.

It hears the depths of misunderstanding,
and smiles…

If it could...

If only it wasn't made out of that ******* wood.

A branch breaks in the forest.

It doesn't care if a human's around to hear it's sound.

It's saplings whisper on the wind.

It cries forever having to begin
being born all over again.

A lover slips into a questioned bed.

A send off by any choice
could make me feel quite sick.

It wasn't the petrol that glossed the nerves...

It was the flesh of the skin.

I marked a remark before it knew it wasn't going to begin
and passed up my opportunity for a distraction that leaves me (alone).

A gift goes ungiven,
but not to a friend,
and as coy as a mouse,
it doesn't forget to say thanks.

Thanks.
Thanks?
Thanks…?

Thanks For what?

I'm grated and fried
all within a why?

And I await,

Frayed,

for the final reply...