i carry the weight of the world on my shoulders
willing or not, a part of my subconscious makeup
a disposition to take their troubles and yours as well
i live with a thousand guilty minds and mine own
yet i do not add my burdens to the load
i live with my demons caged inside
for how can you be there for the greater good
with any weakness showing of your own?
lend me no ear, my problems i will not share
that would defeat my impossible goal
to free the world of earthly cares and sorrows
a self made martyr who wants no acknowledgment
no word of thanks, thats what friends are for
but i am cracking inside
to a million shattered fragments
held together out of a sense of duty
only as strong as my own convictions
a plea for help almost escapes
these lips sewn shut
only to be swallowed and lost
                                                       in
                                                               the
                                                                                farthest

                                                                                                              reaches
  

                                                                                                                                          of



                                                                                                                                                                     my







                                                                                                                                                                          mind.

street lamp flickers on--
our blush fills the night from
collarbone to lips

Perfection
The subjection of one’s interjections
Based on the world
The world of today
Can you change what you think
What others have to say

Were interconnected but not in connection
With a convection of perfection that inhibits rejection
Or constant correction of certain parts or sections
That people fail to mention for their own protection
Believing a misconception to gain desired affection
Wasting their discretion for a false obsession
Thoughts of concession and encouraging suppression
This is just one dissection of perfection
It is but one path, one direction
But this should lead to many other questions

What about succession from the term perfection?
Is it needed to drive people to higher ascension?
Maybe one day society can undergo a social resurrection
Where creed, religion, race, freedom are not held in contention
No more crimes, no need for detention
Everyone is happy, no more thoughts of depression
Everyone can be comfortable with their own reflection

Hopefully this dissection can leave a lasting impression
And drive home the need for a universal intervention
To stop and think what it means strive for perfection
For you may have it wrong upon further inspection

I must not gaze at them although
Your eyes are dawning day;
I must not watch you as you go
Your sun-illumined way;

I hear but I must never heed
The fascinating note,
Which, fluting like a river reed,
Comes from your trembing throat;

I must not see upon your face
Love's softly glowing spark;
For there's the barrier of race,
You're fair and I am dark.

short-handed love letters
written in the daydreams of a deliberate narcoleptic.

i send you the paper plane promises of summer
(sealed tightly in sweaty palmed envelopes)

you're not one to read poetry
yet i always manage to find feather light stanzas draped across your shoulders
held down by nothing more
than freckled thumbtacks

years fall away
like too heavy eyelashes onto cheeks

waiting to be brushed away
by the callused fingers of patient lovers

our slow and natural tendencies
our lips mimic the rate of gravity

you use a box cutter to lengthen the creases in my palm

but borrowed time
and fickle fate
will never heal heartbreak

You're so scared of death but
don't you think you're the only one.
How do you see me at all
through scarred flesh
and pools of blood.

How do you see me at all
when your back is turned
and the snapping noise
of your spinal cord
is all that is heard
drowning out the light
in the room.

Blinding.
Please don't bleed anymore.

And if the sky wasn't falling
I never would have
left you there to suffocate
beneath the waves.