Blood is running through your veins.
Your heart is beating.
  Air is getting pumped through your lungs.
   Your hair and fingernails are growing.
     Wrinkles are slowly forming on your face.
      Your mouth is producing saliva.
       You have a sense of smell.
        You can see and hear.
         You're constantly blinking.
          The scabs on your body always heal.
           Food and water are keeping you alive.
            But still,
You're dead to me.

love,
I'm still thinking of a question that doesn't fit
when I should be listening

I feel like I have spoken,
All the words I've never said.
Though I know that I am living,
I mostly feel dead.

When I reach my destination,
I don't know where I am;
I care most of the time,
But don't give a ****.

I dream a lot,
But I never really sleep.
I'm calm with my chaos,
Just not the havoc that I wreak.

I like the freedom of choices,
But hate to make a decision;
I'm walking against traffic,
Waiting for a collision.

I laugh when it's not funny,
It's funny because you're serious;
Most of the the apparent things,
Are actually quite mysterious.

All these woes and trials,
I'm smiling through it all;
I'm constantly off balance,
But I never seem to fall.

This is just a little insight,
To the person that I am,
I'm sorry if you don't like it,
Frankly, I don't give a ****.

no one really knows anything,
No matter how much they think they do.
Blind men in dark.
Stumbling around like broken legged sheep.
Trying to find the truth,
Trying to get some faith.

she was a bird, kind of. The kind that was easy to free, you know those ones you hear outside your window on a late spring afternoon, when the sky isn’t quite yet pink but you know it will be soon, and it’s kind of a sad time.

She’s that kind of bird – the little plain brown ones that wait on the trees and suddenly you look out and it’s staring at you, giving you this sort of look that goes, “I know what you are doing and I can see you, deep inside you.” It’s sort of chilling,

but it gives you a warm feeling too, until the tips of your toenails, and you feel very stuffy.

She was that kind of bird. She would often just sit there next to you while you were drawing something, with her hand under her chin, legs crossed, leaning forward. And you would lose all focus of what you were drawing and realize that whatever it was, she would be twenty times more interesting to draw.

So you would casually flick your notebook to a new page and contemplate a few sketch marks, outlining her jaw – and what a jaw. And you would just stare at that jaw and the curve you drew on your paper, and they would look nothing alike. But you hate erasing, but you hate what’s on the paper, and you just can’t take it and you get all frustrated and all the while she’s just sitting there with her hand under her chin, legs crossed, leaning forward, and you mean to jump a little and stand up and stare at her directly in the face,

but you realize that wouldn’t be so nice. And you realize you’re acting slightly stupid, so you keep your poise and take off your shoes and socks, and it’s so nice by the fountain so you dip your toes in a little bit.

Then she turns her head a little too quickly toward you when she notices your toes in the water, and you turn toward her, surprised. She searches your face, your eyelashes, your hands, sighs and leans backward and lies down on the cement, her shirt stretching up a centimeter or two above the waistband of her pants, exposing a white thin cookie piece of her belly.

And then you want to draw her belly, except you can’t see her bellybutton which is the main part, and you get more frustrated, and all the while she’s just lying there staring up at the sky, with her legs uncrossed and her arms splayed out to either side of her, and all the while her blue and brown jacket is – oh no, she’s taking it off, oh no, and now you want to draw her arms except you can’t because you’ve pretty much just proven to yourself within the last few minutes that you can’t draw her at all. It’s so impossible, so you just don’t even open your mouth, and the water is making the bottoms of your toes wrinkly and it’s actually a little cold, so you look at her hair.

So you look at her hair rolled out clumsily on the cement and it’s beautiful, and it’s so unfair what she is, and you don’t even know what to do with yourself.

Go to sleep
A world on the mind
So many secrets
To be found in time

Wish for more
In a world of redundancy
Don't believe everything
That you see on T.V.

A secret kept
On a pretty pink mouth
Just wishing for some way
For it to get out

Sit on the edge
And flirt with danger
Live laugh and love
And speak to a stranger

A whisper
Taken on a sudden wind
A friendship lost
And found again

Written words
And words never said
Trapped inside
Of someone's hurting head

A strum of a guitar
and a lyric sung
A soul unraveled
And thoughts undone

A shy smile
Come to light
A lonely child
Afraid of the night

A sudden beat
In a heart's desire
A bottle smashed
A raging fire

A swingset
Sitting all alone
A missing item
To the world unknown

A burning want
For the things unmentioned
A lowered voice
To catch your attention

A glance to the sides
And cautious words
The power there
To heal or to hurt

Secrets are kept
And secrets are told
Some of them new
Most of them old

In the shadow of the day
And the whisper of the wind
Your secrets wait
To be found again