To that boy
before he became the poor
specimen in a sea?

Drowning taunts
root the doubts.

His whims departed
long and prior
to the last age of innocence.

Clouds dance no more
than his weary legs
in halls of crowded isolation,
what role can exist here?

That once youthful spark
streams its last thin streak
leaving no more lines
left to draw.

Standing on the hillside
Stilled winds blanket my skin
I close my eyes and embrace
Worms born of skies and clouds
Blank are the colors they inspire

Lying on the hillside
Earth's feathers caress my limbs
I close my eyes and imagine
My bed sinking beneath the ground
Under may I breathe better than above

Falling down the hillside
Sunless upon the town, small and wilting
I close my eyes and remember
Sensations akin to this, akin to innocence
Come the end of my fall, will either of us stand?

Before this old hillside
A body still as corpses about the air
Open eyes shimmer, puddles of rain
Ashes, dirt and dust swim about this sprawled figure
Clothing for naught, now flesh sings with Her whole

My drug, my escape
my gravity,
You are what I lean on
when wind beckons
shrilling of the whole world
amassing within
such small confines.
My air would still
upon silent panics
without you
my constant dosage.

My head is the mount,
my ears the hungry mouths
voracious their appetites, finicky
their tastes.
A hungry duet
yields no isolation.
Fuel the diet
or suffer endless
distraction.

My solitude
won't arise
from elusive
silence, only
multiples of white
noises shall supplant
the unknown absence.
Prepare these notes
as artists do
strokes on a painting,
each their own masterpiece for
the uninhibited mind,
deliver me
a melody, and abstain
the malady.

Grace will unfurl
to and from
when the blank that is
limbo besieges.
Remove all, allow
me to nurture my own
joys of rainfall,
sorrows of sunlight
so I may be spared
relentless storms, those
sandy blizzards,
for their pain
is mere
chaos.

Less seems to be certain
than it is to most.
No goal, no path
no certainty in the expanse of this
equally wandering sphere.

Yet I do not long for life
to be a never-ending circle on repeat.

My mystery lies in mystery itself
The clues are there yet
scattered, fragmented, apart
like leaves and rocks in a
trickling bed of shallow water.

Harmony may well exist
between these minuscule pieces
I only wish my puzzle was as complete.

The first time
I know we both recall
Filled with lights and laughs
Promise was in season
That summer night

My ever-lurking void
Soon filled by you
Excitement, pleasure
Filled by both you
And the idea of you

Yet which was greater
I realized all too late
Which still felt much too soon

I ended us
Cut us short
Nothing changed
Only my vision

And yet
My heart and my life
Have been left a-longing
I can't have the companion
It's "too soon" to start looking
I can't endure the solitude
It's gone too long
And returns in an instant

How much of you
Shall I truly miss?

I lived a never-ending nightmare
Until I said the words I thought would seal me

Common life never stung so painfully
My faith was lost, gained and now is lost again
Routine's turned into a tragic play
Every image flashes as a poignant nightmare
Spontaneous and on repeat

My essence wasn't wholly offered
Succumbing to bottled desperation
I blinded my internal being

Through inexperience we all become audacious

Now the nightmare from before has returned
The true nightmare that withers me whole
An eternal nightmare that neither flashes nor stings
It never hurts, it only numbs.

All our distant memories
are like stars
in the nighttime sky.

She offered me her heart
And I broke it.

I kept a piece
It once stung
Like a glass shard piercing flesh.

Yet now I feel it
Form and essence
Warm and tender
Longing to be touched
Longing to be held
Longing to be loved.

On one hand
I feel like the thief
The taker of what was never mine
to take.

On the other hand
I feel like the giver
Who offers his heart
to another.

Maybe they in turn
Will shatter my heart
Taking a piece
Which was never theirs to take.

When the time comes
I will rebuild my heart
The heart with a piece now missing
And I will only be able to repair
With the piece I stole before.

Am I among those they write
deep in the threads of contempt?
For no one truly can be
a hero to all.

We all imagine the songs
powerful and triumphant
will someday be our own.

But what is desire?
What is the facade we wear
day in and day out
to power the most illusive masquerade?

What if the turn from my childhood
was never a turn at all?
Is it so strange, is it too far
of a line to draw
that I may be the villain?

Perhaps we're all simply searching
in desire for an adversary.
The call to arise, the call to spur us forth
from the pit too many have found as solace.

Now what if I am
not even a pawn
and barely a sheep
in life's great puzzle,
or is it a mystery
never to be solved?

I long for the moment
I'm desperate for change
I've bit the blind eye
And now I wish my own would remain shut.

So who or what is to say
that I won't snap like the thinning rope
caught in a chokehold?
My dear is the victim
and the fall is too far
to survive.

Where shall I be when
my final spin has spun?
Will I drag to a halt or
careen face-forward?
A gradual decay
or a shot to crack the wall,
either way I may merely be
the villain.

I only hope the darkness doesn't
invade you as it does unto me.
Too often I have scrambled
within the pits it digs
over and over.
My arms, my will
may be just enough
to cast you away,
leaving but one victim
to endure the neurotic torture.
Allow it to remain internal
so I shall carry it
alone and eternal.

Caught myself amidst the wilderness
Where I was neither born nor raised
It always appeared so, so strange a place
No place for a child

My heart resided in the certain and familiar
Now I wonder where it longs to take me
Desire's inbound with unflinching insistence
But perceived reasons stake me to the ground

Curious odors, pulsating flashes, prickling noises, voracious appetites
The atmosphere overwhelms me senseless
Am I here to enjoy or to observe?
My chains answer with invisible weight

Now comes the rainbow-colored mist
Is this a magician's home--a flourishing disguise?
Sparks and shadows scatter into the expanse
All I see is a vista like the blessing skybox

Desire will you take me?
Lead the boy out of his crib built by the safe
Who are one and the same
Sitting, allowing the box for forge us

A light of the mist careen's my way
Its pleasant sting spreads, boundaries finally disintegrate
Remains litter the ground, I'm finally free
I'm finally lost

Arrows your choir.
Release.  
In come high soaring melodies
The air bathes in their aromas
A disguise for incoming piercings.

One strike upon the next.
Perseverance bleeds from every wound.
First it trickles
Now it pours.
When struck again
Please find my head or my throat.

Luminescent screen
oh how you constantly shift subtly.

Your shiny frame grows heavier
with every passing picture.

Images appear on repeat
a reminder of the grim we occupy.

Do not desire to witness
cruelty on display, depravity glamorized.

I will let you live
so the others know what happened

Pages copied and pasted,
channels twisting the same story.

What a dull situation;
why glorify what's poised to divide us?

We all see the attack on faith's establishment
so who shall be the ones to prevail?

Can the faith in each other overcome
or shall we be infected by what's cruel
and hateful?

An era has been marked
as we gaze upon a burning sky
reigning with fiery rainfall
spat like bursts of anger
reducing calm lands to
wild orange rampancy.

Seeker I would be
for that final person in our final moment
yet overtaken I am
to the walls a newly traumatized world conjures

Cross once, for a moment
and the end shall bitterly meet me.

Surrounded I become
finality in my isolation
a warmth normally fulfilling
now stings beyond comprehension
one of objective peace knows not
of true pain before subjection.

Clumsy creator
scribbling whimsical impulses
silently crying with desire for bliss;
the one-sided dream of popularity.  

Such history
angst protrudes
endless words repetitive
for all shades to a single
melancholic emotion.
Comfort comes from discomfort
past and present.  

His tales err
each day a page
littered with blemishes,
the next forever blank
until written so.

Don't dwell too long
correction's left to
what the future promises;
more room to fill
than a page growing
ever so occupied,
worry growing rapid
like a child to a parent.

Despair
long the struggle
you must overcome.

The weather for any path we take
realized by our mind's forecast
our eyes the screen we sense.

Solace may come
when rain falls heavy
yet the sun shines
promising growth with
the earth long overseen;
beauty cannot forever cling to
nights and overcast days
while light permanently contrasts

So please
embrace balance.

I just want to know there's another chance.
There are always other chances out there.  Millions, in fact.
Not with others, but with them.
We both know that's unlikely.
But there's a possibility?
There's always a possibility, but they'll probably find another before giving you another shot.
What if they don't find somebody else?
Then you might.
What if I don't either?
Then, based on how you both think and behave, they'll be content and you'll be self-defeated.
How could they content all alone?
They are their own person; they're fine with themselves.  You, however, are not.
Should I be?
*At least consider it.

Shadows thrive upon complexity
Vague and nonsensical
The untrained, without resolve
Welcome all to cast their shades
Deeper inside they oft reside
Wilting, transfiguring
Til the field they presume to preside
Flourishes with roses black
as obsidian

Yet the seed may still be planted
Yielding a flower tall, light and bright
Consuming those beneath until vacancy remains

High is the Sun, white is the Orchid
Tempered radiance, gradual growth
More shall fill the newfound garden
While Day brings its gifts
Crescendoing by the simplest
of cool Spring breezes
Coming and going through
The end of another season
Promising its constant return.

Take a step back
--believe me, I did--
and see that the pain
of love is a universal,
defining trait here.

Where are the words
--where is the celebration--
for obscure
pop culture references?

Surely some overly obsessed
Game of Thrones nut
has some worthwhile words
to share
if but for a day.

Surrounded
All of me contained
Attire but another layer, another mask

Wounds heal and bleed,
heal and bleed, heal and bleed,
Pain never yielding

I observe, I witness
only shadows
and not the glistening
which bore them.

Except for one
at a time.

Time between each flash
inconsistently lapses.

I feel the fear
overtaking
this prolonged era.

Fear unto darkness
What remains
of my own luminescence remains
contained within.

I will bare only when a
Light pierces, blinding
all I know
when I finally open
my eyes.

I am empty
Like a wasteland I am empty
Desolation should've yielded comfort by now
Left without time to call my own
I am not even my own person
How can I be another's?
It seems a simple desire, to belong
Yet I've never fit

My life is one of internal isolation
Can that separation and life itself exist, harmoniously?
As always, I hold doubts and withhold hope

Nihilism, pessimism...it all blends the same stench
I am with the crowd in my saturation, if nothing else
Perhaps more are empty than I thought

I estimate myself as beyond all others
Inner capacity poised for pain and self-conflict
What is my mental pain, so toxic, in the wake of Hell's disasters?

Please, I need a true companion
Romance would be the unexpected bonus, if possible
Hear me, comfort me, be there for me
I admit to my utter weakness and frailty
Now I bare myself in an attempt to finally strengthen
Now I need a mentor, a true mentor

Are you out there?

Endless static rattles my confined domain
home to voices familiar--
always unwelcome.

Prolonged imprisonment; desperation
yields these chains not of mass.
Mere figments they are.

Are the screens and their unintelligible,
motioned illusions abstract enough
to conjure a new image
to obsess over?

Nay, I remain tranced, ridden
in dismay.  No fulfillment.

Every image I decipher
escapes with the last.

Will trickling like icicles
before summer's Sun.

Subject I forever am to
this sadistic therapy.

Listen one more time
to the notes you think you know

Time too can be generous.

...rays of sunshine
are but the shadows they cast.

...life's luster falls
  beneath stones in the ground.

...mountains once congruent
  falter to a crumbling world.

...wondrous, cloudless skies turn to
  overcast in the coming crimson doomsday.

...spring and summer suffocate
  as winter greets Fall like tears to lost vitals.

Without you
there is a constant reminder

I've failed.

Deep in the chest
Bones crushed within.

No blood
No screams.
All halted.

A sinking anchor
Chain's crowning jewel
The throne resides below.

Sink a little further
It shall pass

not before
breaths escape
to traps of waters
blackened by their virginity
to the light.

Here rests a future
Untouched and eager
for light
Wanting to exude its aromas
of which I neither looked
nor cared.

She handed me the match
fresh, burning bright,
a new sense in my familiar room.

Baffling confusion
overtook as I blew her match
so stubborn
to extinguish
in a faint stream of
smoke still thinning.

Was I
the stubborn?

Subsequent darkness
overtaking
Once a sweet home
Now a paralyzing loneliness.

Match burnt, candle gone
future still…

Will another offer to
light my dark corners
--myself willing,
with a newfound scent?

A day may come
to end my night,
but I only care to see
the one I once hid from.

When released from
societal confines,
mockingly posing
as structure, newfound serenity
is confused with discord.  

Manifest inner conflicts
and God-like shadows
will be cast.  

Chains snap and allow
wounds to heal, or crush
from beyond bone.  
The absolute of life
is only grey so long
as we breathe.  
Is birth or death the light we seek?  
Are we more blind
when facing that light, or
the pure dark pitch
of silence?  

Perhaps life will dictate
this presumed ascent
or descent
before we're unleashed beyond
withering forms dancing
aimlessly on a speckle
of the universe.

What's in a color?
A mere shade, a simple hue
Fooled I feel, fooled I was
Always have been
We're the only ones to fall

Am I destined
to forever swallow the water?
Healing skin, stinging the throat
It has a body
and I claim one as my own

Waiting as the fisherman does
I'm absent when my reel tugs
Ignorant, distracted
Excuses

Now I wind back
I'm left empty and alone
The sea has never been my ally

No partner
When I am, in fact
The foreigner

To understand is to struggle
Against more than just the current

Sails ripped and torn
Through storms aplenty
Will this night finally yield peace in the breeze?

There's a floor I've yet to explore
and it exists far below
Survival cannot be
Therefore I seek inevitability

I may search, I may chase
Yet I cannot promise
Any more than the next eon
An era I'd struggle to obtain
For none but her.

The melodic entrance begins
I'm undone like a spell
Willingly bewitched
Indulge me

Please sing; no voice, no soul
Even those lost have something to offer

Silence intrudes upon removal
Everything's suddenly missing
As I wander the world
No meaning but what my ears are subject to

Play another and make it count
One wrong pick and I'm disrupted

Make it count.

Trickles in the pond
Did a rose or a stone cause it?
Night too dark
For naked eyes
Strained futility.

Your wilderness sings so foreign
Words and melodies blend
As all victims do
In their final, eternal mattress.

The ripples in my pond
Build and crash
Where and when did this collapse begin
Will I find shelter, home or solace
Lost out here?

Sometimes I still do
I don't because of the pain
My loved ones would face

So far the ground appeared
never thought I would see again.  
World seems so much nicer
from afar.

All it took was one sparkle
from one star.  
Clouds swept through
and through--
a transparent bloodstream
casting me into delirium,
dancing the sky
carelessly.

But flight isn't my course,
I cline with
the wind's will
and wisp.  

This descent
all too familiar.  
I will not return to
what grips me down,
that which grips us all.  

Let this coming clenching
have but one final victim:
My breath.
Allow my exhale
to rise in its departure
so it may stay
lost in the cloud,
a haven I forever seek.

Dear Life,

Can you drop the charade
and numbingly bathe me
in the musical fantasy I seek?
I fear reality has too many hooks and shards
for my light, thin balloon to handle.
I would rather fade with Mother's breeze
than burst underneath
this deep, dark ocean.

Here I hear
Those foul voices
in the air.
Spitting putrid
Toxic to the ear
Nearly as much
as the mind.

Purification expensed
for the sake of inner chaos.

There's a storm I face
Night upon night
When the vacant spots
must be filled.

Desire yields growth
for these cavernous seeds
Roots sinking
every passing moment
Left to waste.

How warm I feel
lit like a fresh candle.
I illuminate in anticipation
longing your graceful presence
dawning within me
a long yearning.
Sensation pierces my chest, unfurling
a tranquility that soothes
my newly welcomed scars.

I'm overcome with breathless desire
for we, two pieces in the puzzle
to at long last conjoin.  
The time till now
may seem brief, yet sights
are but faint fingerprints
when feeling one's whole hand.

With you there's comfort and care;
I'm convinced dreams can be lived
experienced in full
even when we're awake.

Trust me,
I am willfully overwhelmed
by your shimmering glee.
When you approach, I feel
like a lit match
easing me into a euphoria
one should never be without.

And suddenly, so subconsciously
trouble fades into the eternal night
while our fire grows
small in size yet vast in volume.

We all know this feeling
upon certain loss.
Our essence, our vitality
vanishes as wood does
upon the death of the fire
that burnt it before.

We become hollow,
Doubting any substance remains
within our closest, tired caverns.
What's unleashed can't be physically seen
and yet it trivializes
the most gruesome of bloodbaths.

At times--even all times--
we wish we would bleed
rather than cry
so our hearts could donate what we lost
to the dry, coarse dirt.

But don't wither yourselves so,
for none should crack
with the frailty of a shell.
The roots may be ripped,
yet the seed may still be planted.
And with no sunshine,
a sunshine we begin shunning,
the rain of our tears can never cease
to allow our true pedals to finally blossom.

Do all birds fly so suddenly so?
Has the prowess of my wingspan
imposed too much?
For that is an escaped motive
and is only what I am.

I seldom call
Yet when I do
I sing
with intent to soar
until my pitch conducts the winds
Bestowing me the cream
of all flocks.

And yet these skies
though far from vacant
are populated more by clouds
than by those who would requite me.

Too many feathers
broken and chipped
While my
presumably unbeknownst competitors
assume roles beyond me.

And here I reside
Biding for that right hour
of that right season.

Where the whole that was
has finally
fragmented,
descending in an open, unremarkable blaze.  

And so pieces of me shall collide
with the ground,
implanting fractures
few shall discern.  

And the winds of days
and nights will continue to
persuade the dirt unto me
so my morose roots will not grow,
infesting a world undeserving
of my inadvertent pollution.

Here's the grand illusion...

I was the evasive shadow

But we have only just begun.

Tell me, isn't that strange?

Every day feeds this moral decay
In the strange game of life.
Now we can feel the winter.

Solitude's upon my skin
Waiting for the rain you're bringing.

Communication's broken, phantoms are far away.
Now the leaves are turning red
In a time of hope and desperation.

So I wither
Out the dark into the fire below.

Sleep is for the resilient
those who relish what they experience
and experience in the light
which dwindles and simmers
with the day.

Sleep is for those
who speak subconsciously
consuming the world
behind wearisome eyes.

Sleeps comes
as the escape
and recovery
while the world
impacts those who remain
awake.

Sleep is the fruit
of every harvest between days and nights,
so the encumbered may survive and thrive.

Sleep breeds the seed
sprouting essences of our minds
dormantly realizing.
actively collecting.

Sleep is the escape
that seizes time and surroundings
so let the end stretch
so I will never awake.

Music is the air
And listening ears my heart.
If I'm deaf, I'm dead.