Who is The Recipient?
Am I writing this poetry for me, or for the readers?
Did I explain what I saw painted in your picture?
Or may I paint the picture that your words have shown me?

Maybe I keep a record of my reality for some undetermined purpose to one day be revealed to maybe you or me.
Whatever the reasons, I present as both master and servant to undying shiny syllables contained within this temporary body of work.

Unwound between moments of mindless shuffle and sorting of the material, I lay down the lines with your hand on mine, my dear reader, to determine the adventure and where it goes.

Allude to a secret lover? Add a plot twist? Betraying the audience is to betray the critic? Whatever. Embrace where you want it to go.
In life, there is no structure or script.

Find our parallels within the infinite calculus and may God's Speed catch up to us, for to find everything, and everything that ever was, will be, will never be, and what is, not when, we will certainly go where we have never been.

To reach acceptance in the distance of the self from perfection.
To reach the fulcrum and find out what can or will become of this.

Such a beautiful mess.

Many people say, "I'll try anything once".

Idiots.

There are some things in this world you should not try.
Curiosity seduces, naiveté weakens.

Oh, you thought you could handle it?
The pleasure, the paranoia, the pain, the euphoria?
Your shuttered lids show a missing regret.

Yes, it was an insane though, turned a lengthy process.
When you go that far, you can never go home.
They won't let you.

And no, you can't use the ******* telephone.

As I sip on my own quote,
"Sometimes"

Contains some of the most beautiful things

Writing fiction, praying, falling in love, dreams, our wild imaginations, dance, Crying, painting, music, lying, and running from nothing.

The most irrational of all,
Is finding the truth
In something.

Eye on the TV
'cause tragedy thrills me
Whatever flavour
It happens to be like;
Killed by the husband
Drowned by the ocean
Shot by his own son
She used the poison in his tea
And kissed him goodbye
That's my kind of story
It's no fun 'til someone dies

Don't look at me like
I am a monster
Frown out your one face
But with the other
Stare like a ******
Into the TV
Stare like a zombie
While the mother
Holds her child
Watches him die
Hands to the sky crying
Why, oh why?
'cause I need to watch things die
From a distance

Vicariously I, live while the whole world dies
You all need it too, don't lie

Why can't we just admit it?
Why can't we just admit it?

We won't give pause until the blood is flowing
Neither the brave nor bold
The writers of stories sold
We won't give pause until the blood is flowing

I need to watch things die
From a good safe distance

Vicariously I, live while the whole world dies
You all feel the same so
Why can't we just admit it?

Blood like rain come down
Drawn on grave and ground

Part vampire
Part warrior
Carnivore and ******
Stare at the transmittal
Sing to the death rattle

La, la, la, la, la, la, la-lie

Credulous at best, your desire to believe in angels in the hearts of men.
Pull your head on out your hippy haze and give a listen.
Shouldn't have to say it all again.
The universe is hostile. so Impersonal. devour to survive.
So it is. So it's always been.

We all feed on tragedy
It's like blood to a vampire

Vicariously I, live while the whole world dies
Much better you than I

Time and space in which we think we are.
I wonder where it ends, and the beginning starts.
Somewhere past the infrared,
Between the black and ultraviolet,
The vibration's hum is endless, but seems so still and quiet.

Heat from suns and cold, empty distance
Keeps perfect balance for our existence.
A symmetry for simple structure
Expanding in explosive nature.
Life is sparked in the darkness.

Pressure buckles under construction,
Mountains skip and oceans boil
Struggle for substance in the morsel
Whether microscopic, or colossal.
Evolution keeps threading the needle.

Vicious fire, ice and flying rock
Versus a little blue bubble, that one day will pop.
It's too much to take in, like counting raindrops
Appreciate the beauty and forget-me-nots.
Because one day, this might all stop.

What an overwhelming universe.

Soft, intentional lines stroll across me
made with thin strokes.
They cut deep while writing
your name
with a casual smile.

I know I'm not supposed to,
but I kinda like it.