Any given man women or child have an emptiness so vast it could swallow heaven and earth. No matter the cause and effect. No matter on what crowded street loneliness will forever be the cornerstone of every man's heart.

So please tread softly from those who often speak of sin because they define it so not to define themselves.

Walk quickly past those who are without sin because their faults are only the fault of others.

Concern yourself not with crisp white house's and white picket fences because within dwell basic people who offer basic love in basic ways. They only pay mind to basic things.

Beware those who demand affection without satisfaction because they will say your affection is not complete. Once incomplete you will never be satisfied.

Turn quickly from the ones who persecute anyone who differs from themselves for they are without definition.

Yet any given man women or child has an emptiness so vast it could swallow heaven and earth.

A void driven by desperation and a reflex to hold on. A longing for a small piece of forever or the assurance that it to will fade. If not all together then never and if we are to cease then so will forever leaving only emptiness and it will shine brighter then all the stars in the sky.

It will be like a diamond in a sea of nothingness. Our beautiful piece of forever and our only joint achievement.

Stay steady dreaming my love. Go on loving with that glorious smile you have found.
I'll work on turing this frown upside down.. Stay steady on that cloud my love. Remember me if you ever come down. Know that I cared.. Know that I tried... Know that I cried... Know I will always keep a piece of you inside. Remember those times?
Stay steady dreaming my love. Go on loving with that glorious smile you have found...

I often become depressed when I sit and think about all the times that my life has been wasted by being depressed.  In return I have something to be depressed about later.

The smell of crisp morning air smacked me in the face this morning.. The sounds of rustling leafs and squawking guineas... The smell of sulfur and regret. The smell of compressed gas and the sound of a weak heart... The whisper of lies and the taste of fellico.. Smothered with blankets cause it's so cold. Calling in today I will be a no show.. Ooh I will! I might...   Good morning world or is it goodnight?
--

There is beauty in the flaws of your face
You are a warm light in the shadows
Your smile is a rare sight
Lips so soft  
There is strength in your softness
There is loudness in your silence
Your silence speaks volumes
Your actions explain everything
--
Kevin Wilson

I hear thunder
                                 but the skies are clear.
A thunder that rumbles from my belly and vibrates my heart.
                       I feel I have a touch of mania
                                              but I sit so still.
             Words crash against my teeth and I make no sound.
Everything seems to make sense
                                             but I can not explain.
                I am alone...  
                               The nuance keeps me company.
I make a note of this moment
                                    because I am in tangled in chaos
And perfectly content...

Someday’s I can see myself think.
Someday’s I can see myself smile..
Days like this when I feel I am the only one awake.
Days when I scurry about so softly while you all slumber.
Days when loneliness can be measured by deep breathes..
And company is measured by an awkward silence...
Someday’s ... I can see myself sink like a stone.
Someday’s I can see whats missing,
Days when morning turns into dusk,
Days when I cannot wake.
And the days when I will not rest....
Someday’s I can see myself float away.
Someday’s I can see the story go on forever...

Her house appeared ethical with walls steel and cold.
My head now sound.
My mind fled from the clear and ticked now like gears on a timely clock.
***** fixations grew non stop.

She calls without words.
She is now composed with radars that replace her heart.
I am Mother Mary's man machine.
Filthy dreams now spark.
Disturbed and distressed I scan what I've become.
I'm now hard to the touch!
I'm Mother Mary's man machine.
What vile things she has done!
Even with confusion it is the style I want.
A holy deal indeed.
Control ,***** *** ,and then delete.
She does not tease.
She just takes!
She plays well with her role.
And we both function without love.
Machines have no soul...

A whispered warning...
What does it mean?
Was it a faint reality or was it a vivid dream?
She was a beautiful machine with fixed tight lips ,perky breast ,and uncuttable iron wrist.
A piece of peace ******* in by God.
A singing voice that seemed to pass threw my every pore ,but faintly spoke.
A message delivered with excellence.
"Come to me me and taste that the Lord is good!"
A fascinating warning!
What does it mean?
Mary a machine?
How can it be?

There is poetry in silence.
It's void creates endless thoughts, thoughts that deliver fear and regret.

There is poetry in the way some people hate.
The hate that builds bombs and funds war, wars and more wars with peace killing hero's.

There is poetry is the loveless *****.
Her sweaty breast are better than all of us.
Her common sense has been beaten and explored.

There is poetry in the addict just trying to feel better but coming undone.
Climbing high and falling fast.

There is no poetry for the poet.
Art does not create reality.
Reality creates art and reality is forever changing.

It is my calvary ,my redemption
I see it in the distance but seeing it does not make it any more obtainable
My calvary
My redemption
My runway to the stars...

I love her!

Well at least I like to tell myself that.
I suppose I cared because no on else did. I find that sometimes I get lost in her gibberish that flows from her lips like ***** from a drunken school girl.
She would ***** her disgusting words all over me. Each conversation I became a victim. A martyr for a senseless cause I was left dripping with confusion...

The song birds and sparrows are kind today.
They know their songs are not welcome.
Perhaps they have found a large stash of worms a couple yards over.,,

I stare at the still green leaves..
So still...
Even my heart sets so still.
Yesterdays confusion is nothing but a smell on my fingertips.
An explanation is a tick on the tip of my tongue.
Thoughts crawl like worms in my mind and all those hungry sparrows and song birds have flown away.

No one reads poetry...
Outdated!
No time!
No interest!
No one likes big words...
Maybe a fascist...
Fascist...
What a word!
Who cares about deep thoughts?
Who cares about the splinter in my finger when they have a stake in their heart?