I sit in my room, staring at the wall.

Alone I sit and watch my blank wall.

Alone in the night - alone in the day

My best friend has slowly wandered away.

She says she is still there, but no conversation can we hold.

Alone..

Quarter after ten; a storms a brewing, but not out side. A storm that festers in my head.

I wait for my reply, but still no one is there.

I feel ignored, I feel no hope.

I text a friend whom talks of food, but still it does not fill the emptiness inside.

I try to write a poem, but no words come to mind.

Alone.. still no reply, so I sit and wait. Hoping that someday a friend may come by.

(- This is originally a spoken word poem. Read aloud for maximum exposure.
-Asterisks indicate the necessity to pop your cheek with your thumb.
-Answer the two questions correctly and I will give you a hug.)

He fell asleep while traveling time
where a true name
becomes everything else.
So please give me a minute to explain myself
through the doorways
that I see champagne on a windowsill
walking across the room with blue
and fine china feet
saying again and again
drink me.
Until somehow
the words become a song
singing and swinging the bottle like a dinner bell for thirst.
A kind that we've settled to quench
with television
and somebody else's dream.
So don't pour my drink.
I'm trying to uncork it with my thumbs.

POP

It's flat
and I still have a tongue
so I will use it and I
I will dream of a time
where ******
becomes a baby.
Dr. King becomes a baby.
Until the left and the right and every dead genius in between
becomes
a baby.


Tiny feet trying not to crush the wet salad of the lawn
because it is green,
like my heart
that has learned
how to break fine china.
From experience,
let me tell you
it's a lot more tiresome than a blue dream
but he fell asleep on a boxcar crossing Germany
where mustard gas
drowns you in your own lungs
and he tries to breath between the joints in the track

the

click
...                         
click
...
    clack

as years
hurtle by.

Asking again and again,

"Who killed me?"
           &
"Who am I?",

until dinner was served without grace.
Until my head becomes stiff and bubble shaped
having been conditioned by
their
piles
&
piles
&      mounds

of
obfuscation.


So we should tell all the baby Hitlers,
that become children
that become us,
that a lie
is what you become
when abusing language to distort a reality.

And when you make a fist
you are handing worlds out at random on a silver tongue.
But I still have one
and I still have thumbs
so sorry to burst your bubble but,

POP.

Child,
I don't mean to put
barbed wire
between us.  
I know it hurts
to have something so precious as the world
taken away.
But walls hurt worse
and through them only muffled sounds are ever heard
until your world is made of mute prisoners
that have forgotten what silver
really sounds like.

Blessed be
for I also have ears
so give me second place
and I will throw the medal against your walls.
Ringing out,
the universe doesn't look like an ebony tub,
with knobs we can't ever see,
full of infinite shining marbles to everybody.
Your mind
is a library
so free will isn't a book written in just English.
And tourists,
those know nothing infants trying to travel,
belong
where
           ever they
are
                             going.

Belonging like this medal bouncing trying to sing
off your wall
and
falls

into


your world.

Where again it will ring,

we've all been runner up

and somehow
we still can become disappointments to ourselves
when another doesn't enter our library
instead of loving the stories on our shelves.


So,
let me say grace.
Let me set l o n g tables
with the gruel that's been given
served on b  r                     n.
                         o
                           k  
                                        e          
china,
spooned
with sterling silver.

I miss you.
You were the only perfect thing I ever made.
I had been so excited.
You were ours.
You were mine.
I have never felt closer.
I had been so excited.
You had erased my fears.
Nothing matter but you.
I had been so excited.
I went through so much so I could have you,
And keep you safe.
I wanted to hold you.
I wanted to coddle you.
Even hearing you cry would've been better than this.
That's all I wanted.

He broke your heart.
Ripped it into a million pieces
And left me to piece you back together.
But not even I could fix you this time.
A few days later 
I held out the matches 
And watched as you burned 
The fraying edges of your heart.
Aren't you proud, mom?
I saw your lips move 
But was deafened by the screams 
Of your dead lifeless eyes.

You're welcome to examine my thoughts,
Just please don't entertain them;
To do so would be at your own risk.

From the outside looking in,
I can see how you'd be tempted,
But not everything is as it seems.

If you should happen to find yourself
Lost in me, Imprisoned in my dreams,
For your sake, step lightly through my reality.

If by chance you escape, sanity in tact,
Remember, just remember,
It wasn't personal, don't be angry for too long.

Don't be too worried about me,
I'll get along, and be okay in my own way.
And let me thank you for trying to save me from myself.

This labyrinth that is my mind,
It unfolds into what I know is my world
Sometimes my prison, sometimes my escape.

It's always been my reality
The choices are mine to make
But all too often, they end up making me.

I don't at all wish for you to go,
But I understand if it's hard for you to stay
My world can be a frightening place to be.

Sometimes I whisper my secrets to the ceiling.
Only when the lights are off,
And the fan is spinning.
The fan is very nosey.
I think he is a German spy.
Or maybe I'm the German spy,
And that's what my secrets are all about.
No one will ever know.
Except,
Of course,
For the ceiling.