I followed the moon last night
it led me back home
to a small town of wanders
and warm tinted company

the sun followed me this morn
the radio told me what it looked like
before I could see anything
just how high up
do i have to be to see it

then I saw
orange
against
the blue

a singing flame
and a living stone
greet the air
and they sing themselves
to a drunken slumber

the moon has shrunk
there's no sunrise in the morning
the radio doesn't describe anything
and the flame died at first gust
I'm waiting for the moon to show me

Soak
Soft music
Hard truths
A loss
So large there's no way in
A between to cope with
A reality to live
The fatality of it
It's been 2.5 since

when self-destruct is
coming home after doing all you could
at 24:00
and choosing to drink
and drink
when you have work in the morning

as if i would have had any better luck
trying to sleep
without the alcohol

at least i can enjoy a few hours
before the insufferable grind once again

somehow
i sleep better after
a night of drinking

have i grown this
fungus heart
myself?
have i
reconstructed myself
to survive in the conditions
i’ve created?

sloth
is the sin i brew
neglect
is the symptom
how do i solve this
when avoiding is
what comes natural

the virus grows too much
when i stay too still
so i keep moving
infecting all yet
trying to escape
this fate
as if running
stops the wound
from bleeding

but still
it is not as if
staying still makes
anything more
then an ecosystem
of self-destruct

i want to say something
i want to say it weird
will you listen?
are you listening?
do you care?
i can't say this normally you know
it won't mean the same
you won't understand
maybe you still won't after this
but this way
i can excuse it as art

i think i angered an algorithm
i think there are worms
in the belly of what you call god
my body is buzzing and
i can only think of songs that feel similar
i tell you that i want to go to moonville
to fight my moonself

are you my back up
or my ride
or are you here for the show
will you throw a fit if i take my
moonself out for coffee
and a deep talk?
or will you provide me
with the sledgehammer to
grant my dreams of visiting a junkyard

i am tired of asking for help
for now ill let myself wallow
in the water i have soiled
because i know that
this time ive done what i can
to float through to the other side

i dont want anyone else to ruin their
cloths trying to drag me out

i am aware
-the decisions i make
-the things i consider
-the time i spend
i am aware of it all
-of the consequences
-of the change
-of the things it'll bring

and i still
walk the line
avoiding the worst
through dumb luck
or just a really
tired guardian spirit

or perhaps others just know
not to let me drag myself
down there with them

i don't think
even for how much
i try to be stupid
that i'm anything less than
relieved
when it just doesn't work out

i seek approval from things
that don't matter at all
i seek meaning from a number
i crave what i know
is not a state of my value
but the number of people
who happened to look this way

and i’m part of the mute mass
observers with a voice
reserved to save energy
on obligations and have to’s

and i am the go-between
guilty over my exhaustion
inability to help all i see

and i am a creator
with power in my words
held in the eyes and minds
of others. not my own hands
and to be heard is the
entirety of why words exist

dear little me
you'll never stop failing
and you'll start taking things seriously
you'll lose your meaning and your goal
many times over

but oh my gods
we've always been stubborn, haven't we?
rebuilding ourselves
and our wings
and our dreams
till we've come back to the first design
the thing we never took seriously
not then
but now

that wishful thought
or that idea kept to the side
that "if i do this then maybe but"
we took a long path
just to return to the beginning
but i'm ready this time

you'll be ready

does meaningless
mean something to you
do you become free when
when something
loses meaning

we'd normally
invent a new word
for that feeling

in meaningless
i release how precious
my time is
and all the things I
should have been doing
instead of this

I'll run out of words I said
I'll run out of words if I keep talking

-have you?

I think so
there's only so many things to say
in so many ways
I'll spend my time trying to say it new
just so I can keep talking
I'm obsessed with the fear of
R E P E T I T I O N

she told me "shut up and let me teach"
and I became obsessed
with the fear of being
T O O  M U C H

I haven't heard the third word
of what anyone has said for
a while and some more now

-only a fool speaks too much

because if you talk for long enough
people will see the holes in you
stay quiet and others fill in the holes for you

Oh sweetheart
you're as reliable as a thumb tack
holding up a poster to an event
you've always wanted to go to
as predictable as a Tuesday
at a minimum wage job
with open availability
cute as the button on a leather jacket
that poped off as soon
as the thread got loose
as fascinating as an ordinary moment
caught at a new angle on a rainy day
a puzzle I don't want to finish
but can't stop putting together
a book written in simple words
with a twist that has me hooked

as frustrating as a love poem
written by someone
who doesn't know how to love
not like this

raised to believe stagnation is a death
to stay still even in safety is a *****
never to be content with good enough
even when good enough is your best
never to take a rest
because to rest is a *****
that they say I am always falling down
there is always something to reach
“but dont you dare reach for what you love”

this is a loveless cruel thing
to never rest is to reach the end
before you’ve done anything at all
rest is not a stand still
but a chance to grow in a different way
and to reach for something you dont love
is a mocking insult to your heart and soul
that I will take no part of

sometimes i dont
have the words
for what i need to say
and thats okay
ill keep trying till
i say it right
or till i say it wrong
ill read it back
and taste the error
in the way the words
are pronounced

I see a familiar face
in a dusty puzzle
dumped from the box
hidden behind the viola

a fragment of her eye
and a bit of her hair
painted on the piece
stuck in the roots of
a half dead bloom
most of the peices
must have been burried
several seasons ago

I have half a mind
to let it rot till
the pink of her lips
fades

why do i have to stand
when i could fly
my feet are glued
to a ground set on fire
ive waited long enough
for my wings to grow
no matter how my hand shakes
i will grab each feather
try try try again to stitch together

i'm sorry, I say
i swallowed myself whole
late last night
when no one was looking
rather
when I hid myself away

i ate myself
down past the bone
up to the neck
made wings of my thoughts
and made my getaway

my body is gone
i never missed it
but for when the absence of it
ached so hard I remembered
these wings made from
the flesh and feather of thought
can't carry the weight
of my head forever

the shattering of a lamp
spun in words not mine
mosaic of shards
embedded in a hand
that is, unfortunately, mine
didn't start bleeding till
the 3rd one in
each sliver counts up to 10
I tried to pull out the pieces
and walk away but
I have to rebuild the lamp

I'll rebuild it into a lantern
keep it on my hip
so soft light shows
me down any path
next time it falls
there will be less
shards to clean

Your goddess
is sitting in the bar 24/7
because she thinks it's safer
to sleep there
then to go home
where people will break in
just to watch her sleep

Your goddess
wishes that she could feel
the alcohol the bartender
keeps on pouring for her

Your goddess
is a false idol
place high on strings
too weak to hold her up

I used to think devil was
a white man in a black suit
now I think it's really God
playing pretend
while the devil is Among Us
following through with his
own God ****** word

at times i must be
unfiltered, undiluted, pure me
for if i let myself
restrict, edit, reform
one time too many
this death grip will never ease
for all the fear i hold
of letting the wrong thing go
is why i must let it flow

my hollow bones ache from
the crack they breathe
marrow gone dry
nothing left for
the birds of scavenge
ill take these useless bones
and throw them down a hill
wherever they fall
I will divine

cherry pick the ripest fruit
to crush under feet
toss the bruised aside
for another to eat

is it kindness to give
what you dont want
to those who would
gladly have it
or is it sweeter to give
what you do want
to those who would
gladly settle for less

what is the quota
of ripe to rot
that should be given
to whom should the
best parts go
perhaps its not on what
but on how

maybe it doesn't matter
when it turns to wine
in the end

maybe all fruit is better
when shared among friends

brain rot
fallin off the top
made a deal
i can't follow up
center stage
exit stage right
before the brain
rot drops
from the month
cant make it stop
god stop and get off
why seething rabid
from holes in head
choke it dead

find me
in the corner of the local cafe
cling fast to sanctuary
aura of creativity
illusinary productivity
idealized possibility
i would rather bury myself
in it's walls forever
than leave

where the halls are decked
and the tea party is ready
but all doors out are full of static
and the food numbs lips
words die one someone else's tongue
they've clipped through the floor
and no one notices the lag

sometimes when I drive
i see through the road
and no one else
knows what I mean

when shattered I start
to see a shape begin
fractured light
broken image
sharp shapes
a different image
reflected in the glass
then the reality
it's meant to capture

and maybe i'll always be
that figure curled up in bed
and still, believing this
i think forever sounds nice
i would like to have forever
to exist at my own pace

i'm sorry, I say
i swallowed myself whole
late last night
when no one was looking
rather
when I hid myself away

i ate myself
down past the bone
up to the neck
made wings of my thoughts
and made my getaway

my body is gone
i never missed it
but for when the absence of it
ached so hard I remembered
these wings made from
the flesh and feather of thought
can't carry the weight
of my head forever

i know the taste of rot
the cloying smell
growth of the wrong kind
simple shape turned
grotesque

this isnt the kind of fruit
that can be throw out
i eat what i neglect

i found my sodalite heart
in an old lime green purse
by the door of the home i left
now i craft my crown of bloodstone
gather feathers of unakite
wear glasses of opal
and write in books of sapphire
in a room painted sky blue

its the turn of a moon
set at a point
in which
body turns against mind
call of the sea
answered in blood
i would sell
a part of myself
for some ******* peace

the second i turn firm
im afraid its too harsh for you
when you bumped against me
did you bruise?

why do i have to stand
when i could fly
my feet are glued
to a ground set on fire
ive waited long enough
for my wings to grow
no matter how my hand shakes
i will grab each feather
try try try again to stitch together

voices sound better
in descent / in distance
cut off from the source
distorted / dissonant
unsalvagable from another
  
i listen to poetry in stairwells
paint faces from sounds
so the real thing never compares

began with the end of your sentence
the dredges at the bottom of the mocha
fool yourself into thinking
you are not running on less than nothing
accept it doesn’t make sense
read the symbols you find
at the bottom of your reservoir

I crawled up and died
in your throat last week
you only tasted my remains
for three days this time
the burning in your eyes
from unwashed hands
doesn’t bother you anymore
how come you changed the locks
two times over just yesterday
and once more today