Tongues clicking, watches ticking,
pens tapping, power snapping.
They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing,
the same thing, over and over,
the same thing.
Gum popping, smiles stopping.
Expecting a new result from a singular action, repeated.
Chains turning, blood churning,
tongues clicking, smiles stopping.
They say
the same thing, repeated,
expecting
me to listen.

Today someone asked me why do I write
And I stared blankly into thin air
And then someone asked me
" What do you see in those words? "

And then I merely looked up and said
" What don't I see in those words? "


Maybe it's the way these words have power
Maybe it's the way these words collide and form
Beautiful,
Life changing,
Phrases.

I want to fight till the end
Till I'm destroyed
My hopes would die
When the words and poetry wither
away from my books
Like the tree loses it's leaves ....

they do what they say
and they pick at all two
hundred and six plus bones
until I am left with no poles
to stand firm upon.
No limbs. No cartlidge.
they do what they say and
they alienate me into
a spineless coward.

i thought it’d be poetic
to leave you the same way i found you,
with a contentless text—
a simple entered space
(i knew you wouldn’t catch it)
although you seem to be someone
who thinks very deeply about all someones,
your thoughts about me are puddles
disguised as over-complimenting oceans

and i really do not know
what i am or what i’ve been to you,
or if i’ll be able to keep myself away
from you, or why you’d drive hours
to see me in the middle of the night
when you “plan on kissing at least one
girl in the next three months,”
(could care less if it’s me)

"what would i be waiting for," you asked.

i’m barefoot, chasing a train i know
is on tracks that lead away from where
i want and need to be (but i liked the way
it felt when your hand touched mine)

glad i never gave you any piece of my heart,
because you’re the type of boy who’d
rip it to shreds, hide your claws
behind your back, and tell me that
i should’ve seen it coming
(though you would’ve been right)

maybe you’re just bored,
and that’s why you decorate
your skin with ink and don’t care
about whose lips you’ve touched,
and i wish i could figure you out,
wish i could draw a perfect portrait
with my words (or even just
my thoughts) of who you are,
but i won’t pretend i know you

i hate you and your ***** tattoo
(but i don’t really hate you,
i hate the way i let you make me feel.)

Physics:                                                         ­      Love:
        It's not the fall that kills                          It's not falling in love that kills
             The fall is actually                                          The fall is actually
                 exhilarating                                                     ­    thrilling
                 invigorating                                                     ­ intoxicating  
                 breathtaking                                                     ­  vitalizing
         it's when you've finally                                    it's when you've finally
               hit the ground                                                  reached the end
                that kills you                                                     that kills you.

The majority
of my existence
consists of wandering in
the crinkled creases
of my cranium,
waiting for another soul
to pass by this
shattered *******.