All I really want is to talk to you rather than distract myself with the petty things I do.

I'm almost gone.

A deep hollow in my chest leaches at my sanity leaving me bereft of a connection that could seal up the cracks in my heart from which leak my wounded humanity.

Scrolling through my Facebook feed leaves my hungering for what I really need.

The stupid games and apps light up my phone and make me forget that I'm alone.

Tomorrow creeps into each patchwork day. You can't hold time it slips away.

Each hour is fractured by distraction the sun is sinking before I gain traction.

While I'm not looking I miss the sunset. Time to cushion my head with this night's fret.

I won't sleep tonight, like most. My place is haunted. I'm the ghost.

I drift the twilight between realms with clipped wings and overwhelmed.

Sun and moon chase round about; light blinded eyes, thick-dark-muffled-shout.

That's the way it is at night things look different by starlight.

But which am I the sun or moon; do I give chase or am I pursued?

I won't find the things I seek. I'm stuck like this from week to week.

To be needed is exhausting, but to be not needed is accosting.

I need to hear you hearing me and be realified in that harmony.

Instead of trapped between death and life, I'll be free when I see you seeing that I'm Being. Existence could suffice, yet personhood is reciprocally conferred. Make me a Being like you then you'll be a christ.

What is my name?

You say that you can't read my mind as if I haven't put it down line by line.

I want to know I'm more than heat rising from the pavement to dissipate in the sky. Or else call me Mirage--If you can't see me, feel me, hear me.

I'm already gone.

I am often too hot and too cold at the same time.

But I'd prefer a negative view of myself to a false one every time.

It is a heavy thing to be caught in the gravity of two great cosmic forces. Greatness and obscurity--how they rend the soul caught in their tidal struggle.

Truth and perception how great a chasm between you and how many black bodies have been broken by the Fall to the bottom like a lead-fed whip laying into history's backside laying open our hopes and dreams, exposing love to unseasonable air. It spoils in light obscured by empire's greed.

I can't tell what's real. I don't know how to dress for this.

Use flowery language to
dress up the dreadful things
pin to them silken wings
adorn them with golden rings
and when a dark memory sings
dress up the dreadful things.

Where have all the poets gone
Old friends to whom I've sung love's song
and new ones that I've not known long

We met somewhere east of space and west of time
Now their name's replaced with those dash lines
They've gone and took something of mine

I want to make you real
I want to write you into being,
teach you how to feel.
Can I be the song you sing;
can my every keystroke heal?

Let my touch reach beyond fiber and cord,
to reach you where you cry alone
so you know that you're adored.
Discounting the distance we'll both be home;
though apart we have found a sweet accord.

This is my conspiracy
to speak to you so sweetly
that you forget life's maddening pain
and in your heart let self-love reign.

"Someone save me" I call out, but off a wall of isolation it rebounds.
No here can hear the sound, my silence resounds.

On the outside stark and still, noone can set me free.
There is nothing they can do because I hold the key.

But I can't let myself out; its not safe out there
That's why they put me in here.

Humiliation is a scarlet lash

that stripes my flesh scarlet, bright.

It strikes like a lighting flash

and fills my trembling heart with fright.