you paint a picture with words
speaking out just to be heard
you think yout fooling me but i've known all along
your everything you say you are
except one thing
strong
your weakness shows as you string me along
i try to believe you
but deep insidee i know you are wrong
wrong about being right
yeah its a complexed contradiction
but what else should i expect
with someone that mixes fantasy with nonfiction

so mirror mirror on the wall
its about time you crumble and fall
and amidst your broke shards of glass
come to realize the past has passed

dwelling in broken memories
your drown in your thoughts
tangeled up in emotion
afriad to admit your caught
like a spider you spin your web
parallel to the cycle spinning in your head
on your worn out path you continue to tread

i dont even know what it means to be
without you
because your always haunting me
taunting me
drawing me into your cycle
its time i break free

so mirror mirror on the wall
its about time you crumble and fall
and amidst your broken shards of glass
come to realize the past has passed

turn over a new leaf
dont look back
or stop in your tracks
determine myths from facts
begin to act
like the adult you are coming to be
look from an outer perspective
begin to see
clearly now
come to think about it
i dont know how
i believed in your self doubt

so mirror mirror on the wall
its about time your shatter and fall
and amidst your broken shards of glass
come to realize the past has passed

come to peace at last
and realize
that despise
isnt a comprimise
when it comes to fate
and that hate
isnt the only way to demonstrate
your emotion

lifes as vast as the ocean
and always in motion
changing with the tide
so swallow your pride
learn how to recognize
a blessing in disguise
end where endings end
after that
begin
know yourself deep within
submerge to the surface of conciousness
and listen
to the voice within
yeah thats really livin

so mirror mirror on the wall
its about time your shatter and fall
and amidst your broken shards of glass
come to realize the past has passed

I'm not tired, but it feels so **** good to close my eyes,
Letting the thin veil of flesh spill over, cradling my senses.
It's dark out, so there's no red-orange reflection from the harsh, burn-out of a sun.
Just the nakedness of my eyelids, and the musky scent of twilight enveloping the room.
I only feel alone when my eyes are hidden beneath my veiny translucent skin and soft blond eyelashes.
A safe haven from memories and obligations,
I'm not tired but it feels so **** good to close my eyes.
My half meant promises lament in the daylight, and darkness still  isn't enough to chase them off,
Not quite, at least.

I killed myself the other day
And lay my head to rest
Upon a towering heap of hay
Because mother does know best.

Reality has a funny way
Of wrapping itself into a tiny ball
And plummeting effortlessly into
Our wide, gaping mouths
As we raise our luminous faces
To the vast and forgiving skies.
Or spinning itself outward
Into the weightless shadows
Of the wind which beats down
Upon our pale, vibrating chests,
Creating a rhythm that swoons
And capsizes with the wavering
Translucent strokes of the ocean
Upon the pure, unfiltered sand.
Life is too much with us,
As we push our weary feet
Against the all encompassing ground,
Dragging ourselves across
Stormy sidewalks covered in
Old wrapping paper and chewing gum,
Bristling park lawns
Littered with budding clover and popsicle sticks,
Smooth, linoleum floors
Full of traces of the past
Kept real by shuffling feet and 104 degree fevers.
As we continue on,
Through city streets, childhood playgrounds
And hospital waiting rooms,
We carry a little bit of the world with us,
Hidden away beneath forgotten promises
And diluted memories full of
Passionate illusions.
Time is too real to face head on,
So instead we package it up
And ship it away to the future
In the form of 99 cent greeting cards,
Faded blue jeans full of pocket lint and sentiment,
And nine to five jobs that circle endlessly until we can no longer bear it.
It's only in the dark of the night
In between warm, downy comforters
And the slow steady glow of
A dull, canary street light
That it comes to us,
Sometimes only for a moment,
Before it evaporates again
Into the mundane complacent
Lilac and honey fairy tale
Which is life.

You cannot resurrect
Memories
That
Have wedged themselves between
The future and the past,
Yet are too fragile to
Exist within the present—
You cannot
Resurrect
The way you felt
(The way you felt invincible)
In remembering mannerisms that outlive
The moment.
You cannot reconcile
The heart's defiance,
Deliberately giving yourself to
A void not of your own,
Gathering gathering gathering
Sentiment and stitching it into
The fabric of your narrative,
When you should have
Gathered your senses in a pail
And lowered them down into a wishing well...
You cannot resurrect what never
Wholly, entirely, unconditionally
Existed without
Your warm breath
Encompassing it in meaning,
Feeding an emptiness not of your own making.
Yet,
You cannot escape it either;
So it lingers:
Your regrets, your self loathing, your incapacity
To accept that
There is no way to breathe life back into
Something that was dead before you
Pressed its surface with your fingers,
As if you, yourself could
Impose a pulse upon what you could not
Understand.

Understand this,
Time will not resurrect
That which you long for in the night,
It will not reconcile
The incongruent nature
Of desire:
To feel
To be numb
To hold on to
To understand
To forget
To destroy
To save

Save like a wilted flower pressed between
Two aged, yellowed pages: present only in its allusion to the past.
You do not wish the flower a different fate,
To fill its dried up veins with green, pulsating life,
To have it become what it once was.
You cannot reconcile the purpose of its carefully preserved petals.
You do not question its existence,
Question why it has been uprooted from the ground,
Why it has changed shapes while remaining a flower.
It was never meant to remain the way it was.
And so, it exists
As an indicator of what it once was,
As a reminder that it will never be again,
As memories do
When we press them down
Between the past and the future,
Until like the dried up flower,
They cease to change,
As we continue.

Trust has lost its potency.
Words clumsily bump up against meaning,
Groping for reason the darkness of good intentions.
Clinging to the old wives tales of sincerity,
We hold a hollow pedastool above
Or weary, aching backs,
Hoping for someone to come and relieve us
Of our empty obligations.
Atlas has long left his perch,
The world slowly tumbled off his sinewy frame,
Shattering upon the cold hard face
Of reality.
Language has lost its clarity,
Muddled with distorted alliances
And miscommunication,
It's flails hopelessly, gasping for air
Before plummeting back down
Into the deep water of tragedy
And modern day relationships.
There's no room anywhere
For carefully constructed prose,
Or spontaneous laments of passion.
They've all been pushed out
To make room for something intangible.
Something not there enough to grasp it,
But real enough to trace its
Shadowy silouhette against
The cold hard walls that encompass
Innocence lost.

can you hear me
underneath all the
mud caked up
against your
ears? strings hang
limply from your
mask as it
pushes out
casting a shadow
over your hollow
eyes. something
died here
i think. i can
smell it in your silence
does it hurt
to sit there and feel
nothing? decadence
decays faster
than modesty
when all your sentiment
is pasted and glued
between postcards
and pastures
on the heavy pages
of photo albums
empty
other than pictures.
how long has it
been now?
how many minutes
hours
forced responses
and isle seats
has it taken
for you to
realize that nothing
grows here?

What is life but an accumulation of fleeting moments
That are too soon banished into the realm of yesterday.
The sunset isn't prejudice towards the night,
Instead it welcomes it in all it's faded glory.
Don't get caught up in the process of thought.
Give in to all that beckons you,
For time is only relevant in retrospect.

He had two scars on his wrists,
To remind him of the past,
And how important,
Yet fragile
Life can be.
He used to live here,
In the city,
Before he left
And headed South,
In search of something
He never really wanted to talk about.
Maybe  it was something
That wasn't really there
At all.
I remember listening to
Him talk about the possibilities
That awaited him,
I wonder if they're still out there
Waiting
Endlessly for him to come
And turn them into
Reality.
I hope they are.
Somehow, he always
Found a silver lining,
Always managed to relate
To my sorrows
While also making them
Disappear.
Now he's the one who's gone,
And the pain is still here.
Maybe he was too busy
Helping other people find their happiness,
That he lost his own,
Or maybe he finally found what he was searching for
And it was too much,
Or not enough.
I always think about
What he was thinking,
And how I couldn't tell
That something wasn't right,
Maybe it's because
I felt the same way
Too.
Except that I'm still here,
And he isn't.
Replaying all our late night conversations,
It doesn't seem quite real,
That someone who understood so much,
Could feel so alone.
Our conversations are gone now,
Lost in the no mans land of
Old text messages,
Hour long phone calls
And the past.
The only memories I have
Are too real to ever
Evaporate,
Yet even they
Couldn't escape his departure,
And now they lay there
In the deepest corners of my mind,
Tainted by his absence,
Giving a whole new meaning to
Past tense.

Liquid silence flows between the cracks,
The awkward pauses and terse remarks ,
Of our cordial conversation.

My lips fumble as words  scratch at their soft corridor,
The taste of discomfort and failure is salty,
Yet reassuringly human- alive.

You didn't do anything wrong,
Your perfectly placed hesitations and irony
Fell stagnant in the bitter pool of my expectations.

You couldn't help the way things went,
Self sabatoge danced sweetly on my lips,
Fates sticky web couldn't hold back deliberation.

Being with you, in this room,
Is the epitome of wide open loniness-
The kind talked about in books and eulogies.

It's elusive presence envelops me
As sentences fumble out of my mouth like gravel:
Unclear and unintentional, too genuine to matter.

I'm not sure how much more I can handle,
How many perfectly sane stories I can to listen to
Without spilling off the brink of sanity.

It's not as bad as it seems out here,
There's something charming about being utterly alone,
Something unexplained and unattainable
In this wide open loneliness-

Missing you is like a tornado in Kansas
Tumultuously whirling past barren grass lawns,
Shattering the glass windows of old, forgotten
Convenience stores and local barber shops,
Twisting and teasing the warm, summer air
Until it finally gains momentum enough
To come tumbling down upon unsuspecting
Rosemary bushes and rusty metal fences,
While I'm sitting here,
Trying to make sense of how I'm supposed to feel about it all,
On a beach somewhere between Monterey and San Francisco.
It isn't that you don't exist, or that you aren't occurring,
Destructively whirling your mixed intentions
Across the pavement
That once gave way to my strange, unrestricted heart.
It's not that I don't care about you,
Or that I don't notice
When you make your presence all but unnoticeable,
But, maybe I don't see you anymore.
You're sentiment can't reach me here.
The harsh tornado winds aren't quite strong enough
To blow across my indifferent face
All the way from Kansas.

I paint a picture of my face
And hide it every day,
For darkness holds a subtle grace,
Where only the fallen lay.

My mind retreats beneath the veil
Of etiquette and blush
Too far away to sound their wail,
My thoughts fall dead and hushed.

I almost lost my grasp, today,
Amidst the daily act,
For to forget the mask would give away
Something too hidden to retract.

The eyes I wear were  crafted
By eager, destructive hands,
Determined to mold a plastic
To withstand my soul's demands.

You know me not, my sorry friend,
And hidden I shall stay,
For to open up would bring an end
To the most beautiful facade.

My audience calls out the plot,
As I readily obey,
As my feet drag blood across the stage,
They lament their accolades.

I'm hidden here, despite the light
That bears upon my face
Only to find solace in the night
Obscured by a perverted grace.

Howl
The indifferent wind caresses his skin as reality fades into the distance,
Gradually, the frigid air becomes heavy and obvious in its presence.
His feet, firmly placed on the edge of the cliff, flirt with frostbite
And the idea of plummeting down into the soft unkown.
Howling into the impartial wilderness, his echo pauses
Before reeling back to slap him, as if to make sure he’s still alive-- still present.
The animals lay silent to his tortured wails,
To his lonely laments that carry an entire lifetime in a single, hollow ring.
The high octave of his echo loses its urgency in the redwood trees and jagged cliffs,
Frantically bouncing off canyon walls as if to wake up the slumbering forest.
His fragmented howls cut through the thick silence, only to fade out once again.
Lost to the obsolete language of the downy finch and blood red maple leaves.
He sounds his tortured cries to drown out the beating of his heart,
Unleashing his insecurities and regrets to the indifferent world.

Nobody is in love.

Shoulder to shoulder, flesh spilling over
Flesh: our warm bodies heave
And contort together, leaving no room
For sentiment that goes deeper than
Your off white down comforter.

Nobody is in love.

The harsh sunlight seeps in
Through down turned blinds,
And thin, translucent eyelids,
Both half open, but oblivious to the
Indifferent world. Life is too much with us-
Never leaving us alone to really feel:

The cold, smooth wooden floor pushing up
Against the delicate archs of our sinewy feet,
As they drop down to meet the brisk  morning air,
That seems to coat everything revealed and left vulnerable
By the crumpled up sheets limply collapsed over the headrest,
Or the soft, steady breathing
Of someone left unstirred by the dizzying
Relay of thoughts that dance across my

Foolish mind. No one is in love, here.
The last fragment of hope
Was forgotten underneath mismatched blankets
That bear the faint scent of lavender fabric softener sheets
And something that lingers nameless beneath your presence.
The indented pillow, where you lay your head
Holds fast your hollow shape,
As if to remind us that reality is only as real
As those who are brave enough to feel it.

Time treads on and on,
Leaving us scrambling over coffee tables
And yesterdays newspaper strewn across the bedroom floor,
Blindly groping the abysmal space to find something
That isn't really there. Instead it's nestled between
The tiny slivers of our hearts,
Scattered across neon billboards and thee star hotels,
Pleading with us to acknowledge it's elusive presence
Before the world runs out of excuses,
And we're met with a big boom,

That probably will never even be felt.

I fell asleep beneath a cape
Of thick, porcelain mist-
And let my soul sink into the ground,
As darkness did persist.
I heard a demon cry to god,
Begging his precious grace
To wash away the rotten ash
Crucified upon his face.
The air was cloaked with righteousness,
It seeped into the pores
Of pagan trees and shrubbery:
Cast out of heaven's doors.
I curled my knees up to my chest,
And wrapped my arms round close,
As cold, damp air embraced my skin,
Invoking the Holy Ghost.
                                                                                   MB.

It's not falling in love that scares me,
It's the falling out of it.
You know, the feeling that creeps up on you,
Like a tear in nyolon stockings, or an old knit sweater.
Not a big obnoxious ****, but a tiny run that eventually dismantles the entire garment,
Leaving it forlorn and impossible to wear.
Tossed aside in an old wastebasket, only to be taken out for reminicing.
We're destined for that kind of falling apart, I think.
I know it isn't fair, but it's inevitable,
And the more we try to avoid it,
The longer we pretend it doesn't exist,
The harsher it becomes, catching us off guard.
Slowly infesting the shadows of our doubts,
Until it takes over, leaving us naked
Face to face with the unwraveling truth:
Nothing that lasts is beautiful,
And nothing that's beautiful lasts.
For, every time "I love you" is uttered,
The fabric between us wears a little thinner,
Exposing our flesh to the unforgiving coldness of leaving.
Making us vulnerable in the worst kind of way.

I plucked a splinter from my heart
As the past began to leak-
Before clumping up against the sore
And trickling down my feet.

I exhaled the bitter, salty air,
And coughed and heaved my loss
For my lungs could only hold their share
As long as I paid the cost.

I cornered you with words, tonight,
And wailed out against the moon-
While anger poured from every noun
Falling dormant upon my tomb.

You thought I mixed it up, somehow,
Between the trembling blame,
As you coiled up upon the sound
That harshly sang your name.

I burried up my bitter soul
Beneath some shards of glass,
And planted a new world right there,
Atop a hidden past.

I crossed my t's, and said my alms
To your sweet and sickly lord.
I held my voice from trembling,
So my distress would not be heard.

I washed my wounds with holiness
Drained from the city streets,
Cleansing myself of all that feels,
For acceptance comes as defeat.

I sat there in the dark, that night,
As I painted out my life
Upon the shores of an indifferent sea,
Unscarred by wisdom's knife.

Oh, do you see the butterfly
That's shriveled against the pane
Of a dusty, concealed windowsill-
Never to see light again.

Daddy wasn't  there to **** the spiders,
So mommy gave them the gift of life-
Gently lifting them from the crevices of my tiny room,
And carrying them off to freedom
Atop a tattered kitchen broom,
Softly whispering sweet condolences in their secret language.
And that is how I learned what poetry is..

There is no movement here
(Except inside my head)
Besides the rhythmic heaving of my chest,
My arms readjusting around my pillow,
Legs contorted into what I can only describe as
A lying down flamingo.
There is no motion that cannot be accounted for,
Only the necessary,
The slight,
The human impulses that cannot be quelled
By bedrest.

Alone.

I laid there—two weeks—
Alone with my thoughts,
My fears,
My shortcomings,
My inability to be
Anywhere but where I was:
Facing the ceiling
With such intent
You would think I was waiting
For a ghost to appear
(Maybe I was),
Haunted by myself.

Break me down
Erode the shimmer of my handmade crown
Swallow me inside the eye of your hurricane
Don't refrain
From pulling me in
Feed me the apple from eden
I wanna taste your sin
Give me something to belive in
Then define it without reason
Break into my heart
Your the best kind of treason
Wear away my free will
Sugar coat reality and feed me the pill
And watch as it goes down smoothly
Attach me to the ground
But tie the string loosely
Then sneak up behind me and cut off a loose piece
Releasing me from this world
Setting me free

To be free is to understand freedom
Transcend from the definition which it has become
For the only true freedom exists in one's mind
Away from language which materialism is bind

Our feet can't hold us down sometimes.
As old, worn out memories lash at our pale bony ankles.
Forget me, I've faded off into another world.
Our arms can't reach our eyes sometimes.
The harsh white light of the morning bears down on us like dull rusty razors.
Lose me, I've lost myself one hundred times before.
Our ears can't tune out those distant cries,
The wind oozes in, slapping up against silence.
Ignore me, I long for what you cannot give.
Our spines can't hold us high much longer,
As they slowly droop into angles meant for brooding.
Forgive me, for only then can you let me go.
Our hearts are slowly losing rhythm with the world.
Life has become to harsh--the future too shrouded by memories.
Leave me, somewhere in the past, with all the sweet nothing's and clouded laments to the unrelentless Gods that weave together beneath my toes.

We've murdered "Goodbye"
With our ball point pens and summer vacations.
Now all that's left of it is a shell,
A crater created by etiquette and empty promises.
We've stuffed it full of double intentions,
Filled it with unspoken "I love you"s, and "I'm sorry"s.
Our fear of leaving has left its muddy handprint
On the innocence of closure.
We've dragged it by it's syllables,
Drawing out each letter until the sound becomes muffled and obscure,
The very epitome of all it stands for.
Goodbye should be whispered in the final moments of one's presence,
Not proclaimed in shopping malls and late night diners.
The more we try to save it,
The further it sinks into causality.
The deeper that we engrave it,
The more goodbye parts with reality.

Thick green trees surround the powerful river,
It's current pulls me forward as small, smooth pebbles lap at my toes.
Somewhere in the background, children are shrieking with summertime bliss,
Making loud splashes into the crisp, cool water
From the wavering branch belonging to an ancient tree.
As I wade forward, warm brown mud oozes between my toes,
Unleashing a murky film around my perimeter.
The sun relentlessly bears down on me,
Calling out to my budding freckles beneath my olive skin.
Sweat droplets begin to form around my brow,
Sweetly trickling down my jaw and mixing with my river-wet body.
I close my eyes as the warmth encompasses my being,
It's as if I'm given a single bucket and told to fill it with all the wonders of the river-
I can't.
Then splash- it all comes flooding back to me,
Drowning me, filling my lungs with your presence.
I wasn't expecting you here,
Amidst the laughing children and the current.
It hurts too much to think of you, but it's impossible to let you go,
Not now.

Religion brought me tea at noon,
And taught me how to pray,
To God, and birds, and indifferent moon
That holds the world at bay.

Heaven came to me disguised,
Beneath the heavy drone,
Of millions of silent prayers,
Pleading to be left alone.

I heard the cries of anguished souls,
Lamenting their fate,
For penance costs a heavy toll
To walk the narrow and straight.

I found my heart laid out to dry
Upon the chapel floor,
As saints and sinners passed it by,
Too busy to implore.

I paid my dues at Sunday mass,
And sold my soul last June,
Because infatuation with the past
Brings even the pure to ruin.

I heard the angels singing out
A sad and passionate song,
As the world shrunk back in pious doubt,
They continued on and on.

I fell into a rabbits hole,
Full of all that isn't,
I accepted Him to make me whole,
The most righteous kind of prison.

I'm tired of hearing the same old concept
Rehashed with the back lash of a delayed onset
It's easy to have an opinion when it's been approved by the norm
So gather your sentiments and allow them to form
To the mold cast by a nation fueled with generalization
Is it worth being original with the risk of condemnation?
Occupying the top is the common aim of our generation
Even if we have to surrender, call it moral suffocation
Cuz life is defined by how far we progress
And happiness is measured by the height of our success
So paint on your smile, little artist of conception
Convince yourself that you control your perception

Reality has spun its web,
Beneath the indifferent moon,
And as the ocean tides sigh and ebb,
It catches life- too soon.

Time has cast her heavy net
Upon the vacant skies
Begging dawn to ne'er forget
The sunsets slow demise.

Oh, fallen stars, don't fail me now
Your glow outlives your light.
Bear no sweat upon your brow,
For your death  is lost at night.

The sweetest eulogy does sound
Against the hollow space
That pushes the moon round and round,
Casting shadows 'cross my face.

My eyelids fall heavy upon my vacant eyes,
The dull pulsing of the harsh, artificial light
Throbs and shrugs up against my temples,
Running down onto the creases beneath my brow.
Last nights dreams lay stagnant beneath
My troubled mind- like lukewarm coffee,
The cream beginning to lump and curdle together.
I'm destined for this kind of solitude, I think.
My mind races and whirls off course,
Speeding straight past the acute turn,
Destructively hurdling into a thick pool of
Yesterday. Is this how it feels to be alive?
A stale taste of tap water and broccoli slowly
Rises up into my lungs, creating a subtle
Discomfort, too faint to be washed away by water.
I can feel the uneven rise and fall of my hollow chest,
As if it is set off balance by the absence of my red,
Pulsing heart. Something is off here.
Gradually, my body surrenders to the ruthless
Shadows of my conflicted soul.
Sinking in to the starch white sheets, all that is
Collapses into misplaced yeast and water daydreams
That only come out at night.

I carry you with me,
Woven
In between
The frayed
Ends of my oversized
Sweater,
And the
Hollow pauses
Of conversation
Saved for thoughts
Too sacred
To be revealed.
I carry you outside of me,
Like the thin layer
Of frost
That dances lightly
Before collapsing onto the
Ancient windows of
My two door Oldsmobile.
I carry you above me,
Your presence as big as the
Wide open sky,
Yet also as unattainable.
Reaching above,
My fingers stretch out to grasp
You, but instead
Are met with the vacant
Feeling of air
Drifting between my
Clammy palms.
I carry you beneath me,
Supporting my
Staggering steps
As I drag my heavy feet across the
Uneven ground.
I carry you with me.
                                                                                   MB.

Your nothing but a daydream
Made up in my head
The words you spoke were illusions
Never actually said
So keep telling me lies
As I submerge in your disguise
Allowing my ignorance to cover my eyes
For what I  didn't see has become my demise
Your simply a word
Which I foolishly defined
A made up fairytale
Who thrives in my mind
Taking up residence in the back of my head
Pushing out words I wish I left unsaid
You made me forget myself in the midst of it all
You told me you'd catch me, then let me fall
Yet when it comes down to it, you're not to blame
For who you are and who I see isn't the same

Smile, darling-
No one can hear your hollow wails
when lips are closed
and turned up to the unforgiving sun.
Blackness is only a shade of light
beneath your downy mouth,
a shadow of your solitude, and nothing more.
The faint, wet glisten in your eyes
reflects the bronze and porcelain faces
looming down over your tear stained cheeks.
Frustration comes a shade too light
to be seen over the rosy red hues of laughter
sprinkled across your one dimensional grin.
Your laugh lines stretch out
until they gently brush up against the
soft white hair that frames your ears,
leaving no room for sorrow
pushed somewhere off the grid
of your proportionate composure.
*Life's clock can only tick as fast
as minutes do condense,
and happiness will never last
beyond the present tense.

alone in the depths of my minds chaotic commotion
trapped in the relm of my ever changing emotion
trying to make sense of my hopeless devotion
instead i turn, holding my gaze to the ocean

caressing the shore, the waves pull me in
unleashing, unlocking something deep within
teasing and taunting daring me to begin
for life is a game i can never win

the lull of the waves whisper softly in my ear
silently beckoning me to surrender my fear
awakening my senses, pulling me near
as i look out to the ocean my perception becomes clear

Thoughts racing
Faster faster
Until they meet
A beautiful disaster
Open conclusions
Creating an illusion
Vanishing doubt
For a moment
Diffusion
Reality becomes diluted
Dreams are substituted
In order to hear
The world must be muted
Silence
Tune out the violence
Mindlessly thinking
Treading contradictions
To keep from sinking
Ideas constantly interlinking
Forming thoughts
Which is where I'm caught
Trying to decipher what is
From what's not

I heard a knocking in my mind
Against the cedar door,
Beating, beating as if to find
Something worth looking for.

And as the rhythm proceeded,
The sounds faded into the wind.
It was gone before I believed it,
Yet it stole something within.

I heard the footsteps tread away,
A soft and steady pace,
The shadows cast a murky grey
Upon the would-be face.

Dragging a prisoner's remains
Though no one left the room
For the bounty came from within the brain
And all it's splendid gloom.

Superstition
Clouding way of one's ambition
Providing hope with false ammunition
Fear of change
Repetition
Stay the same
Society plays into this little game
Inducing fear
By whispering in one's ear
The end is near
No time for reflection
For its the dawn
Of slavery's resurrection
Only now its our mind
Which will be bind
Products of this world
We're no better than our possessions
Longing for freedom
Yet unwilling to admit our obsession
With perfection
The mirror reveals
A hazy reflection

Nothing is real.
My heart weighs heavy with
Your misplaced sorrow
And distorted vision of
Life.
Who am I to tell you
That how your feeling is
Wrong, or unnatural
Or harmful.
The words,
Which tumble
Thoughtlessly from
My lips,
Fall into a shallow pool
Of "I love you"
And "I'm here".
But, I'm not there,
In the dark
Twisted canals of your
Volitale mind.
Ears pressed against the speaker
Of the fogged up screen of my iPhone,
I beg you not to do it.
You can't.
Not now.
It's too soon.
Something is taking it's course,
Slowly building up momentum,
Weaving in and out of the
Warped and hazy
Picture
That is your life.
Don't hide from it,
Or claw at the fabric of existence,
Trying to escape it.
Embrace it.
Nothing is real.

There is no honest answer.
Worlds fall from our wind-chapped lips
Like marbles, heavy on our tongues,
Hitting the ground with a muffled splat,
As we fumble on all fours trying to retrieve them.

There is no honest answer.
We push and shove our muddled consciences, unprotected, into  a dark alleyway
Full of lost chances and half hearted embraces.
Until there is nothing left but a small hollow pang in the bottom of our guts.

There is no honest answer.
Openly, we ask others what we are too afraid to ask ourselves, even in the private of our own minds.
Truth sits at the bottom of our flouncy ideals and broken promises,
Like the last drops of 2% milk,
That only come out of the carton once it's lying face down on the dumpster floor.
There is no honest answer.
                                                                                   MB.

Waves crashing
Onto powerful mountains
I long to be there
So minuscule in comparison
I don't amount
I need not
For I become one with the wilderness
The silence is all I hear
Loudly
Calling me closer
I'm on the shore
The waves lapping at my toes
Always
My mind exists nowhere else
I am the powerful mountains
I am the savage waves
I am the tall red wood trees
Rooted to the ground
Thriving from the very dirt
My branches stretch out to the sky
Reaching
They intertwine with my being
The silence is a symphony
Awakening my inner self
Allowing freedom
From the dull noise of life
Droning on
At times it is too much
I reach the verge of submission
Then
Crash
The waves break my trance
For a moment
I'm brought back
To my sanction

The ocean taught me how to pray

But did it cure your lust? For souls and statues full of things that bring even the pure to rust.

Her heavy waves caressed my feet, and brought my mind to bay

Ah, but there is something to be said about the sandy ground, that seeps and pulls beneath your toes, dragging the world round.

I thought I felt more for a moment, than ever the poor can plead

Did you turn your back to the gravel roads that paved your heart so true?

Only until my palms did freeze- stuck open in their greed

*Then let me ask you this, my dear, is heaven for the blue?
Did Posideon's cleaver hand articulate all that's known as true?
Or was it choice and choice alone that unearthed the pearly gate?
For ocean waves drown out the fate that so encompasses you.

Life's ****** up
Our generation's biggest concern is filling up that red cup
Cuz we only speak out when we're getting served but we're fed up
We're trippin over our wishes cuz we were told to keep our heads up
Caught up with superstitions cuz we ran out of good luck
We're stuck inside a cage built up by satisfaction
Our conscious swallowed the key to the lock, call it desperate to a fraction
Yeah our thoughts are divided, our priorities are split
Too busy calculating how to not give a ****
We're embedded with the mindset that you can't lose if you quit
Our opinions sold out yeah we're morally ******
Cuz going with the flow garuntees open doors
So give in to your social addictions
Swallow it down with a smile and call it moral affliction
Don't worry about the obvious contradictions
How you feel and what's real only increases the friction

How can one measure happiness?
Today's youth fades into tomorrow's yesterday,
As age wears its weary toll upon
The cherub faced nation that cried at it's mother's breast
And asked for the world in technicolor.

The sun slinks his ambivalent profile across the unforgiving sky,
As we pace face down against the grain of time,
Counting seconds until they spill over,
Lapping up against our freshly polished shoes and quivering ankles,
And drown out the dying magic
Of the coming hour.

Day after day, we are aware of nothing,
Moved forward by the simple urge to live,
Created by motion pictures and life insurance billboard advertisements.
Is this what it means to be alive?

Years pass, and we pursue the same ancient questions,
That have disrupted our conscience
And held us accountable
For millenniums.
Yet, we are still no closer to an answer to our empty prayers.

Afraid of the unknown, we peel the face off God,
And disguise him in languages and fables
That embody an entire civilization
And the fear that turns it's wheels.

Beneath the blues and greens
Your ripping at the seams
Yet your ocean eyes encompass dreams
Brimming full with hopeful gleams

In the blurred and hazy night
Darkness engulfs your sight
Dimming you wanning light
Insomnia grips you tight

As the ocean breeze beckons you forward
I subconciously surrender it all
I see how your eyes long toward
Abiding the ocean's call

on a crowded street, my surroundings begin to fade
as everythings blur together, its reality which i evade
gazing past people, off into space
i imagine for a moment that i'm out of this place
only to be brought back with the blink of an eye
to the streets where the blurred silhouettes of people pass me by
with a crowd that big, theres no room for indivduality
i feel like a minuscule pebble lost at sea
going with the flow i grasp at the air
even though i know there is nothing there
i'm lost but i dont want to be found
shouting out but i dont make a sound
diagnosing emotions without definitions
longing for change yet clinging to repetition
in search for solitude, being alone is not my goal
giving up my freedom as a subconcious toll
the darkness of reality mixes with the light of lies
creating a mist that acts as my disguise

Time spurts and sputters
Out of my mind
Like an oozing laceration.
Warm blood dripping
From a skinned knee.
9:00 fades into
10:00 and before
You know it,
Everything's gone.

There's a subtle discreetness in the way you say hello,
Your true feelings hidden beneath heavy formalities.
The overwhelming question of "what if", lingers in the air,
Cradling you within it's suffocating grasp.
Oh, my poor shackled bird, don't fight the fineness of failure.
Embrace every mistake and half spoken truth as your sole provider.
For life is too short to require commentary,
Time is too elusive for the formulation of perpetual game plans.
Don't waste your minutes in the routine of the expected,
Cast yourself unto the unknown, be swept away by the ambiguity of life.

A nation with daddy issues
We call out- yes master
Success took a sudden left
And we've forgotten what we're after-
Because mommas got a curfew set
No matter if you're plastered
A nation founded on being a *******
Afraid of our youth
We drown it out with our laughter
As long as we fake it
It really doesn't matter.
We pledge allegiance to the mad hatter
Swallow down our issues
Call it morning after
The fact
That our hearts are in our stomachs
But our brains are intact
Securely in a system
That needs to be hacked,
We gamble our values
Betting what we lack.
The age of information:
Our odds are stacked
Up against
A doctrine that overrides
Common sense,
Pushing our past
Into present tense,
While we pry our fingers
Through the picket fence
Between our rights and wrongs
And the need to make sense
Of the corruption that places
Appearance overides the common sense
Of discrimination and ideals
That we can't fight against
Without binding ourselves
To a static defense
Where poverty and status
Don't need a pretense

April is a month of forgotten dreams,
That began to fade away in February,
And drew their last breath in March.
Missed opportunities wax poetic
As the tumultuous spring wind pushes empty
Ideals into a realm of something not quite there,
But present enough to be felt over the roar of
Cryptic resolutions and half baked goals.

April is a month of resurrected love
That has already grown rotten and putrid,
Decaying under the warm, dirt ground
Built up over the heavy hopes of December.
Memories full of partial truths and "I love you"
Twist and pull at untuned heart strings,
Until a sad, sordid melody sounds out,
Almost completely evaporating before it reaches
Anyone brave enough to write it into reality.

April is a month that sometimes isn't really there
Until the middle of May, when a distinct pang
In the chest gives weight to its existence.

I'm kept alive by the faintest doubt
That I've yet to discover what life is all about
It's like praying for rain
In the midst of a drought
I keep silent in vain
As everyone around me shouts
Out their self scripted solution
How to to save oneself
Was omitted in the constitution
Still I thrive on the premonition
That life has yet to be defined
Longing for the recognition
That reality can't be refined
So I set out to prove
That nothing can be proven
For the meaning of life
Is cunningly elusive

Tonight's a night for going out.
For red lipstick, a shade too dark.
Don't be nervous my dear, they'll all love you,
As long as you remember all your lines,
And don't forget to smile.

Tonight's a night for going out.
For wearing that new black dress.
Don't be afraid, you'll fit right in,
As long as you remember not to eat,
And don't forget to smile.

Tonight's a night for going out.
For splashing your face with cold water.
So no one will notice you've been crying,
As long as you remember to hold your breath,
And don't forget to smile.

Tonight's a night for going out.
For unlit cigarettes and etiquette.
They'll understand you when you speak,
As long as you remember to keep quiet,
And don't forget to smile.

Tonight's a night for selling your soul
And don't forget to smile.

Fear not, my friend, I've rescued you
And set you atop a stone,
Where you can sit and watch the world-
Ah, isn't it lovely all alone?

Don't weep, my child, for you are here
Against your wordly wishes,
But, sometimes what we think is best
Lands us broken and in ditches.

It's better here, above it all,
Look down upon the world-
Clench the day between your fist,
Watch it ooze out of your fingers, curled.

It's easier when you don't think,
For thought has dipped his feet
Into the muddied wishing well
That overflows with deceit.

Oh, fallen angel, does it hurt?
To wash off your bloodied palms,
And stretch your hands out to the sky,
A most perverted kind of alms.

You're safer here, on ground so high
That to look down is enough,
For if you were to take a leap,
Your faith would turn to dust.