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Love* is in the air, they say.
Is that really true or a made up fairy fuse?
I cannot see it, nor can I feel the ray.
It isn’t an easy way to choose.

Do I believe, or do I deny its existence.
The truth is not in front of me,
For I do not know where to trace
My beloved soul to find the long lost key.

I have never loved like the kind of love,
One can find in a romantic film on a Friday night.
So how can I believe in an empty glove?
Where is the reality in this flight of right?

I am horrified to know what it really feels like.
The thought of relying on another for happiness,
Gives me the chills up on the ****.
Dependency is what I fear, just like the madness.

Not to mention the utter heartbreak,
Most humans seem to endure.
I do not wish to become a salted lake,
Trying to find a very rare cure.

What shall I do in this time of day?
How can I believe in love?
When I am too fearful to become gray.
Maybe some day I will find my dove,
Or perhaps, I will simply fade away.
I frequently question where it is that I fit,
In this world filled with lonely souls.
Yes it is true that we are always going to be alone;
We may find company within another,
But one soul does no equal two.
I do not mean to say that I am depressed and you are too.
No, life is meant for us alone.
We are to conquer our fears,
Believe in our own truths,
Find our own path from where we were placed here on earth.
We are forever alone,
But it is not painful.
It is something to smile about.
Although, I still question where it is that I fit,
In this world filled with lonely souls.

I think I know, but I’m not certain.
I guess I need to just take life as it may come,
With open arms and laughs that will turn the night sky,
Into a dazzling arena of glowing stars.
I can dance to the rhythm of the many heartbeats,
That envelope my shaking hands,
But I will always know that I am to face life alone today,
Alone tomorrow, and alone every day.
I mean we have friends and family, but in the end we are our own self.
So vibrant a character
that he creates a roaring symphony
with a glance in your direction,
and as he walks
the colors form in his footprints,
because he keeps his soul
at the bottom of his shoe...
You must follow the trail,
You must look into his eyes,
be deafened by his music.
You wonder if he hears it too,
if he sees the dazzling spectrum
left in his steps. They tell his story,
but you cannot read its brilliance,
you cannot look into his eyes
long enough to finish the symphony  
before he breaks your gaze,
and you cannot reach the gold
at the end of his rainbow trail
because it never stays for long,
just long enough to be admired
before he disappears
to come again after the storm,
and beckons you to follow him
into the sky
                    where he floats,
                                  just out of reach…
nothing as reckless as a feigned indifference, reckless with a negative connotation- that is-
a pretended falseness and concealment of passion, obsession, a love….

inconsiderate of a universe’s ability to destruct, to ****** away any given scenario, to wipe clean the gravity between two souls, two minds, too much gambled. too large of a bet. high risk little return, no return.
none at all.

we bathe in sorrow hoping it lightens to laughter.
ashing cigarettes on our skin, dexterity
laziness in us all
leaving coffee black
leaving ashes paraphernalia of the love I burnt
with fists that turned cold, so cold, unclenched
a melancholy weeping for the sighs of metal breath.
an injection of remorse, what’s it quenching? what’s it worth?
what’s it asking? what’s it taking?
are we sinning? are we praying?
where’s the Dying end, where’s it stop,
tonic, what’d it tell you? did your analeptic 'screaming-to-the-ceiling' testify to the woes endured by a life on earth, a life lugged through, broken by its intricacies
we’re all on hands and knees
singing, sobbing, pleading, throbbing
it’s a beauty in the dead leaves, the Fallen I feel badly for, a reaching sympathy,
beyond what my hands express
we embody selfish bringings  
bursts of breath
balloons of noise of gasps of the lapse preceding death
is it hypocritical to enjoy the lack of closure, the abrupt ending, keeping bottles kept?
the myriad of leaving
the method to Drinking
heavy heaving
stumbling cross-legged through this party of contemplating Permanence, a greying breeding
i imagine a man heading a room ceasing noise not having to demand it no, rather whispering, whispering streams of thought of consciousness.... or the lack of it
on buzzing fragments of philosophy and rationale.....
or the lack of it*
the lack of a sounding foundation
the lack of a solid grounding of a planned pathway of a plan at all,
bottomless to the Bottom of the top of the
Land of the free
words fed intravenuously
like opiates into opened veins
until the lies they tell us become truth

Propaganda filled drips
drown out the screams of the innocent
killed by fear and misdirected hatred
and soldiers fighting "wars" on terror

How then does the aggressor become hero?
while handing out oppression labelled as democracy
liberty  comes encased in the shell of a bullet
and if you resist.........freedom

comes quicker than you wish
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