I want to write poetry
On your hips and
Pull the words against me
Rocking and twisting
With each other
I want to make art

"after all, i am just another song you'd skip on your playlist."

He  stays  with  us  in  winter  storms
And  when  the  garden's  bleak
He  hops  around  in  sleet  and  hail
Appearing  pale  and  weak.

But  once  the  days  begin  to  lengthen
And  the  worst  of  winter's  gone
He  perches  high  up  in  a  tree
And  begins  his  joyful  song.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Have you ever had a nightmare that wasn't scary, but still left you scared?
Have you ever had a dream where instead of waking in a cold sweat from fear, cold tears rain from your eyes?
Have you ever watched your siblings killed, one by one, and be completely helpless as the monster finishes you off last?
Have you ever dreamt about someone you have known your entire life, someone that was so close to your heart you would shatter if they disappeared, then wake up and realize that person didn't exist, but you still remember the love you had for them?
Have you ever felt the life drain from your limbs as you crumple to the ground, the shock of death just barely creeping into your heart before you wake up?
Have ever held a baby boy in your hands,knowing full well that is was dying? Have you held your own son, trying to convince yourself that your heartbeat was his, and those breaths you heard coming out of you were of his doing?
I have. By dreams I know what it means to die, but I also know that the death of those I've seen around me hurt way more than my own. I cherish them because of this, and I would rather take their fate instead than have any of these dreams come true. This is my oath. I refuse to lose them again.

I crawl the floor

Collecting broken glass

To protect feet of those who do not know

Do not care

Whilst rejecting offers of company

As music moves the floor.

Later

When all is quiet

I enter the night

To walk along roads alone.

A bogeyman of myth

Stalks these streets

It's ok

For I am not the prey he seeks

I am not the prey he seeks.

There are several lies that I tell myself for this reason I write of One.

One lie, that I can change and that I will change.

For when I believe myself to be one I will never believe myself to be greater than one.
All things greater than one becomes impossible and I am then only one.
But when I believe that I am one hundred the possibility that I am greater than one becomes very real.
The thought that I can become greater than one becomes possible and only then it is possible for me to be greater than one.

so you wouldn't
have to wait
for the last petal
to fall off your rose
i got love for you,
unknown to ordinary reality,
dreamt up too soon
she bled,
she bled,  
straight out on paper
no mend
no love to attend
we parted
no love
no contend.
she bled
and i began to feel
her rotten bones,
we didn't
bend
us,  in eachothers head.
i drove you mad,
and you bled
and i began to bend.
i began to break.