the concrete isn't so bad when you're too distracted,
the buzzing of business and personal life gives you plenty to dwell,
keep your smirk and hopes to see them in hell,
enjoy your view from your kingdom of public property,
and complain about basic rights robbery;
tell yourself you'd do it right, if only you had a voice,
stuck somewhere in the middle, stuck without a choice.

standing in the doorway, marble and piercing, a glazed gaze forever so long,
curling crickets and many other mystics amidst,
the somber song resting on the scene...

i laid in the middle of times square.
i went to the most rushed place in the world and slowed down.

you sometimes forget you're awake.
you never forget what it felt like to be alive.

rose gardens over mints, over other sweets, too,
rotten and spoiled, broken inside like a tooth,
sugary sweet, but swept away like a pile of leaves,
fields and flowers, stars and skies so far beneath;

...and i still feel empty.
there's still no food in my stomach.
i still have no desire to eat.

just let it go.

don't you ever wonder about the fact that even rockstars sing about heartbreak?
i realize it now.
it's not so much about who you are or what you can do, it's more that you're human.
so, instead of looking for a nice house, like the one i used to rent, I'm going to settle for a cabin in the woods.
I'm fine with nothing, because with that, I'm guaranteed to keep it.

i surrender.

in the moment, it's like a motel bedroom with no furnishings, a blanketed inexistence, like backroom deals,
hands shake, exchanges made,
players in a game that you'd think no one ever played.

in that moment, it was a garage with trash filled floors, crusted couches, a blanket and maybe a thrill,
memories fade, so they say,
but who's to blame when some memories decide to stay?

time, oh, time. whether rain or shine, always on time, time, oh, time.
time, oh, time. show me yours, i'll show you mine, forever in time, oh, in time.
time, oh, what lovely time, stop your ticking and ease my mind, time, oh lovely time...
...at the end of the line, time, oh time, might i ask for one more time?

nothing has to be said at the end of a tale,
no more wish you wells or burn in hells.
we can leave it where it is,
because we're just too burnt out to give the plot a twist.

no voices in my head, only lengthy novels grabbing hold of me and taking me on their roller-coaster of a ride.

no skipped heartbeats, instead skipped meals and sleep, becoming intertwined with the night.

no fallen tears, just a sincere nothingness and a sort of reckless disregard for life.

voice of rust,
cracked hands,
brain of dust,
made nothing of the land
but will still adjust,
eyes of steel,
muscles weak,
nothing real,
made nothing but let me be
and i'll see how it feels.

you could find my home somewhere in a tightly bound tether,
constricted to the point that every breath is a roar that could move mountains, only it's too old and frail, it's time long gone, and so it only faintly echoes out, a gasp rather than roar...

you could find my home in a darkened alleyway,
stumbling on an indefinite amount of steps, treading lightly not out of fear, but out of a complete disillusionment of reality, a soft stutter to the equilibrium of livelihood, only growing more weary and lost...

you could find my home anywhere,
but where you'd probably find it most is in a dark room, contemplating the necessity and desire for settling while dreaming still of continuing exploring, planning out all but what comes next in reality...