You are reading these words,
these words that I wrote,
this creation of mine.
And yet I do not own it,
the words that you read
are a choice of chance.
My self is amazed by this,
and I wonder if I created it,
and how it was ordered
from the chaos in my head.
Maybe my self is a reflection
of this randomness,
and the self an identity,
Of chance.
And so is yours,
I envy the randomness,
the randomness of chance,
and the life that is not mine.

I hid a smile, that washes me,
Of this little joy, that fills me.
This simple thing, has brought me,
Much happiness, as living life be.
All I did was walk away,
with a candy bar,
from a vending machine.
We strive for great joy,
Many fathoms deep,
That we forget, these little joys,
are what children feel.

Oh woe is me and my misery,
Little lonely heart of mine
Please don't cry,
Be still, be still.

In the silence between us,
We are neither alive,
Nor have we passed on,
****** to this purgatory
Of a broken love.

The blue skies are listless,
And little white clouds grayer.
The air is much too colder,
Poor withered leaves breathless.

I find myself with no passion in my work,
Much like your dilapidated beat.
Why must I go on
With no reason hence,
The object of my affection
Willfully, another's blessed.

When we dance
The angles sung
A body electric,
I only wish I could love you
Like he loves you.

Never fated to find out,
I weep in dispair,
As life goes on,
To another waking day.

I spend days contemplating
Life in these little pictures,
From fragments fashioned
With my imagination.

I see the many crows feet
Around brown eyes,
And the shiny lights
Of gushing malls.
They capture focus,
Yet I wish for more,
More of this silence.

The sights,
the unheard sounds,
And the quiet trees.
Captured only in black and white.

I dream as if in deep sleep,
Of those moments
In wonder.
The sights, the sounds,
And the muttering trees.

But this moment is forever,
Here set in stone,
A pithy memory,
Written many times over,
Selective, happy.

When they ******* up,
You'd want to run away,
Run a far, never to turn back,
Or leave bread crumbs behind.
For when they ******* up
The scars run deep,
The memories better left repressed,
And the very idea makes you sick.
But you live with it,
Twist it, and turn it,
And feel life with it,
For some day
We'd have to find our way back home.

She sat next to me,
Her feet betwixt mine.
Looked at me dearly,
And punched me easily.

I yelped, and cocked,
I took one look at her
And punched her forcefully,
Square on her face, unhesitantly.

Surprised and antagonized,
Her eyebrows questioned,
"Why the hell?" I bemoaned
Her face red, she left me.