Help me out for a second here.
Help me out of here.
I'm going out of my mind/But I'm/Lying/I'm not/It's too hot/And claustrophobic
So... I'll bounce back and forth in rhythm/Listenin' to myself givin'/All you beautiful people allegorical head.
Audience is/Providence of/Godliness through/Loneliness when/Each and every one of you make/Up a giant intuitive/Entity of empathy that/I wish I could make love to.

What?
I wish I could talk to, you,
but I often find that people look to me to be aloof,
but I also find the need to persuade myself into honesty.
But you gotta know, I just think words can mean so much more, or so much littler than the effort it takes to say them and it scares me all the time.

Sometimes people call me poet. I can't talk to people, they all think I'm silly and that makes me feel awkward cuz I have a lot sadness  and put too much importance on the common interaction between me and the rest of my race.
So I sing instead of talking, Run instead of walking, improv without blocking, write. cuz I'm scared, I'm so ******* scared of something turning out unexpectedly, and I'm in love, I'm so ******* in love with that fear.

Thank you for giving this amount of silence. I haven't been listening to it very well. You let me take the stage and drown out all your lovely silence with my under-used, somewhat nasally voice. I'm sorry.
I owe you a turn. I really do. for listening

Go ahead...



Say something real
-Say something awful
*I miss the voices that used to talk to me

The Cake was good.                                                 Sweet and moist
like good kisses are too, slightly mysterious...
                                                   ­                        regarding where it came from, or how, specifically, it was created.

We ATE IT UP!            for fun                         and we threw the rest of it ON THE GROUND.
...                                               ...for respect.
                                   All the while I expected it wouldn't be my last birthday, or my last anniversary, in this lake of open arms and forgiving faces.
                          forgiveness faces a tough crowd today.I know I've built bridges and tunnels through ways around it.
Down there I feel like a Canary,
                                                   chokin' to death,
                                                          ­                    hopin' to catch sight of the sun one more time
                                                            ­                            prayin' for speed...enough to save me.
Up top I feel like a tightrope walker,
cuz we make the smallest sacrifices, it seems like, at the time.                                  For the smallest differences.
                              

But that time was a lot lighter, and it either piles up, or moves forward, and either way you're leaving that bridge behind, I don't think I burned it, but I know time will...


                                                       ­                    Crumble Everything.


               Gosh you look so scared, lighten up, it was a joke.
I ain't leaving this world or my freedom without you.

                        
                              ­   I can't blame you.                   Was scared too.
                                   Terrified, black with ice frozen on the tunes I used to hum
                                                             ­                                                               fr­om my Canary little heart,
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                                        Start
                                                           ­                                                                 ­                                       Testing
                                                         ­                                                                 ­                                         me.
                See if I care.
                          I do, and I'll prove you right
About one thing.

Logic: Comfort from predictability.
Paradox: The predictability of growing.
Cliche: Home is where the heart is,                          isn't it?
Thoughts?          ...and dreams
Sleep:    ...Always better with you.
Remorse?              Maybe a little.
Conclusion?


I spent a whole lot of time in a place, learning how to: life.
                                                           ­                                And I spent the last day there, ever,
                                                                ­                               expecting warm and sad nostalgia.

                          
                          ­                                                            It was frightening and dark, that
                                                            ­                           midsummer's day.

      
                                                                ­         Now I'm somewhere completely new.
                                                            ­                             Unfamiliar at best.
                                                           ­              Looking down the bed at you,
                                                            ­                              Putting me through this test.
                                                           ­                               Sleep, you need your rest.
                                                           ­                               It takes a lot out, to grow, so fast.
                                                           ­                               To finally come to know, at last.



                                                        ­                 That you, are home.

There used to be a time...
                                         a time when we were certain
                                                         ­                              a time when we were used.
                                                                ­                                                                 ­      ...used by a forger.
So bright was the furnace we always returned to
                                                  brighter than we can even remember.
                                                       ­                                         it's hard to remember.
We would run in the field, because it was a field, made by us, for us, to run in.
                                             Some whiles we would stay home, and block out the world and it's cursed sun.
                                                            ­                                          brighter than was fair for us.
                                                             ­                                                                 ­  when we didn't want to be seen.
Again and again, we would be forged into new. Some new way, some new way of being the old way.
Again and again, we were here and there, so long as everyone called us by the same name.
We were forged into weapons. And we sewed distraught. We hurt,                       the ones who named us.

And now, our steel doesn't shine so hot. And the only thing left making us remember, that we're alive,
               is the rapid thuds of our heart pumping down against the cold tile floor, begging us to choose
                                                          ­begging us for a path to follow.
                                                         ­                         pleading to flow this hot blood somewhere it will make a difference.           Screaming that we don't need you, and we don't want you, and that we need not fight each other over thoughts about you anymore.


I was seven times certain who I was.
That I could forget you...







                                                   ­                                   We're back.

For those of us who feel like we’re underwater.
When the moon fills the dark spaces we won’t go.
When music is more than more than more than what you know about it.
And in the end of the world as every sun sets, something more is born.
There are good times ahead in the next city.
There are good times in all things.
Connect, cement, the heart in the stories that change, change.
Connect.
**connect

Floodlights.
They’re ghosts right?
From our memories,
Have been seized, we
From the perfect dream?
Drip drop drip drop
Turning tricks, dropped the jack
*****, when you coming back?
It’s off it’s off
Seldom silence serves as sight’s severance.
**** chop **** chop    OW!
******* pistol clock
Whip glock whipping ****
How many names can you think of for a knockoff
Of soda pop?
I’m sorry sir you’ve got the wrong Ryan,
I haven’t starred in any movies that cryin’
Old seniles, and sensitive females, so honestly claim
Was the way life should have been for them.

Oh in that case I’ll show you the brain,
Then kick you in the *** for being so gay.
Hold on there, wrong Ryan.
I ain’t waiting tables, or banefully fryin’
Up **** that I spit in for women with tips worth less
Than my two cents.

Oh I apologize, celebrity lookalike.
Must be the weather or the windshield is cracked
Or the antennae are bent or the cables are jacked
But I can’t seem to figure out just who you are
When I’m watching the TV pimped into my car,
Let’s try a few shall we
Not a cook…Not a lover boi…Silence of the…Birds, if you’re a bird I’m a…Bat…Batman! Batman and Robin! Red Robin! No not a waiter…
Red hearse, Fred Durst, Paris Hilton, Ryan Milton
Wrong Ryan, Wrong Ryan!

Oh my god, silly me
I seem to have gone on a tangent you see.
Tandem bicycles, all of them for free.
If you would only come visit. Agreed?
Of course I know that you’re THE Ryan B.