same clothes and the same smell,
same room and the same hair gel–
good handwriting and the fairwell–
every now and then I just feel compelled

to lay in ash and let the heart churn.
to lay in ash and let the scars burn.
to lay in ash in hopes I’ll discern
what the past is yelling with a reverb

same clothes and the same smell,
dead heart lives in a young cell
and the water’s dried in a new well,
could I be the pool that’ll consume hell?

just a drop, just a drop
a drip of time for a broken clock
a moment merry with a single petal
until life’s hands come to cut your knot

but a word, whether auditory or a written letter
whisper to me or pick up your feather
rehash to me a time of us together
or just give detail of the local weather

same clothes and the same smell,
too familiar but I can’t tell
how the notes played don’t produce spells
is it wordplay? Is it truth–

truth is, truth is hidden by a hoodie–
silhouette, water–dirt, very muddy
with confusion, has me seeing blurry;
tears of hope sting, supper’s full of hurting and
the similarity is too concerning…

same clothes and the same smell,
but the voice, no, no the voice fails
and the face lies, quite the fox tail
this is not right, this is not real
–
a wolf in white wool tells me I’m his friend
the teeth in his jaw are bathed in fresh blood
we’re friends from the past and though I thought he was dead
he defeated his troubles like he said that he would (–did he?)

because of slow sense and the charm of his wit
I’m the meal and the victim, defeated in good

same clothes and the same smell but
its. not. You.

everybody lies
everyone lies to me
“don’t ask questions, and you won’t be lied to”
I don’t ask questions because I can’t afford truth–

and my currency of faith has been wasted
entrusting it in the hands of persons
presented falsely in truth

when I unwrap the façade, like a child with a gift
I notice the quite the con, from what was promised to what is

why do they play with the string attached to hope
how come they hit where I’m most vulnerable

I hate it–
I hate the insatiable feeling to trust
so when the wall you lean on falls through
you know you can only put blame on yourself

at least that's what the mind whispers when you're on the ground

in every high i hungered, a low in disguise
conman clearest, quite the simpleton am i?

though the blind cannot see,
with their ears, not their eyes–
the learn more of the Earth
than a stranger like i

do i know–?
how hear someone speak
through the songs of their cries

be a spoke–?
for the souls free-falling
from winds to demise

low hope–
and often it seems in my mind
that i dream of a life
more seasoned with time
and growth

(is it real? what grows in my heart?)

time need-be spent like preparing a meal
sweet sweat that proclaims of unwavering zeal
love came from the dust to the grains of the field

what a crop–
churned by the pain that i feel
every trial revealed
forms a love that’ll shield
every drop

of anger that aims to fulfill
all endangering thrills
till no longer i give you my all

leaven lost a moment’s flavor
sweat trickles through layers of bread
i can’t redeem myself…
can you redeem me?

naked words, naked words
strip them down, we dress them up in route to work
and give them outfits that are ideas
then we let them model so others have heard–

every idle syllable that we have learned
squirms inside our minds like they’re buried worms
we pull one out to preen and style well
before sending off for them to do a work

and in return we want a reaction,
something to give the worms a satisfaction
the joy of feeling like they’re found attractive
after all, that’s all we’re really asking–

right?
to be beloved by the people on your side?
often times in you they don’t confide–
often times it’s you too hurt to cry
and seldom is there not a coat, hiding the thoughts of your mind

do in “putting your best foot forward” you lie?
crafting an image that’ll appeal to someone you like?
why, is it so easy to put away personality for performance–
to fall into the shadow of the unattainable
to be seduced by the worms of others

that we find ourselves inadequate in the perception of the image of another

maybe it’s the opposite we’re trying to achieve
to draw lower than our actual esteem
so instead we form an image that is broken and bleeding
hoping it’ll draw attention and the pity that we need
–
bad publicity is still publicity
pity is still attention

Truth is a scythe that is bent on taking
every ****, every lie that sounds persuasive
hurt by the Truth means that Truth showed it’s hand
swung at the **** you held onto in the sand

take my breath, longing that i disappear
visions of fluorescence fly like birds from a tree
no matter how percipient, i still wake up from reveries–
and find that some chrysalises are blown away by rivers of the breeze
numbers tick, the tidy sum is a wall ever incomplete,
before choosing to become, a wave pierces its abode
jericho rocks, from a crack into rubble, the wind establishes its throne
and the man in metamorphosis, his wings shrivel around the bone
nature wraps its arms around the sorrowful–
his killer contrives burial–
the earth holds his lifeless soul–
made glorious
to put a smile on the face of the deploring–
but you’d never know

unseen, all there is to be seen
swallowed whole by rivers of the breeze
butterfly, take my breath