I close my eyes
Try to sleep
I see a wave of ink
A cloud of black
In water
No rhyme
No poem or verse
I'm going blind
I need a nurse
******* like cumuli
Hips as wide as a nautical mile
To get me back to sea
To help me see
To make me smile.

r ~ 5/26/14

I guess you could call it poetic how by the age of 12 I had no recollection of what happiness tasted like on my tongue. Some would say it was tragically beautiful.
But it was not poetic, nor was it beautiful,  but it was tragic. It was so very, very sad, and that sadness is only doubled now that people see sorrow as glorious.  It is not glorious. It is not strength. It is a lump of iron in your chest and stomach and it eats you from the inside, out and you have no right to think that blood stained wrists are anything other than tragic. So very,  very tragic.

I wonder what you would write,
If you had the inclination to dissipate such woes.
What would be on your paper?
What if my persisting persistence and boastful amount of
hyperbolic word arrangements could be yours?
I would love to read your writes and write your wrongs,
Hopefully your wrongs are just writes
And not a totality of havoc carefully spaced between blue lines,
Whilst chaotic linguistics tend to rise from a certain muse
I guess what I'm saying is,
That I am curious to visually participate in a what seems to be
Something near impossible.
Unless you are me and I am you.
Then my job is complete and I can happily say,
Its not half bad.

i am
hovering between
me and
my body

i cannot think
i cannot dream
unreal is
what i seem

reality is not existent
its just a concept
the insistant resistance
of playful dreaming

i have just barely
made it
slightly touching the ground
drowning in the cushioned air

i must be suffering from
sleep deprivation
or one too many shots
of *****

air
has no gravity
increasing the longevity
of time

time has stopped
it is infinite
hovering slightly above
the current.

the present.

i fall
just as a star falls
euphoria washes
away from my eyes

reality surrounds me
as my breathing
comes to a stand still

(b.d.s.)

so what
If my reality-
The Grainy Daze in which I survive-
Isn't what you see?
                                       I DON'T CARE
(no, I do)
What if all the images of mine
That I hopelessly entwine
Don't fit the same resolution
And it's all
Cut.
Short.
and the credits roll?

If God let nature pick out its colors
I'm sure the sky would still choose blue
And the deepest depths of the ocean
Would want to stay that color too

If the mountains took to long to decide
Their peaks would turn a snowy white
And the stars in all of their glory
Would still relish the black of the night

The green, green grass of the valleys
Would not want it any other way
Just like the yellow of the morning sun
On any given day

And the leaves on the trees in the cool fall breeze
Would be any color that they like
At any given moment in time
Is when they would decide

If God let nature choose its own colors
I'm sure they would all stay the same
Because God knew what he was doing
When he created it on that special day