Roses are red
violets are blue
I thought I was ugly
and then I met you.

We spent the whole of our lives
with "the rest of our lives".

until we ran out of time

We meet like fire and water, bursting into steam
swinging round each other, splitting at the seams
our slowly growing entropy, sees darkness before death
the energy, no sympathy, clutches its last breath.

You fall into my watering eyes,
through dance we somehow stabilise,
the swell between the crashes of the ocean,
the moments underneath the motion.

The stable explosion.

The softest footsteps move the earth.

Choose your lens freely,
then smash it,
if you can.

Some day I may stop pretending
to even want a happy ending.

I need to walk more.

The cracks in my feet,
the people I meet,
and the car,
falling back into dust.

The crocodile, left questioning his own tears,
he never saw the malice in his breath,
he sobbed "I haven't eaten for a month now"
as you walked willingly into your death.

Drain out of me
running through the page
a cloudy yellow apathy
with crimson streaks of rage
my doctor thinks a catheter
could help me hold my tongue
but I've swallowed his for years now
and my flow has just begun.

Benevolent miners
crack rubble all day
hands wrapped to the sky
all quietly pray
for a meaningful memory,
some new way to say
they broke up that rock
in a substantial way.

I don't try to be myself
I just am.

Some love
     Some hate
          Some hold
              Some berate

But I don't try to be myself
I just am.

One day I realised,

I was only ever
afraid
of
myself.

It terrified me.

As a child I knew nothing
and needed even less,
content with being happy
but 'growing up' required me to digress.

I took life as a challenge
chose myself an aim,
let the goals laid out for me
become the rules of the game.

Years of living like this
distraction and reward,
suddenly I realised
I was cold, alone and bored.

My knuckles white and fingers raw
from trying to hold on,
to the rules I made as a child
but the reasons were long gone.

But whose choice is it
what I see, I want and need,
the thought that these are 'my' desires
could be called the root of greed.

So I spent years on this journey
back into my head,
to find the child I left behind
hoping he wasn't dead.

In a dream one night I found him
he laughed when he saw I forgot,
that logic was emotional
and that love was not.

So in ways I give back
what my fear took away,
to see as I grow stronger
there's nothing but today.

I look at the world around me,
Wonder what may come to pass,
Am I the only one who can see?
Or am I merely blinded
By my own reflection in the glass?

If you Love one unconditionally,
do you not Love them all?

And if our Love for them could change,
would it be Love at all?

I thank you for the pain you caused me,
the fact you forced me to look and to see,
holes in what I thought defined me.

To grow and open my mind,
I must accept that it will always be closed.

The seeds of thought will grow whether you watch them or not,
they will favour the cracks in the concrete.

The world will tell you to fill them in with fear,
learn the answer, you are not qualified to ask.

They have taught you not to think, to cover up their own delusions,
fill in their own cracks.

But the seeds will still grow, even in the darkness.