happiness
is not the point
to life
but a byproduct
of consciousness

the pursuit of happiness
is a construct
of the disenfranchised
believing they’re entitled
to more meaning
from existence

brief moments of joy
strung together
to form an illusion
of contentment

are merely distractions
from the pain and suffering
of the human condition

I have squandered my soul again
I yearned for a tourniquet;
clutched my aching limbs 
as I bled out onto the floor,
onto myself

I’ve stolen fleeting things,
beget to me, lost to time
I have been conditioned to rot;
to survey eternity 
from behind the gate of the mind

I keep tricking myself
Surreptitious riddles, ghost of night
Resuscitating nothingness
regurgitating, heaving death

I keep deepening my desire to die
But I don't want to dissolve,
I want metamorphosis;
reintegration with the tapestry;
to begin dreaming, as an artist,
and paint my blood onto the canvas 
of the universe

My spirit leaves me
in unsanctimonious wanderings;
each time I flitter between
love and loss and longing

I would only ask:
let me cling to nothing,
understand without being crushed;
allow me relinquishment
Forgive me

Please forgive me if
I know longer  
know
the right thing to say

Tomorrow is such a different
world
away
from me
and you
tonight

I have such a million words
inside my head tonight
forgive me if I just throw them
on a page tonight
I can’t make sense of them
tonight
I can’t make them fly
like they deserve
tonight

The ordinary is now far,
far beyond my fingertips.
I'm afraid
"let those fears melt away"
Grasses flourish
mine a bit further
extending out through the chest
and entwining with another
squeezing desperately
visioning gold encrusting our tie.
though, we are not sealed
with an impenetrable bond
threads are frail
and for this to work
it takes two grips to hold on