I can't escape my fantasies
Not sure I want to
I exist in many places
I exist all over

What is reality
In a world that functions off the arbitrary?
Am I my day job?
Am I pumping gas at the same station
on the corner near my house
twice a week?
Is my life one extended motion
of muscle memory?
Or am I purely spirit
Soaking up the sun on Mykonos
Kicking up dust in the Paris catacombs
Staring up at the basilica
of the Hagia Sophia?

Maybe I can't escape my fantasies
Because they are real

Spread Word
Spread Knowledge
Spread Love
Spread Hope
Spread Forgiveness
Spread Fearlessness
Spread Ambition
Spread Drive
Spread Faith
Spread Strength
Share Life

Bare trees under the sun
Clean snow on freshly bloomed flowers
Rain on a cloudless day
Dark skies at the gates of heaven

lost in thought
for i have fought across
endless seas
countless dimensions
on a ship distraught
'till i abandoned the fraught
and on the shore of self washed up
or so i thought

Words are ******* incredible.
Really, are they even credible?
Is anything ever the truth?
What is the truth? What would it look like
in a series of letters, words, symbols, markings…

There are microscopic dents
in the time space continuum
where words have left impressions
of supposed meanings.

But what does it mean and how
Do these lines and dots delineate something and
how do you know that what you are receiving is
genuine, accurate?
What constitutes the success of a word?
How do you trust words, or anything?

Sitting in front of the mirror that shows nothing,
tells of nothing, shares nothing.
The hair his father once ruffled after his Wednesday afternoon soccer game
lies now on linoleum finished with tours of itinerant footsteps.
He’s ready.
Ready to die for the people like him with dreams like his back home,
suited up to die for men in suits in chairs
in offices lined with glass windows that laugh out loud,
men who have no dreams but only agendas.

Forgotten
Like the flowers in the waterless vase
In that room of the house you never use.
Beautiful, but screaming
Through glass panes
That the sunlight cannot seem to breach
As you sit in the den,
Surrounded by smoke,
Asleep with your eyes open.

endlessly torn between wanting to live forever
and wanting to cease

i know nothing of moderation.
i don’t moderate.
i postulate
and i hesitate

always reaching all the way west
until it is the east

and the world keeps on spinning

Every single one
Would throw fire if they could
And try to forget

It was inevitable as anything else.
Marked was the end of that summer
by the touch of Atropos’ hand.
Of course no one was willingly blind enough
to believe it unforeseeable
but the feeling you lost in your two hind legs
we gained in our blood and our hearts.

It was always in your eyes.
The urge, the need,
a plea that no one knew how to answer.
Woe for the world that wore you down.
Were you angry it took so long to put you down?
It was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.
But everything now feels wrong.

At night when I lie to sleep,
I like to think about love.
I drift to a place
Where love is all there is
And someone meets me halfway
To fulfill my fantasies
And warm the edges fuzzy.
That person is me.

Stare in the mirror, and what looks back
Death
He is more than more than human
and he is less.
He will not be mocked
He will not be cheated
He will not be made inferior
because he cannot be made inferior.

Look out the window, and what goes by
Life
She is seemingly weightless
yet all too flooding.
She will not be understood
She will not be guessed
She will not be made a thing
because she cannot be made a thing.

Clouds swirl around in circles
Birds sing on half snapped branches
Bones lie within the dirt
Upon which white flowers will grow.

Every single one
Would throw fire if they could
And try to forget

I'm not paranoid
I'm just a skeptic

A burning orange
Honey doves and violins
Got the trash can blues

Is my heart heavy or is it just full
and what is the difference?