Whenever I rub my eyes I always have hope in that one small chance that I could wake up to a new world

After the haze of smooshed eyelids, I just wake up in a hospital bed for the first time since a time I don’t remember

I’ll be that guy who always looks at the world through his window
Patiently waiting for the culture to cycle around to liking good music again

White skies are so bright
But we are all too cold to look up

Concrete tables at lunch
Sitting by yourself doesn’t keep your ears warm
There’s no one to listen to

Blank skies and little sprinkles of rain falling on a monotonous day

A candle in a dimly lit basement
Lighters and knives in a box under the bed

The flame bouncing to a rhythm of angsty 90s music

Today was pretty good
I didn’t have to deal with stupidity
Just my own
No drama

But then again, I am writing poems

I rearranged my furniture
Re-wicked the tea lights

Mom is going to like it a lot

I love one class
Like two more
Two are a joke
I’m indifferent to one
And failing another

First time for everything

I realize how much I like being alone
People are frustrating
Which is funny

The social butterfly
Got swallowed by a recluse
A guitar on his back
I hate singing at parties

My thoughts are a reality all their own
My own world is a net work  network of consciousness
And I always take the back roads

I’m hooked
a gateway drug to my mind
And thus I have the best fix I could imagine
Even though it’s my imagination

Music and pictures are on constant streams
Flowing through the brooks of bubbling contemplation
Flood my memory with things I’ve tattooed on my eyelids

Some creative force to just invent pictures I’ve never seen

A slideshow of things that have been more enticing than hours spent with others
I love people
I love to help them

So they like the advice
And I like to listen
Friends aren’t cheap

I guess everyone is a machine
And the engineers run maintenance on us at night time

You know he’s cheating on the local chef
By all the ****-prints in the icing

I love the outdoors
But I’ll be more likely to think to wish I had bigger windows
So I can see the sun come all the way up

A day in thought wasted in pane glass walls
Step right up!
The Man in a Glass box!
See all he has for the small fee of listening.


But I would rather put stones in my mailbox
Than throw them around at the portraits I’ve invited over for dinner