he could paint hearts helping any lost soul find love in any helpless moment
strangers say he resembled Euphrates in every picture frame he was captured in
a tortured artist who’s sly tongue could sell sand to a camel—a humble poet who’s ego was unprecedented
—or unappreciated?
unaccepted?
undiscovered by strangers he sees as lovers
silent type typing lines as fast as his unconscious whispers the next word to the sequence
or madness?
happiness?
no, just a hobby at best.
just a stress reliever while work demands attention;
more immediate than a brat’s confession of abandonment while the parent is scheduling plans for his 17th birthday the day the child turns three…
a long time ago he and I didn’t feel so different
now why don’t I feel the same as he does though?

confusion is a ramble that both the speaker and listener losses a sense of direction with…

direction?
dictation?
no, it’s a vacation from overthinking…
just pour out this swarming storm of emotions
just pour out the bottle and let your new voice please answer
a drink doesn’t matter - a sip won’t make him panic
he’s calm like an ocean but can scream like a hammer
a psychotic unstable pacifist
more lost then bones in a wedge under the wreckage
on a salary as underpaid as an audiologist analyst
always here to listen never to speak;
someone always needs a shoulder he just shuffles his feet
crazy lazy weekends ends in reruns locked on repeat