the sound of one hand clapping

to the silent symphony within

where cells sprout and die,

and red tides ebb and flow,
but no one seems to know

what keeps the conductor
waving his magic wand

Consciousness is a tiny speck
in this vast universe
Concentration and focus
will lead the way
towards the door of eternity
World of worlds
where there is no beginning or end

a misguided symphony
forging its way
to the rest-
less form which writhes
and shifts
in cotton sheets
of yester-
day

Back to Back,
Your head fell
on the shoulder blade of mine

I crept within
the empty space
of your fingers

And followed
your strokes
back; forth
Tracing the sign
you said you belonged

For, the longest time
Yet
your face is the only remembrance I have

Where,
The proximity of my memory is bursting
to reach you

So,
stay tender
stay loving
stay. close.

You stand on the edge
of my vision.
     Teasing?

So tantalizing.

Blurry,
but you manage
to radiate
with a perennial odor of:
Cigarettes.
****.
And bleach?

You are too far
for my arms to reach.

the veins
on my hand
look like road maps
and still, I’ve been trying
to follow my heart home.
the road map of veins end
at my forearm
where I’ve etched your name
countless times
with shards of stained glass.
home isn’t where the heart is.

Dust mites and terabytes.
A simple recipe for humanities blights.
Thoughts form not into structures,
but paper you keep forgetting to take out of your pocket
when you throw your jeans into the dryer.
Flyers online consume our nation
as society mimics intimacy
through the twist and turns of an online server.
Just out of touch enough
to create the illusion of choice.
A high IQ regains the reality of vision
further blocked by the rose tinted glasses
hanging on the wall of every store.
What use is hiding behind a screen
when the only enamored party you have
is the one you've fabricated in your head.

I died back in '85
but I was told my whole life
I was alive

the mattress I sleep on
is stained with my tears
multiplied with the years
of emotional trauma and fear
fear of dying alone

I pour my heart into different bowls
add some water and mix it with a brush
then sling it onto the blank walls
of the asylum
I built inside of myself
where I go to forget
that I have died before
and this is hell

the colors bent with the corners of the room
a different part of myself is in bloom
I'm redecorating my mind
as an abstract collage of everything I've learned so far
in my short amount of time

I entered back in '85
and it took twenty eight years to realize
that I have been dead this entire time