Your eyes speaks much sorrow.
Your smile hides a deep sadness.
You act so normal like nothing is wrong.
How do you keep up with this harsh world?
How do you keep up to society with that melancholy behind your back?
How do you keep your temper calm?
How can you keep your focus intact?
How did you keep up with work?
All of your work seems on the right track,
like you keep things just right.
~
Would you share you secrets to us?

Lay this poet down
When the time arrives
In a field of fresh cut words
On a bed of softened rhyme

Feel free to cover me
From my head down to my feet
In a poetic form to keep me warm
Perhaps a blanket of allegory

Place a silken sonnet pillow
Underneath my weary head
In a field of fresh cut words
On top a rhyming bed

probly a few minutes
and i was done
writing wasn't feeling the same
i stood on top like
bricks around disaster

i was looking up
i took my shoes off
threw them aside still laced  
i wasn't being funny
i know where this is going

where i write  
where i see cracks in perfect paths  
where blood taste like metals of purity
with every year burning
where these flowers like to live
die on vines from inside
allowing ivy to climb my back

i am a length of fence
in a yard with no dog
on a gate without reason
sitting on a post during live events

i am a fool for giving into seasons
romancing everything like a poet
following every inch of broken glass

nodding to my friends that i'm willing to mend
but waiting for them to laugh
outlined with chalk on the sidewalk
where blood stains concrete my convictions
flowing from the curb to the overpass

in the night like candles floating water
under tree branches ready to crack
formatting clouds to sky write, come with me
a man in the park on his back