i feed her my words
like you'd feed someone sick
the pills as their ailment

i feed her my love
like you'd feed a baby bird
its life frail and in lament

the mother's dead
the baby's chirping
the birds all say
that this is working

i feed her my ideas
like you'd feed a toddler
with spoon in hand; shakingly

i feed her my death
like you'd feed the poor
standing on corners, begging; incessantly

this is working
i believe it now
i see it working
but can't see how

i feed her life,
as you'd feed me.
i feed her knowledge,
and set her free.

hours of isolation in quiet company,
                                                       ­    though, they never seem to appear
                                       as much to your eyes
                                                            ­                 as they have to mine.
                                        *the humming of the television,
                                                    ­                                   dully lulling the visions in the mind
                                       into the shapes
                                                                ­         they're made for;
                                                          ­    searching synapses and relapses
                                                         for just another answer to the mystery
                                                         ­                                                                 ­    to what's going on,
                       here in my dreams.
                                                         ­     the company stays after i've left,
                                                           ­   as they find it comfortable there,
                                                          ­            stuck; subconsciously
                                                ­                     segregating themselves.

completely true
yet slightly fabricated
the life you're living
isn't the one you'd imagined
so now you try and try
harder and harder
to change the way you are,
the person you've become, now,
just won't allow it;

you can't teach an old dog new tricks.

there's little parts
                              scattered about
                              placed randomly
                              what you'd call a mess
                              but in perfect harmony
                              

organized now*
                              everything in its place
                              but there's not a place for me
                              so i sit among the system
                              being whatever i am; just to see

                                                                                                           if i really fit in with everything
                                                                                                           forever dreaming to *be
                                                                                                           forever young; a kid once more
                                                                                                           disorganized and criticized freely

without a care in the world

integrity must've been a four-letter word
seeing how you can only see syllables
as you stole every last bit of sense
that anyone around you ever heard of
just to make some sense of your own
honing the skill set for nothing in life
but the simplicity of generalities
overcompensation for the lack of love
and loving the compensation all give
unknowingly, robbed blind; now blinded
shouting every four letter word
they count for the actual lettering.

have you seen it recently?
have you moved it somewhere i wouldn't look?
i've searched for days now, and i've come up with nothing.
i think it's mixed in somwhere where my bob dylan t-shirt is,
lost for the rest of my time as a sad, sick soul on this planet.
are you sure you didn't move it before you left?
have you heard anything?