Non-believer in a holy land,
Stained glass tells my favorite fairy tales,
While crypts whisper to the Angel choir,
"Gloria a Dio.. Cristo Pietà."

The street reeks of burnt things,
Incense offered to the man in the hills.
Perched above the people and nestled below the heavens,
The tranquil streets carry their own version of history.

Father says this place holds magic,
And I fear to displease him.
I'll pray for him on graves and make blood sacrifices,
But not for me, my soul is already liberated.

The streets glow bright neath the shadow of church spires,
A history that speaks for itself.
The hills will sing its praises as will I,
For the piazza of storytellers,
For the direct line to martyrdom,
Never will I fathom them.

I breathe in the smell of you,
And lose sense of place and time.
A drug that sold me into rehabilitation.

I know you're not what I need,
And you're not what I want.
A square peg for a rounded hole,
You don't fit my new form.

I wish you did.
I wish you would.

Intoxicated by the aroma of the past,
Incensed in innocence,
We both thought we needed to save each other.
Or were we just hallucinating?

Were we getting high on the fumes,
From our little hearts smoldering?
Or did it not hurt you,
When the flames began to spread?

I'm sick because I love that smell,
A smell that can ****,
And I wanted it to.

Breathe in,
Forget the tears that put it out.
Breathe out,
Remember her glow in the light.

Breathe in,
Forget your new identity
Breath out,
Remember her touch in the dark.

I breathe in the smell of you,
And lose sense of me and mine.
My drug that opens all the wrong doors,
And shuts all the right ones.

So I'll take another drag if you want me to,
And you can watch how I writhe.
I don't mind being on fire,
Just go to hell with me.

If forgiveness was easier for mortal men,
Would it still be considered divine?
If love was simpler for us,
Would people still point at a cross?
If patience was commonplace,
Would they still read dying scriptures?
If acceptance was innate,
Would they need to yell at all?

Vacant pews and busy street corners,
Communion wine misplaced,
The preacher's statements laced,
With the same sins they say were paid for.

The shrinking congregation doesn't believe anymore.
No one does.
But they can keep looking for a savior,
In every place but inside themselves.

We are all filled with the divine light,
Brighter than the sun.
The cosmic radiance we seek is behind the eyes,
Darkened windows that speak our gospel,
We Are God.

How long has it been?
Did I sleep the storm away?
What time is it?*

A disorienting headache alarms me awake,
The wind at my back nudges me to life.
Hungover,
Culturally removed and it's all over again.

The past can't exist here,
Childhood memories are a fiction.
Friends are forgotten stories scattered,
About my brain like the workspace of a maniac.

Am I that far removed?
Have I grown enough that I don't fill the old space?
Such elation and sorrow combine in misery,
And it's hard to believe that home disappears.

I wish no one missed me like I don't.
The man you see standing in the same door frame,
He passed through at all ages,
He has new eyes that you won't recognize.
For they don't see the world like you do.

One last country,
One last break through the clouds,
One last chance to make myself right?

Does my stack of thoughts grow taller yet,
Through dreams of experiences I never regret?
And did home stand still while I was gone?
Life, I suppose, has to keep moving on.

No one tenders their own opinions anymore,
They just succumb to a majority.
Seeking enlightenment,
Punishable offenses of opening eyes.

Everyone is a vessel,
Filling themselves with the "right words,"
Rhetoric chains them in ignorance live on television.

They've snuffed out the flame,
We let them,
Because you listen and never speak.
Because you fear thought,
Fear isolation.

Free thought as a weapon,
Free speech as a banner,
Free people as a rebellion.

Challenge me then,
And challenge each other,
That we may more respect one another.
Not that they agree but that they contribute,
To a nobler enterprise,
Of living to offend our brothers.

If the world is moving forward,
But we are all still the same,
Can you call it progress?
It's a regress to nothingness.

We're void of conviction,
Apt to choose sides,
But not to make tides,
When we create a new one.

At chaos is peace when we disagree,
Seek peace in discord,
Seek agreement,
But never resolve it.

Dissolving ourselves,
And what we should hold dear,
Is when we lose ourselves,
When we dwell in fear.

So,
I may have gotten a bit drunk last night,
(See previous entry).
It seems I haven't handled my madness,
It seems I'm still suspended.

Between adulthood and childhood is a very unpleasant place to be,
If only I handled life like I handle liquor.

Each drop is a knife in the cerebellum,
Hoping it might bury the feelings,
How lucky the asexual are.

How lucky,
And how belabored I am to bear a mind like this!

Lost,
I've always been at home where I'm lost.

Now,
I'm wrapped in it.
Surrounded by it.
Penetrated by it in the most euphemistic kind of way.

Thoroughly,
It encapsulates me,
The ether of burden,
A treasure I wish I could share,
Ashamed that I wish I care.

Voices will tell me,
Shouting!
"You'll do great things, a smart boy like you."
"You've been so blessed by God."
I'm in a void of pride in a sea of aimless ambition,
To do the great,
To conquer the world,
To see the fuel of my turmoil turn to ash.

Angst would be sugarcoating it,
Anger will never describe how it feels,
To be simultaneously empty and full.
I'm at grief like a fly at a summer picnic.

I fly off the potato salad,
Off the handle,
It's thrilling to be at the mercy of giants,
Swatting hands.

Nothing seems to heal.
Nothing seems to calm,
Nothing can make up for losing God like losing a family member you never talked to.

And you wish you did,
Because life would be so much easier.

We are born time travelers,
Constantly drifting away,
Across a vast sea,
Of Time and Change.

We are resilient,
Taking every action to reach,
Across the Great Divide,
To shake hands with tradition.

We are restless,
Dreaming endlessly of somewhere else,
Sometime else,
To fill ourselves.

We are loyal,
Seeking truth in the lies,
We were told in lives before,
To question everything.

We are joyful,
Calling vinyl records and pipes our friends,
As we clench supercomputers and earbuds,
To drown out the sound of progress.

We are unsatisfied,
Claiming a lot in life that has passed away,
We stare at the past and genuflect
To respect the places we will never be.

What are we really?
Just graves stones?
Just our names?

Are we piles of dust before we are born?
Is doom our only joy?
Are we just a piece of puzzle long forgotten?

I like to believe we are more.
I like to believe I'm here for something.
I like to believe anything.

But really, I feel my insignificance instead.

World around me:*
Produce, slave. Move!
Eat.
Sleep.
Produce.
Prognosis – fatal.

Me:
Wow, coffee heals all wounds.
What a beautiful day ahead.
What impressive words I'll have said.
What will they think of me when I'm dead?

World around me:
Remember,
You are replaceable.
You are a cog.
The machine is God.

Me:
What about a drive,
A good read,
A pipe on the porch and a walk?

I rely on an empty countenance,
A guise to hide the storm behind my eyes.
The world needs a smile and a hammer.
I thrive on words.
I survive on heart.

A black flag frees its soul to the wind,
Enslaved to the hearse it precedes.

Colors of an ironic freedom hit the pavement,
Guiding the wheels that lead the wretched home.

No one follows.

No one asks whose parade this is.

No one reads a ******* eulogy.

No one will weep for the silent heart wilting in its flowery dream.

I should be dead by now.

I ought to fall from these branches.

I was destined to perish.

But Autumn is yet to come,

As is the best.