not the healthiest thing
but the best thing for me
'cause I won't shoot up a mess
and I won't swallow poison
that infects the organs within

the soul with the open mind smokes
and the ones who build gates don't
unless you're fighting an addiction
and I know it isn't fiction
'cause I've been through it all before

or maybe save a little money
when being broke cannot be funny
'cause after a long while
we all get a little sore

but I still love her[b]
and it will settle me down
when the sun is rising
or I'm leaving the town :
the alternative to deficiency

'cause we all go blind at times
when the circus chimes
and it's time to go
but just take it slow
inhale, and then glow

Whether I wanted to see it or not,
it was undeniable and I had to admit
that she was the only human being
that came close to who I was,
which in a way, caused me to love her,
setting aside the gray matter
and spoken words.

It says a lot about humanity
when you love yourself more than anyone else,
but still despise your own ways.

They say not to use the word "it" in poetry,
because it is too obscure,
but I still use it,

Because why bother waiting around for others to understand,
when "it" could be anything you want it to be.
And who is "they" anyway?

I'm feeling like a clut,
as you're putting all these colors through my veins,
and I'm ever-so tangled in the faux thought that it could possibly flourish
into something so occult that it would devise a new world of its own, entirely.

But what I didn't examine
was the false hope you stored in my abode of a heart,
by simply being your own and hankering my mind and flesh,
projecting love in an entirety of positive epilogue, sure to soon diminish...

She said she wanted to walk every inch of the Earth's soil, just to see it.
But when she had the chance, she hesitated.
Listening for direction, the wind blew by;
and she never knew why
she never walked at all.

silent rues of naked nectar
night and night again
tireless mind-crimes
strike the clock within

a soothing sail
and an abrupt contradiction
weening its way into
something non-fiction

but not a correction
a little less pleasing
a change of direction
that finds you in leaving

a moment of truth
and a gathered up sweeping
but changes are due
and time is not sleeping