who is it that will lay
flowers upon my grave
though it won't mean
anything to me
cause i have gone away

is it only when we scatter
our ashes
that we may be
anything & anywhere
we want?

bidding my time
& counting the lines

ill be on my way
& you don't care

prolific are we
in our thoughts unseen

beautiful unsung melodies
playing the tune of our memories

distant kindred spirits
weary with the worldly physics

together we weave
a linguistic tapestry

walking left
or walking right
you drag me down
with no end in sight
you cut me deep
year after year
yet still i need
to fall at your feet
ha.

between the lines of my laughter
lays sighs of weariness
about what may happen
if i do not temper my joy
- - -
i worry about letting my guard down
long enough to feel
lashes of disappointment and loss
that will sure follow

the days of my long forms
are long gone as
i no longer think in rivers
that set my canoe afloat

i now think in the waves
that come and go
as i sit still on the shore
no matter the tides

but the depth of the sea
is far greater than the river
so why then does my continuity
evade me

is it because i stop
and listen to every
broken sand's life story

instead of passing by the
rocks on the waters
that swiftly smooth them?

there are those who live to see
and those who live to be seen

myself, i'd like to know
so I can placate my perils
of indirection and indignation.
to douse the flame of uncertainty
and quench this abysmal curiosity.

when the day ends,
I don't know
whether I see or am seen

my faith will falter
my ache won't alter
the afflicted anger
Still hoping it will waver.

Poison is a woman's weapon-
venomous like a snake.

It won't **** you
all at once
like the brute force of his hands.
Instead, it takes you slowly-
deteriorating your sense of self
making you wish for death.
Death that brings end to dying.

she has no moral qualms
when it comes to you and all your wrongs.
she only knows betrayal
and that's enough for her.

You're my September sun
I see you're there
You show up every day
but still I'm cold
Shivering in your light

the universe is a hall of mirrors
reflecting my anxieties
refracting my good intentions
indifferent to it all

tumbling around in the density
over and over again
trying to see it through
but only seeing through you
be gentle when you're chipping away
i want to hold it together

propagating eternally

it's a cosmic correction
     to live a little slower-
        be a little closer,
           live where you are,
              take care of your home-
                  and your home's home.

      To look into each others' eyes-
         no need to fake a smile
           can't see it anyway.
              You can't mask the tears
                      or the smize

           what if it's a hyper alteration
                       to change course
                                 ...

daughters of pageant queens
like them you
             want
          me
       to
   be

i come from a broken gallery
on display for
                           no
                               one
                                      to
                                           see

looking up at the popcorn on the ceiling.
watching it dance, groove, and jive.

wondering if I'm imagining this too
and what it even means to be
alive.

the waves of goosebumps come and go
and I'm a little cold
from the AC I keep too low
so that I can hide under a blanket.

It
    changes
                   colors
                               but
                           it
                   may
                            as
               well
                        be
           what
         it
      is.

I'm wide awake and I just--
don't want to be.
Laying aside a mount of realizations
surreal under the night sky

I don't know what to believe
I really don't and--
if I don't think this way
then what's there to even
think?

What will they think of me and
who will I become if I don't think
what I do.
What then will be my problem and
what will I need to doubt?

It's insane--
and I'm going insane
knowing it'll all go in vain.

wanting to be seen,
wanting to be heard.

   all I've ever wondered,
   all I've ever learned.

      is that it's too much to ask for,
      that it's too much to give.

why then do you take from me
in every hour of your need?

Anxious.
Feeling insufficient.
Knowing I'm insufficient.
Wanting insufficiency.
Not quite sufficient.
Comparing and contrasting.
Contrasting.

Wanting acceptance to be my most authentic self.
What is my most authentic self?
Where do I find her?

Focusing on the next milestone.
Getting there and doing the same.
What do we meet at the milestone?
Will be happy will be content will be accepted will be winning,
at the next milestone.

How do you live in the present moment?
What is the present moment?

fireflies
wild flowers
growing in the rough

let them grow
where they go
thriving sure enough

Quiet in my velvet dreams
gleaming with beauty queens
ultraviolet veneers
under crystal clear chandeliers

Awake. Never quite getting the reckoning.
Instead you're beckoning
me to your charade of promise
but I'm stuck in the forest
where you're my Charon
following me to the limestone,
dragging me back to the gates
and I know you mean well, but it doesn't resonate.

I've abandoned all hope and entered
Feeling like I've surrendered
What is it I will remember
when we get to November?
Biting my arm
in moments of harm
or
braiding my hair
with you just being unaware?

It all seems silly
like a grand facade really
where I can't see why anyone
can buy into becoming a chameleon.
Why take it so serious
when it just feels delirious?
What is it we're racing to
at the end, it's the same view.
Who is it for?
I really must make sure.

Waiting for my Virgil
To guide me through the hurdles.
He's no where to be seen
as I choke on my amphetamines.

the church bell tolls
one, two, three times for my soul
God will never take away
my reason to pray

sighing between sips of cyanide
by the sea side
my pace a little slower
my eyes a little lower
it's all quite hazy
living in a day dream

your gunpowder steel
on my sycamore blues
haunted by vanity
on a string just out of reach
escape the perpetual debt
we have to our makers
captive in sun strewn streaks of shade
never to feel the warmth of its gaze
willingly judged by sunburnt noses
for being less than
I just want to sparkle
in the ultraviolence.

There it lays,
my tear soaked
pillow case.

In clouds unseen
where they visit me
every night since thirteen

What am I to do
with no avenue to pursue
when they deny my inhibitions
and tell them they're forgiven?

I see what I can't change and
I can't change what I see

I want to want their vision
of tender, loving, harmony
but it feels like swallowing poison
treating my actions remorsefully.

I take each day
one at a time
unyielding to divulge
what comes to me as I lay
every night
on my tear soaked pillow case.

My days are filled with a sense of nostalgia
for those that haven't happened yet and
longing for days gone by.

Bouyed by an effervescent iridescence
anchored to the shore of
absurd accusations
vital to self-realizations manifesting
into a festering static buzzing
                                                    to
                                                        no
                                                            end.