What the point is if you read this?
if i had written it on a piece of paper

What the point is: is in front of you...
crumple it, burn it with a zippo

What the point is if I touched you
figuratively, metaphorically, emotionally?

As the thoughts leave my fingertips
I wave goodbye to the pen, my pal
my long lost friend

What the point is is words on white
staring back at the author
with an audience of one

What the point is?
if you never read it...
if you never intend

What the point is?
if i never receive it...
What is the?

point...

I dance with my shadow
headphones in of course
I'm not dead I'm alive
remembering my ghost

the kid i once was, fearless
so heres a toast:
the people
they judge me
and their shadows

neglected by their host

I remembered why
skipping down the street
I call it art from life
and they call me absurd,
condescending
incomplete
but even my shadow
gets lonely
and needs a shadow most

a companion with which to coast

What have i become?
a throw of the dice
nonchalant mr.vice
casual & causal
but spare me the price
would you...

life is unpredictable
and I
a spectacle
through me
the suns ray
setting flame to my schedule

this cannot last for very long
depleted
no fuel to move on
insomnia's run its coarse
and its only getting worse

Who will i become?
the father from a son?
i know of what you seek
make bread from a crumb
...so to speak

paper mache however
is not concrete
but that's just me

being discreet

"If life was a deck of cards then I would be your joker.
The excuse or the exception?
The fool in Tarot Nouveau
still mastered the lute."

I inscribed this into my desk with a dagger
before i killed the atmospheric tension

it was the **** amber surrounding the lamp
dimming the room with its comforting embrace
it was the smoke that suffocated me with its imagery
perfectly juxtaposed in front of the light fossilized in the lamp shade
resulting in a perfect minimal pair
made my lungs feel as empty and hollow as
the imagery burned into my eyes

such a beautiful meaningless apathy
thoughts to you do not belong
still singing the same sad song

"I might as well be trapped between ink and paper
this undying thought that I betray to savor
(I can convince you love, of many- a flavor;
beauty's never been kind to my human nature)"

I then walked over to the indirect cause of my pain
crushed the bulb in my hand...
and cold on the floor i lay
glass in my red hands stay
blood as thick as the ink in my veins

so to you a wild card i'll remain
but dont fret my dear audience i'm to blame
see its a beautiful broken i cant explain
a white room syndrome
you cannot tame.

you see, the joker never gets played in the game