These days it feels like I've traversed
A whole entire universe
Yet two decades with one year shy
I'm slowing down at Twenty Five.

Short of breath, I close my eyes
Yet keep the inner open wide
Upon a place that won't exist
Unless I choose to reminisce

Sleeping bleeds the staunched off wound
Once bound and kept from swollen eyes
And in the welling, gaping maw
I see the truth swept in the tide.

The sleeping gaze, turned inward then
Sees faces I won't see again
The lover I once washed away
Sweeps shore-ward, where he'll always stay

Within my skull, against my mind
Beneath the dreaming cobalt sky
The softest skin, the sweetest sin
Will always fill my dreams with him.

I want the jagged forest line
Against the setting sun;
The smear of black across the sky
Where night had just begun.

I miss the way the silhouettes
Of Trees did frame that sky,
The inky way it scrawled across
The blue in craggy lines.

I want the silver moonlight tipping
The horizon-line
To glaze the earth in black and white
And cloak the looming pines.

I miss the sprawling milky way
That luminescent stream
That cut across the onyx sky
Within the starry sea.

It's Novocaine, in a way
Slathered over my brain
In a chemical cocktail
That's supposed to keep my mind
From the endless cycle of self imposed
Punishment.
There's no On or Off
And therein's the problem
Capping off something
With no particular filter.

To clarify, I'm a bit all or nothing,
And the promise of peace they gave me
Also implied artistry of my thoughts;
The conversely sharp and wonderful inner workings
That once gushed forward effortlessly
Are locked up inside in the plugged up
Pool of sludge.

What a paintbrush they have these days,
Drenching things in black and white;
I see the logic in settling, to gripping these little oval promises
Of a better life for sanity.
This cold clarity enables me to remember
What once was with a measured calculation
Of the good weighed against the bad.

Grey is a foreign object after my descent into the Matrix
Red pill, Blue pill,
I finally understand Cipher.
Somethings are better left unknown
Sometimes ignorance IS bliss.

In my chest, the tipping point's
A high hailed peak that scrapes the sky
The concept tips from front to back
And longs to plunge from either side.

In one which way, the drop would shake
The foundation of what's inside
The collision point would rend the base
And throw a fissure far and wide

The sure descent, the easy course
Should this notion plunge rightfully
Would quiet yearning, wanting things
That have no right to come to be.

Though balance seems precarious
Atop this inner mountain top
Decisions cease to help provoke
This fickle notion's needed drop