My hands perform as ghosts
As my eyes gaze through air.
Blue blood stands still,
Red cheeks fade grey.

I Am Not A Human Being

Can you touch me?
Can you feel me?
I couldn't feel your hands.
There is no oxygen,
And no movements,
And no being

Numb,
And Apathetic,
And Uninhabited.

I Am Not A Human Being

Where is that beautiful head?
For this mind is cast dull.
There is no wit,
There is no laugh,
And there is surely no tears.
Why, Dear Soul,
Why are my colors so raw?
Why is my heart so cold?
Why is this house so

Alone?

This world is fragile.
Those hands aren't worthy.
Those words aren't just and
These actions don't suit.

Take it to the line.

You don't see the damage you do.
Your destruction continues to spread like the plague,
Burning our hopes and
Shaking our souls.

*Ouch

Sometimes all my head needs to hear
Are sensible stimulations to keep
My thirsty thoughts on track.

I am sorry for my sporadic sensations,
I should share them with the class.
But I can't keep constant cognition
Since the sunshine sparkles in my sights,
And an essence ever so eloquent evanesces from Elaine,
And Fred's fervid feeding fantasia flogs my guts.
I apologize for my lack of attention.
I know it doesn't adhere to your ability and awareness.

But bare with me babe, I have big benevolent things to say.
My waking words of wisdom wage a token to your time.
So I speak like significant social crime,
It seems so sensible, does it not?
Aye, let me idle your illness
And enlighten your English!
My thin ticking thoughts throw in all directions,
I'm positive something will appeal to your petition.

Just Listen and Learn!
All my alliteration has already altered your apperception.
Soon my silly sounds will cease.
I guarantee this gossip
Makes you giddy and not guilty.
So I thank you,
For listening to my labor.
It truly told a timeless tale.

I run a dotted line around this block,
traces of me are everywhere though they
are hidden under the footsteps of 100 feet
stamping my poor identity in to the ground.

C'mon, You know me.
You've seen my face many a times
I'm the one with the earbuds in
smokin' the cigarette
strolling through the park,
And the one with the white collar
sittin' at the bus stop
waitin' to start another Tuesday.
I'm the one with the fist in the air
and a joint between my lips
at the rock show.
You know me.

Maybe you haven't seen me
because you just look right through me
every time you walk past me.
I am just another face in your daily grind,
Not even a familiar smile or a friendly display
Just eyes, a mouth and a nose
placed in contemporary fashion
to give enough background color
for your masterpiece painting.
How thoughtful,
You're really using just one piece of me.

Augusten Burroghs once said,
"I, myself am entirely made of flaws,
Stitched together with good intentions."
He must feel just like me;
Paper fingers and wire joints,
A head stuffed full with cotton,
A doll on display for the world to
see, touch, and pity.
My mother tried all too hard,
she really did.

I can feel the dust removing its self from these shelves,
It's in this illuminated corner that I left behind
A long time ago.
It's too late now, I already let it out of the bag.
And, Well, It's
Bigger and Better,
Stronger and Faster,
Headstrong and Inviting.
It's a dangerous spot, I know.
But I like the risque,
Dive in.