A crowded room, I just dance, finding solice beneath the mask.
Friends they chatter laugh and squee, every one enjoying humanity.
Pulse is racing, words they vanish I can't stand this.
I wish I could join the crowd and interject some interlect.
Instead the panic steals the magic and now its to late, oh woe is my fate.
Stuck inside my own head, is it time yet for my bed?
Slip away quietly drinking my sobriety, hoping that next time my courage will win and I can finally play my part, instead of dancing in the dark.

Silky smiled girls
With cups tipped off of saturdays doubts
Validating infidelity for a firm grasp
Graffiti sideways winks
Your only as remarkable as your last debute
Born again to a word offering baptisms in svedka
Your vices tattood on a list of hymns
Find solice in no mans company
Bring faith on your knees to a boy who can't speak his name
Your body is a temple with access through insecurity
Bless me father it has been two drinks since my last confession
Silky smiled girls
Make no home for validation in weekend crimes

When I first saw you, I don't know what I thought. Your hair was straight, and your bangs swooped to one side mearly covering the corner of your eye. You were talkative, clearly not my type. And yet, we held engaging conversations for 3 hours. I had forgotten your name, but I thought it would be nice for you to be my friend anyway.

Time passed and you opened my mind up to a lot of things, like not settling too young. You said you wanted me, and yet would not give me such a committing title as to say Girlfriend. I pushed you to like me. I was in such awe of you.

You were talented. I encouraged all of your successes. But I didn't see your true talent. You were talented in other ways that were malicious.
You were with two women. You were out with me by day, and talking with her at night. Confused about which one you liked more.

But it wasn't even about which of us you liked more. It was a game of chase. You waited to see which one of us would run after you the most.

Even after you gave me the long awaited title, you didn't tell me reasons you liked me other than the fact that I had won. Like you were some big prize at a carnival I had wasted all of my tickets on all the games trying to win a version of you. The version I thought was cool, and a version I could adore.

I wouldn't say it was a facade, or an illusion, or an illustration in my head. The version of you was real, but it was simply not the only version.

Some nine months later, you had declared a new version of yourself. One you said was better than all the others. One you claimed was going to be the final one. I had to grieve for the old ones, but had to accept the new one quicker.
I went to all of your appointments. Every doctor you had visited. Helped you develop your voice. Encouraged you when you got discouraged. And yet I was so discouraged.

You buried yourself. In other people, and in other things, never turning to look at me. I was helping you find your voice yet your voice would never speak to me directly. There was always someone else you rather talk to.

I found my solice in a few other people, too. When you took notice, that voice i never heard towards me, would suddenly boom into my ear as a loud sob. Also admitting all of your promises to me would be lies.

I was a Villan now. Untrustworthy. But had you not done the same? Wasn't it you who started it? Had it become another game?

I'd like to think I got good at the game, however I was still playing by your rules, and you were still the ruler. I had tried to cut the strings many times but you were still my puppeteer.

As I slept with one eye open, expecting you to scream at me in the dead of night- as you often did- I wondered, was this a new version of you, or was this your true version all along? Was this who you were when I met you? Was the adoration I had for you since the start...delusion?

You scream and you sob, and yet I can't hear you anymore. Your voice was hoarse and strained, and had becoming nothing more than white noise like rain on my metaphorical window sill. All the rain- the sobbing, and I still couldn't sleep.

I started to hear voices in an empty room. Angels? Hallucinations. You had encouraged I take a sip of alcohol, but the sip turned into bottles, routinely. And yet I still couldn't sleep.

I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. I grabbed a knife I had stowed in my pocket, just to see if I could still feel such human pain. As the blade mearly touched my skin I wondered, how deep could I go? Now a scar I carry with me for the rest of my life.

Maybe you were my hallucination. Every bad day, bad experience I had in a person. I feel like it was training. Training me for the types of people I might encounter in my lifetime. Teaching me how to solve such a problem.

Did God give you the right for such an act? Such false promises and falsettos? I still cannot think of a reason for all that I endured. And will continue to search for one.

the darkness comes as it goes

the dread however, seems intent on staying.

falling to my feet only ends up a ****** mess

theres no soft place to fall,

no solice to take.

...

there is only the act of hardening

and tempered steel,

though, when cold to the touch

is savagely barren

it can still in the heat of fire

take on the attributes of warmth

and melt and become something rather inept

though slightly beautiful.

...

what then, is there to do but reform our selves

and invite anguish and pain and then harden and soften again

till we find the shape of our hearts in the mould of the future

we once dreamed of

if we can still remember it.

...

and dread will be our constant companion;

the third wheel in our fortunes.

which was never handed to us in any decent form of fate,

but that in that fight of going anywhere

somewhere hidden in the violent struggle

is our often ignored love

beating its heart out for the tempo to temper

and

both beats to trigger each other in all our love states

simply to be recognised for what they are,

invincible.

Echoes and whispers
Begin to change
Sound and silence
Become the same

I look back
From where I came
To find solice
In everything

Cross roads within our pathways,
As our minds flock to our own rhythms.

Likes of individual galaxy compounded,
And formulated into a personal chemistry.

Truth of stars perflexed by undiscovered universe,
And each stars collide in the void vexed with uncontrolled momentum.

Yet there are the singlular truth in all chaos,
And the relentless ether split to the vastness of space,
Like calm ocean that allow our solice.

Those days are but a yonder,
As we ponder upon the yearning impulses.

In the stillness of a full cup of water without a pin drop,
And with inner thoughts still hunger,
But still reach the vestige garden alone.

Vintage of souls forgotten in our hearts,
And shattered beats asunder murmur in tranquility.

As perpatual ideals die in the burning stars,
We are in space alone in dreams.

No longer a thought of discord,
nor any dissidents displayed,
But maybe that was an act of love unspoken.

perhaps someday my poems will become better,
my writing will flourish, and my thoughts become settled.
til then I sit and write you this letter,
of how life can sometimes get you fed up.

the ink spilled through the fountain onto a foundation becomes darker,
the words that they create are those of the departed.
you sit in solice wondering what created this monster, trying to figure out what you just started.
a blank sheet of white covered in darkness,
when deep down inside you just wanted to feel as if you were heartless.
to feel what it's like to not feel at all,
so onto this canvas your well of creations fall.
realizing that what was vivid and bright
is now permanently stained by the sheltered broken words that were once in your brain.
your thoughts then try to figure if flames will suffice,
and so you put the sheet up to candle light.
hoping that the stained and destroyed sheet will demise.
but as you unfold it, the words cross your eyes
so you grab the well and the quill again just to write,
what everyone did and said to ruin your life.
and **** does it feel good,
it feels so right,
to put thoughts into words,
and those words into light.
and then you pause for a moment.
no more noise in your mind.
silence for once, everything feels fine.
and you look at your hands covered in ink.
you grab that paper as you read it and think.
these are your creations, and now you know it.
this is how the broken becomes a poet.

There's a Dove
That casts no shadow
Of its story I will tell
It has flown to
Highest heaven
It has sunk to
Lowest hell

It is pure as
Sparkling snowbanks
It could melt them
Like the Sun
In the end, as at beginning
Over evil, Victory's won!
It will fill your
Soul with longing
It is the End
'Fore time's begun.

There's a Lion
On the prairie
He has strength
That over-awes
In His Face
You'll see compassion
He forgives
Egregious flaws
You can find
Your comfort, solice,
You could sleep
Between His paws

He is ferocious
He's Protection
He is gentler than a lamb
Yet he has the
Greatest power
For he is God -
The strong I AM.

There's a Rose
Within a garden
It's blood red,
For It's been torn
The Rose itself
Has greatest beauty
Tho It wears a
Crown of thorns
It is pure as
Light unblemished
It has grown
For death was born.

It has a scent
Beyond comparing
It has light
That shines within
It has died,
And yet is living
With it's fade
It took your sin

Come, all you
So weak and weary!
All three of these,
The trinity,
Will come into
Your life together
Give you eyes,
That you may see!

Yes, come, bring
All your broken places,
Your heart, or so
The Bible goes,
You'll find help
You will find healing

The Dove, The Lion,
and The ROSE.


SøułSurvivør
(C) 6/24/2017