Feels my pain
On a rainy day
Speaking winds
Where have you been?

Travel unseen
Breaking through
My heart fights
My brain wont give up

My clouds full of water
Commence to pour tear drops
Cleansing life resurrecting hope
Attacking in millions

Feeding mother earth
Trees, plants, animals
Covering my tearz
Thoughts begin to clear

Water strikes my skin
Neutralizing ice cold
My soul comforts to unfold
My sky My cry Never lie

People avoid my pouring rain
Shutting down closing doors
While I soar ready to explore
My skies transform heavy grey

Hoping it can last and forever stay...

i slipped inside an atom to see what i was made of,
and i saw you there too.
hanging out with molecules,
we created as we went.
our dna collided,
neutralizing all that was,
evolving into something else.
we realized it was still us, and that
change was the essence of our creativity.
We stopped holding on,
and flew freely through every dimension.
and when we were done,
i went inside.

the world is a dryer.


if there is a washing machine section within our universe, I am unaware of it.

I don't work that rotation. I work the dry shift.

tumble low heat, fluff, repeat.

repeat.

in almost every dryer known to mankind, some contraption serves as the lint trap. collect all of the lint and excess laundry fluff as it goes through the dry cycle.

in this world, in this universe; if the human race consists of the articles of clothing in the dryer, I am the lint trap.

it sounds almost cutesy when phrased like that. dryer lint is fluffy and soft and the combination of all the different fibers of the various clothing.

I'm the trap, though. the filter.

I must absorb and filter the excess fiber from every article of clothing. if the entire human race is in this dry cycle; I absorb and filter their raveling ends.

it's ******* exhausting.



here's a better analogy. have you ever had your stomach pumped?

they handle this differently now, but when the doctors, nurses, and staff working in the ER would get a patient who swallowed an entire bottle of ****** with a ***** chaser; or a new mother's young son swallowing her bottle of sertaline, they would get to work. one hand activated charcoal, the other hand with a large suction tube.

activated charcoal is what neutralizes the bottle of ****** or the bottle of Zoloft. the charcoal can absorb **** near anything. it pulls out stains and poisons, neutralizing and absorbing.

this is where the tube comes in. the charcoal is harmless on its own, but the ER staff is in a hurry to console (get rid of) the screaming mother; to move the seventeen year old girl with the ****** ***** chaser to the psychiatric unit, and continue their night.

insert the long tube to suction the charcoal out of the stomachs of the two children. this is often haphazardly shoved down the back of the throat, down the esophagus, reaching the stomach. flip the switch, undo what peristalsis cannot. it's not pleasant. gagging, rough, foul, I've been told.

the body is working in reverse order. vomiting may be easier. the suction tube is fighting the natural flow of the body. the esophagus is attempting to push everything down down down, and the tube is fighting back.

I am the activated charcoal found in every ER across the globe. I absorb the poisons that human beings put into​ their bodies.

I can pass someone on the street, and my activated charcoal soul absorbs the negativity, the poison, the hatred, the emotional chaos from that individual.

I often wonder if the person feels lighter, noting the absence of the venom that once crippled them. I never ask. I just keep my gaze down and ignore the tempest ensnared within my activated charcoal lint trap.

there are others like me. activated charcoal hearts, lint trap souls.

The moon in the sky, is the home of father time
and the sun is where mother nature is confined
she sleeps while he shines
when she's awake, he hides

He floats in the night like a bird of prey
peering through the trees to the ground to watch the mice play
giving light to us human-beings that stay up this late
to see the beauty that darkness creates

She rises up from the horizon like a spotlight
shining fuel onto every inch of life
neutralizing the temperature, setting the equilibrium right
just as us humans used wind to fly kites
the love letters from the sun to the moon take flight
every once in a while their paths will cross
and here on earth our light is barely lost
enough to illuminate the two lovers as they take their clothes off

it bothers me that
arpeggiated piano
still incites in me
[saudade(for you)] on
these empty evenings;
and it bothers me that
this silly irish girl
feels the same way
i do, and that your
sister shares a name
rooted in gaelic, just
like her; and now i
might be grasping
at straws, but never
have i told a bigger
truth than when i
say i find the most
arbitrary ways to
remind myself of
you, or accurately,
the lacking thereof.

and it bothers me that
the only seeming cure
is to purge (myself) of
you with [ballads sung
by sobbing ivory keys],
like [baking soda] to a
(bee sting), drawing
out the venom drops
of your last acidic kisses,
and neutralizing them
in the stark alkalinity
of these spare words,
little more than dimes
dropped into the tin
cup or upturned hat
of the beggar i have
become.