sometimes the stars are the only beauty you need,
somebody’s arms the only reason to breath,
though joyful and finite
like a homeless man’s mead,
simplistic ideals are a lover bug’s ****.
drunken and lonely, a beggar’s voice sings,
“life is not worth it if souls have no seeds”.
How many sunshines have you seen today?
Enough for your eyes to’ve memorized the patterns of the golden strands of light as they drift away?
Why? Why away?
Do they seem to float when they’re drowning and burn when they’re standing? Cause let me tell you that if that’s the case, if flowers seem to grow underneath their gaze, let me tell you that those strands of sunshine are probably just bits of snow,
frozen crystals with a pearly glow that unlike the sun, will burn your retinas and your iris’ coal.
I’m sorry to be the one to tell you but if you think you’ve seen more than one sunshine today,
if you think you’ve only seen flower petals as they fall on the ground and lay,
I’m sorry to tell you you’re the reason why I’ve also tried to be a sunshine and
now I’m trying not to choke on one of your ****** sunshine’s rays.
are you up for a ride?
existence is timeless as long as you can concentrate on not concentrating on the chains that constrain you from joy.
forget your made up problems, from this made up schedule that organizes your made up life.
you are nothing but fiction.
a collection of figments of consciousness, paradoxically, including your own.
dissolve the bittersweet pills of perception.
be a wanderer in the astral landscape of understanding beyond what can be understood.
**** on the ruthless music notes that dare pierce your soul and remind you of your body.
be free of all humanness in you.
be the nothing between us,
You’ve seen my eyes naked
and my lips sore,
I swear nobody else had seen that before.
You’d held my crooked self between your loving arms,
before this reality had done you any harm.
You knew I was drunk with pity and pain,
but nihilism is every wise man’s *******.
Forget all the human you’ve seen on my face,
remember the mud running through my veins.
I needed you
so horribly badly that my soul began unstitching fragments of the reality we had, looking for you.
So madly, my ribcage was barely able to keep my lungs from breaking out, in search of your breath.
Will you forgive me when I choose the most utter simplicity in order to stay alive?
I swear I will return,
but in the meantime,
bear in mind that a drunken heart is way too heavy for a butterfly to carry.
I needed you I guess.
I needed the touch of your soul to warm my lonely hands.
I needed your insanely simplistic sanity to the insanity of my lucidity awake.
I needed you.
But I need you no longer.
So leave if you will,
I can finish ending myself on my own now.
But thank you.
You think I’m selfish right?
I hate myself but I will break your hands if they’re the ones holding my shackles.
I’m not afraid of leaving myself if I’m the one doing it.
I’m helping you build my own scaffold because I don’t want you to see that my wrists are already bleeding.
I’m dead, mom.
But I’d rather lose you than watch you lose me.
So yes, I am selfish.