there's something about silence that just reminds me of you
and since i can't run away from it, i can't run from you.
so may someone inform me as to what i can do?
i'm over these shrieks in the void that ring true
so blue.
quiet nights.

Oh Big sky,

would you make me look pretty too?

Would my sickly veins be something of a golden hue?

Would my dim-lit soul be of an aura blue?

as the rest move in a herd in time, fixed and onward
some remain at a pace of their own
slower,
wallowing in crevices, an act of conscious apartheid
familiar with the shortage of influence, that is, separation.
wandering by will
vicariously living through a phobia of confusion
hence why lost souls remain lost
fear of false direction, fear of decision
uncertainty amongst hysteria
a deadly duo for the few
settlement has become still
and those lost are familiar with movement
2 steps forward, 12 steps scattered
here and there and it's unclear
up and down
its all around the dance to delusion goes to no sound
but illusion.
distress within the body whose mind follows curiosity
incessant pondering yields a detriment
to the thinker,
be about
your quest and breed your farewell to the
blissful life of ignorance
that now follows you
-
is there a solace to be found for these creatures?
has the point of no return passed?
the distance behind is immeasurable
for the path previously paved is dimly lit
to decipher the single instance is a feat of all men
does the lone wolf recall?

and you question, "how does she do it!" -
these golden girls are mighty pretty.
but darling don't exclude yourself, haven't you known that the elements are elementary?
now go upstairs and mine in your room.

pretty pretty things, yes all the very wild things.
there's nature and there's nurture,
are you here to sink or swing?
the end is always near, and the plants will surely die-
but the prettiest of people are the ones that try to fly.
the birds still move on windy days, the dandelion springs....and even on the worst of days the telephone still rings.
so if you face a certain wall, devise a way to be.
an angel with wings clipped still sings through all adversity

Writing has been a burning passion
Lately the fire has been waning
Like the crescent moon coming back around
In this moment I am still fading
I know it soon will return to me
But in what moment might it come back?
Cause lately I’ve been feeling like creativity is what I lack.
Or possibly a misguided soul
Or suppression of my true feelings.

Through troubled waters and vicious seas
I admit, I am still healing

The numbing I have come to know
Is degrading of my deepest treasure.
A whirlwind of fire, a breeze of wind,
An emotional strength beyond measure.

How many times will I wash my face to feel satisfied with the work Ive put in?
How many mirrors will I have to look in until I’m comfortable in my own skin?
Will the weight of the world be lifted off if I start at the gym?
Are all the troubles I face, a reflection of the **** that I am?
Or no, are they just here? a constant reminder that if I interfere, I’ll just be more tired, more full of what I will fear, if I lose control of stopping....