boil me in oil,
toiling in soil;
bury me alive,
so that i might find,
a better way to hide,
from the crimes my minds commit each time.

snap, crackle, and pop my bones,
atone for the sins of a featherweight soul,
lay me to rest by the roadside,
and cry,
you will now be left to die.

a machine hungers,
bubbles and churns,
it eats alive everything in sight,
and asks what more you could've done,
to increase the profits for chosen ones,
but if you the one losing,
who are the ones choosing?

seeping sheepishly along ever-widening paths,
the road less traveled is still a blast,
for what is wrought with calamity,
is certainly more fun and interesting to me.

These are just words on a page,
But they originate,
From where I think my heart is.

The same place that tells me,
That I've always loved you,
and could never stop even if I wanted to.

The same place that shows me,
Those things in life that are worth living,
Aren't worth nearly as much without you.

But sometimes the words can come from blackness.

A different place that sits near a pit,
Adjacent but distant,
This place is a house of torment.

The same place that tells me,
That I never deserved your love in return,
and will destroy it even when I don't want it to.

The same place that shows me,
My own demons that serve to entrench me,
In my own shallow misery.

These places exist in the same domain,
And I hope you see this,
With the hopes that I can explain,
That the things from the pit don't hold as much weight,
Nearly as much as where you sit,
Near the place where I think my heart is.

it's amazing
the way that she sings to me
inside my dreams and while i sleep
all the while calmly waiting for me to wake
so she can continue to take my breath away
and make each day brighter than the last
what a blast
it would be to stay with her every day

abating reality
a cascading personality
softly resonates in the ether
grappling psychology
plotting such reverie
subtly calms sleeping beasts fear

bereft revelry
a superficial analogy
carelessly endangering children's lives
a spattering of blood
that came from above
cut through these lines like a knife

metaphysical manifestations
desperately perpetual
these are just words on a page
their meaning could reveal
what our feelings concealed
are we just lost props on a stage?

i will miss the way you snore
and the way your lips meet mine in the morning
to wake me up
and take my breath away

each day we spend is a gift we've given each other
to continue giving seems its' own natural wonder
hiding from the light of life's boredom
we walk together in the shade we provide one another

not often it is found
the missing light from one
that lives in another
so it is something that must be held close
for as long as you can muster

and you are still snoring
and i am dreading the passing of each minute
that might take this raspy cadence away
opposite in the way i welcomed their passing
as if time itself was bringing you to me

we are never separate
as long as we hold our love together
though separate we can rest
knowing that this will last forever

if we sat inside a square
and someone were to point out the corners
counted them
assigned them names
and listed them alongside other examples
as if they were trying to tell us that it was a square
could we believe them?

so we are now dreaming
but sleepily awake in our own confusion
drifting once again between reality and fantasy
it's almost weightless and we feel so fast
and warm

wrangling emotions to suggest they are important
when we can't tell each other that they aren't distorted
there exists a lens in the heart of the mind's eye
that seeks to bend the light that beams from the source
pure brightness that feels the way a sunburn does
that if left unchecked might just leave a scar

can we be the sunscreen to each others hearts
so that we might protect one another from stars
that bleed the light that could sear sensitive skin
so we can hope to make our broken selves somewhat whole again