The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

When the fire is over
We'll turn on the lights
And run our finger through ashes

We'll gather arround
The last bright ember
Until it too leaves us for the night

We'll save what's not gone
We'll long for what is
And slowly we'll forget the last few thousands days

This pink mass of mist
it glows when we touch
my waking has surrendered
it belongs to you
but the boulder
this crippling weight still sits

misty fog can't fly
can't float
never could
that rocky weight
it finally caught a cloud
and pinned it down

i didn't mean to show you
i never wanted you to see this
this amazingly heavy burden I carry
please don't let it catch your cloud

maybe I too often feel like a burden
only because I have lived as one
and this fear of being what I am
it adds ounces every day

maybe that's what I've been trying to get rid of
not my earthly weight
but the one that caught my cloud
Is that the one I've been trying to starve out?

If you’re the one that’s so concerned about the world ending
Why are you trying so hard to bring it to it’s knees?

And as it appears,
I’ve gone and lost my mind and
can’t remember where

Hidden lakes of emotion
Waiting to be condensed
and run in streams
clinging to a rock face
behind the mind's eye