We met in my dream last night,
I didn’t know it was you,
but now i am aware.

Your boyfriend did loads of ****,
I even took a rip once,
just to keep them from tearing me apart.

We travelled along together,
In an open air vehicle,
blowing chemical-glass smoke,
and not caring whatsoever.

You were so beautiful in that dream,
kind as well; just as your boyfriend,
seemed nice enough,
lots of ****, though.

I haven’t touched this thing in days,
why must i still hold on to it?
are these all just figures?
figuratively portraits take on,
a shape of their own.

An ebb and a flow exists,
only if you believe it to.
pushing forward, thruward, onward,
or taking,
one word,
at a time;
in time,
on time,
over time,
through time,
on an infinite scale,
over ever increasing proportions.

it all relaxes,
and that which we tried;
tried so hard to understand,
takes shape just in front of us,
as if if we hadn’t tried at all,
in the first place been conscious ,
that it all would’ve fallen into place,
and effortlessly, inclusively,
that which was once indescribable,
takes shape just in front of us,
in the form of what we said,
and how it looks.

Things will be different,
next time; of course,
If i don’t see you,
feel you, enjoy you,
in my dreams,
I’ll probably just get out of bed.

Maybe that time,
for the sunday seance,
and the animate ceremony,
i will remember it.
Instead of letting the sweet breeze,
and rain drops lull me back to daze,

And when i do awake,
despite all of my will,
resting there next to me,
i will have what it takes,
to crawl, walk, run,
and wash last night off of myself

To be your friend:
i bare,
all the weight,
of being in love.

To be in love:
i must bare,
all the weight,
of being a friend.

To be an artist:
i suffer,
all the weight,
of being alive.

To be alive:
i suffer,
all the fate,
of being man.

There is no greater Love,
there is no greater Love.

The only real problem,
with sanity is:
everybody is trying,
to be in it.

if there were room,
for all the heads,
that want to be in sanity,
nobody would actually,
want to be in it.

The scarcity of the sane,
is quite astounding,
for not many,
have actually gotten in,

and nobody got in sane,
by trying to be there.
truthfully everybody is,
already in sane;
they first must realize it.

The only real problem,
with sanity is,
how I have tried,
to get away.

You watch that rainbow,
wait for it to touch down,
hurrying to meet it on the ground,
it’s just like any other rainbow.

Surely it touches somewhere,
it penetrates deeply,
and leaves all stricken aw,

That rainbow,
all those colors, and emotions,
they touched you,
right in the ether.

Who would’ve thought,
death could taste so good,
sweet light green,
hints of mint,
those deep purple undertones.

And the vibrating of a soul,
shaking loose an exterior,
misunderstood and abused,
but no more.

Those who haven’t,
may just turn back,
but here we are,
on the verge.

Of what?
there is no "why?"
not "because"
all of it for this.

just look forward,
none of that matters now,
i’m not coming back,
i’m not coming back.