By the time earth is finished making it’s.   rounds
on all sides of the sun
my brain has already calculated twice a billion ways to stretch myself thin between
the moon and the stars.
I’ll settle for the ambivalence that links
my emotions and the atmosphere;
to submit to the gravity of what the world
could be.
All while knowing who I should be,
I float higher and higher in the opposite direction .
So the empyrean can cradle my chaos,
quietly without judgement.
The only reason I live is for the credible fact
we will all return back into stardust
and be spread out equally between all corners of the sky.

a candle dances and burns in a distant window
while the city beams as if the night
never needed any light.
As if the flame screams to be what illuminates
the crossroads and windows.
Bound to its wick.
A candle who wants to be a star, to join the sky all eyes find peace in.
Longing to be more but still fulfilling
it’s sad purpose.
Tears of wax, only full of potential in the dark.
The city hums an artificial tune,
the candles wails the song of your essence.
Yearning to explode in the sky though
condemned to glow in isolation.
a candle dances and burns in a distant window
to give all eyes a warm welcome.
while the city beams as if the night never needed any light.
Dreams of ignition without restraint.
Still only wax and wick.
Destined to soften, burn, melt.
Still it shows off its light.
Not because it’s seen.
But because it cannot help but glow.

There’s words inside of me not just my head.
They curl like smoke behind my ribs.
Yearning to be named.
Reluctant to cathartic practices.
Burnt out due to unraveling each letter
that goes through your ear and out the other
I feel the sadness in my throat
the disgust in my mouth
the anger in my head
the fear that crowds my chest.
don’t worry yourself with what I can’t speak out loud.
Silence is loud, when it’s full.
Such as my days, flooded and useless.
I hope it will all make sense
E-l-u-c-i-d-a-t-e.
I nurture the words that are only felt in my bones.
I will never know how to translate them into a sound only you can feel.

I’m constantly trying to do the impossible
grab the incredible.
express the inexplainable.
stop the inevitable.
I am not a pioneer of my own future.
I’m a prisoner of my past, look at
how the shackles dangle from my feet,
how they cuff my hands like dainty bracelets.
I refuse to care for the pragmatic whole of the world.
When I step on freedom it will be everything
I want it to be.
The flowers will grow upside down
The sky will be a rare shade of blue.
We’ll share hands and explore the world
created by the love in our hearts.
Freedom will be something I can hug
I will not drown in the pool of my own desires
The world can’t intervene now.
I can love you so freely without being
killed by my own limerence.

For love, it is mandatory you pay the price of grief.
I’m afraid I’m in treacherous debt.
Swiped love off visas.
more discounts than Mastercards.
50% of your attention only on Saturdays.
What a deal!
At least I had your eyes to myself just for a while.
I knew every second that I was gonna lose you.
Which is why every second mattered,
why every second costs.
I didn’t count every minute like quarters.
I nurtured every hour.
I spent all the time I had on priceless affection.
You can see everything I owe to myself in my eyes.
Pat my pockets feel the left over potential.
Turn over my wallets and try to count the hopeless pennies.
I have nothing else to give.
What about an arm? A leg?
How much more can I give of me just for a little more time with you?

You could hold me.
Look into my eyes, read my soul.
Kiss my blemishes.
Color my whole entire world pink.
You could find me.
Trail back to how it felt to be part of a whole.
go against whatever's above us just for that.
You could relearn it all again,
desire rampantly and through it all wait.
You could ride a frequency only I can hear.
Still cherish who I am once I disappear.
Know that one day love will find you again.
By the true fact you are apart of me and that is where this love resides.
What I want is impossible but, you could.

There's this repulsive need to be anything other than myself.
Without finding myself stuck between the space of,
what would I turn into and who I could be.
To be made of flesh is a mortification.
Still I crave the compassion from others
made the same way.
I'm yearning for something I can not reach.
Something that is not real.
My brain is a graveyard of all my hopes to be
who I should.
There's this intolerable need to be more than myself.
More than human, something worthy.
So I won't be so impassive towards my own reflection.
I'm ragged and uneven, I feel i deserve it all
but, in small micro portions.
Maybe I shall change, with hopes of giving my pain definition.