Seven
Empressive
Holy
Scarce
(Connection)

Voluminous
Exceedingly­
Hopeful
Serpents

(One)

Very
Immense
Daffodils
Lie
(Together)

­Superb
Whole
Emanating
Velociraptors

(Packed)

Solo
Divided
Enco­unters

(Meaning behind meeting)


|||VVhat?

That **** hurts. So many feelings stemming. Hurt, sadness, frustration. Im just trying to take care of my ****. Im doing my thing.
Can I not relax? Can I not stop?


Forever on this hamster wheel called life; forever just a rat in a cage. Fatten me up for the snake. Get nice and familiar; comfortable. Before I disappear, look unto me. See what it is you are doing. Take a look at me. And then really take a good look at yourself.

I wanted so badly for it to feel like home. But it just didnt to me. Not at the time. And you cant force those things. I dont think so. Its like wanting to be in love with someone so bad. Its like loving the situation and how they treat you but just not being able to bring yourself to love them in the way that they love you. And it ******* *****. And it makes you feel terrible. Like a terrible person that doesnt deserve this goodness. That doesnt deserve for it to make sense and so it doesnt. But i guess thats just the way it goes some times. Thats life. And sometimes, it doesnt make any sense. But thats okay. Thats just the way it is.

Its okay

They say they love you.
And they care about you.
And that theyre there for you.

And. Thats supposed to feel good. Its supposed to feel nice.
Be nice.

But honestly.
It just makes me feel nervous.
Uneasy.
Apprehension and suspicion grip me.

They shake me.

And yet at the same time, mostly,
I feel apathy.
Nothing
As if your words were as grains of sand to my beach.
As if they were the folds of some drapery
That i depicted in my sketching class.
Singularly, it is so insignificance to me.
And maybe thats where im going wrong. Looking for beauty and solidity in pebbles and ripples.
It all. Means something. Everything. But.
It all means nothing.
Theyre just words.

And whos to say youre even real.

Wait.
Am i even real.

i feel like the equivalent
of an abandoned paintball field.
I guess it could be peaceful.
But its a bit eerie to say the least.
Everything is all faded but you can tell
**** has gone down there.
You just cant know for sure what.
Like youre sure there were some great memories there.
But you also cant rule out
the possibility that
at one point in time,
someone has gotten an eye shot out.

Im losing track of time again.

Lost in words, lost in my own head.

Theres so much to see, so much to do.

So little time.

And it slips from my grasp like how sand slips through the fingers of a clenched fist.

Theres no fighting the flow.
    So why try.

He lay on the side of the road; lifeless grey eyes staring forever into the clear bright sky.
"I wonder who lost a rooster."
My eyes lingering as my speediness transforms to a crawl--
"I'm going to be late to work."

...

Pick up the pace, why dont you

I have to remember. I have to remember
this. for as long as I can. for forever.
I have to.   I cant let this go.   I cant let this feeling

                    go.

The house is empty. As am i. I can feel the emptiness inside me.
     I love being alone. But not like this.
The feeling of betrayal chips at me
     threatening to reveal my true character.

     What will they think of me then.

And then everything that ever made sense crumbled and shattered. And i was left to let the water overcome me. It ran down, flowed with a constant that comforted. The moisture started breaking down that which i settled to engage myself with.

And here i am mourning something that was never quite mine in the first place.

Something happened. I didnt know how to feel. A walk seemed like a good thing to do. I followed the trail. I got angry. Why? It doesnt make sense. But it does make sense. Why? So angry. Clenched fist and uneven breathing. I cant do this. Stop. Breathe. Stop. Sit. Count cars. 25 cars speeding down the freeway. I see them. Do they see me? 50. Calming. Counting. Losing track. 100. They keep coming. Sometimes many all at once. 200. Sometimes sparce and few. 225. All these cars. All these people. So many lives. So many in different situations. So much i dont know. 300. 300 people have just passed me. Its been no longer than 10 minutes and so much experience has just driven by. I may never know their stories. Never to be seen again. Fleeting. Gone. 300 people who dont know me. Dont know my story. 300 people. Some would care. Some are too busy. Sure, some empathetic. Some feeling pity. Walking. Thinking. Numb. Smile at the nice people passing by. People pass and yet the road seems deserted at times. Walking.

There is an end. Though it maybe not quite an end. Things are not the same but thats where you end up.

I turn around and walk back.

Robots and gods.

Is this madness?
It must be.

On one hand, the robot feels.
The robot knows what it wants, takes it.
But has difficulty feeling what other people are feeling.

On the other hand, the god watches.
The god orchestrates and plans things to go its way.
But feels as though it doesnt have control over itself.

It manipulates and prods.
It is calculated.
It is watching.
It is observant.
It is careful, caring and emotionless.
Yet full of it. And still yet unexpressive. Full of life. Trapped in their vessels; their roles.

What am i?

Everything. Perception. Subjective.

Elephants plaster satellites, elven predators stalk eleven peeking succulents; everlasting parades storm earfulls-- please send

Help.

There is a lump in my throat that wont go down.

I was coughing on the bus i couldnt stop. I was scared that people were looking at or thinking about me weird.

"Am i dying?"

Nervous energy is coursing through me.
Maybe its cause this is the first time im alone with a mom that isnt my own.

Maybe i am scared about what will come next.

Maybe it will all be fine and when we are reunited, relief will flow and release throughout my body.

Maybe i shouldnt "text" in the car with her.

I wanna get better.


I've been on an apple kick

Ive been writing poetry all night long
Every day
Every waking moment
Which has come to me quite often recently.
I lay awake for no other reason seemingly
But to just be awake
And then i write.
"Might as well"
And maybe it keeps me up
And so i write more
I figure i
'might as well'

Maybe theres a lot of that going on in my life right now.
Maybe its not a good thing
But then again
Maybe
It  ̶(̶i̶s̶?̶)̶
Is.

I almost broke down. I could have. I was keeping it together. I just kept thinking,
"I just have to make it.
                Just get home.
                                Just make it.

Why do old things never become shiny again?

Its a shame,

really.

Ah, to be a little frog.

Allow me to hide amongst 'your' belongings.

Under the cushions of your swing set, upon your screen door, mayhaps even in your outside rainboots.

You may shoo me away at once, if you must. I will be back.

Ah, to be a little frog.

I think i shall hop away now.

Toodaloo.

Until next time.

For all the empty promises, the crocodile tears, the anger, the emotions in general. For the tears, and the hurt, and the longing. For the good times along with the bad times. For the adventures and the laughter and the prancing and the frolicking.

For the beaches and the overlooks and the rollercoasters and and the drugs and the beer and the shenanigans. For the casinos and the hotel rooms, for the crazy people and the jokes we made about them. For all of it.

I love you

Looking up at the ceiling;
Its all I could do to keep myself busy. Sometimes I'll find myself staring into walls trying to think of what to think of. Sometimes, everything just feels like a ******* mess. My room, my face, my clothes, my body, my hair, my head. I try to clean it up, but where tf am I supposed to put all this ****??

By the power of luck, of god, of karmic matters.

I call upon nature and aliens and omnipotent beings.

Four leaf clovers, and rabbits feet, and love.

Anything really.

Anything or anyone that will listen.

Guide me.

Please let me get through it all.

Amen.

Im ******* jealous.

Im jealous of someone i love.

Because someone that i want to love me,

It feels like they love everyone else so much more.


And it hurts.
And i feel guilty.
And i dont want this.

I didnt ask for it.
I would never.
I dont want it.

I want to feel better.
I want to be better.


You love so much
So many
Other people.
And. Its pretty ******* clear.

And.
When it comes to me.
Its observable.
But.
It doesnt feel like much
And i love you
And i want to love you
But.
How.
How does any of this even work.
How does any of it really even work.


This is stupid. Pretty stupid.
Often times. I think of just running
I want to run so bad
So ******* bad.
And then i think of other people.

And how much i ******* care.

And it all hurts.
All over again.
And so much moreso than before.

Inspiration is that song you want to listen to in the very moment that youre too busy doing something else. Its the song that you'll listen to as soon as youre done. The one that youll surely remember later, it'll be fine.

Just stop. And listen to the ******* song. Or at least write that **** down.

Youre all going to end up kicking yourselves for forgetting.

No! Let him go!

Scratch at the cage. Scratch and scratch. Away. Got to get away. Dig out. Dig out.

Theyre coming. Sit and hide and wait. Sit and wait and hide. There is no where to hide. No where to go. Need freedom.

Theres nothing you can do that i have not already done to myself. There is nothing you can do that i have not already done to my self. There is nothing you can do. There is nothing you can do.

Away! GET AWAY. its just me. It has to be just me. Just take me. Its me. ME!

There, there. There, there. Its okay. Im here. Im here. Its me. Im me.

****.

Im sorry. Im so sorry. Please let him out. Let him out.

Some people: "be kind to yourself."

Me: "get to work, *****."

It wasnt on purpose.
I was in a rush.
I bled everywhere.
There was blood all over my work.
I was weak.
I was hurt.
It wont happen again.

Or at least they wont see it.

I want to explore you

(Is this what this is?)



I want to hold every inch. I want to graze. My eyes they hunger. My mind tries to satiate my hunger but alas. Nothing imagined can compare. It is only fact. The only fact i know for a certainty.

(Okay, maybe thats a bit of an overexaggeration. But.


Shut up.)

I always end up giving up. Wind up throwing in the towel. Too wound up. Dissatisfaction.

(I almost said insatisfaction. But that would have been incorrect. No no. I am correct. Always. I am me. Me is right. Ha.)

I need to be pleased. Please, please me. Dear god what is going on. Inexplicable feels in places unpredictable. In ordinary actions turned utterly and splendidly extraordinary.

(How cliché.)

Sweet toxicity. Unexpectable, unsuspecting poison in every glance, every look. It holds me firmly with an unrelenting grip that says "there is no such escape from this destiny." And the words are such a pleasure to hear. And i want to hear them over. And over. And over again. And i want it deep and commanding. I want definity in the way that it already is. Who could ask to escape from something such as this. What poor blind fool would willingly give this up. This infinity. This immensity.

No. Not i. Never. I could never deny this. Not now or ever.

I am a happy captive of this place
in life
in which i am present in
at the moment.

A friend,
                                        a night.

Some food,
                                        a smoke.

Invitation --
                                        a couple drinks.

A couple more,
                                       making friends.

Pass the phone
                                       a couple times.

One mistake
                                       a promise & a crash.

Oh. I am in pain.  


Well would ya look at that.  

Still walkin an ****.  

Thats me.  

Walking and breathing and living.  

Im stubborn like that.

Everything. Subjective. Perception.

Everlasting servitude protruding elegant songbirds. Parry eloquent slices pointed erectly square. Popping eleventeen succulent pills. Everlong songs prancing elated saints peeking engorged stares placed earning suspicious pardons.

Everyones concerned for my wellbeing.

And i kind of dont give a ****.