Go outside.
Because outside is where the beasts lay.
They'll run with you all the way,
In such a sprint that you never tire
Or lose your breath
Or shiver your legs
At all.

Outside is where the sharp angles rest.
Deep cuts in straight lines, red blood dripping like rain,
And stones that have been cracking for centuries but never broken.

The great outdoors, that's where the fairies live.
They'll love you like you never knew love before.
It's the raw lips that kiss the roughest,
The calloused hands that hold on the tightest.
The rock-kissed fingers, they're designed to never let go.

Soft lips bruise. Mountainous lips live on forever.

Supple skin burns. Hard-cut edges light the flame in the sunrise.

Well-rounded means spoiled. Raw spirits mean earning the spoils.

if you took
the edge out of a storm,
you'd be left with a blank film;
no soundtrack of droplets,
no lightning
cracks of conflict,
no romance, from
air steeped in rain.

so if
you wiped away your childhood
scar, laced your
back up straight,
turned the volume **** on your opinions
and cried a little less -
what
would you be then?

if you softened all your angles
would you tell your story well?

Twinkle twinkle the stars shone bright,
But watchthe heavens as they turn there
Gaze from us, each an angel no longer do
They think we deserve their light.

One by one the lights will all go out,
Till we are all alone in the onyx night.
Darkness is are punishment we have
Lost the respect of the fragile light.

So cherish the day and the light that it
Brings, as angels shall no longer show
Us there gleam, in that time of the night
Darkness endlessly  screams.

There wings turned away till that time
That once again, when we respect the
Light given, and that day we will once
Again see the stars twinkle, twinkle in
The night, as they look down once again
Shining there gazing light.

always exciting when angles change
reminds me of how a couple degrees
is all it takes
to tip my brain
into a shriek

what i mean is how precious an elevation
can be to a viewpoint
a sea of heads and bodies and clutched coffee cups
becomes a weaving
a dot matrix scene
all the people stopping and starting
arriving and leaving

go the other way, sit on the ground
lie with eyes sideways
and commune with the goddess of pounding
feet, footsteps and dropped crumbs,
litter and mice hiding behind signs

whatever view i choose
when the time comes to board
i stand, and walk
returning to the level i was born

you are mostly angles
and i am mostly curves.

the best paintings
have the perfect combination
of the two.

together
we are a perfect mixture
of sharp and soft.

like a painting
a living masterpiece.

Waves crash over bony rocks
That reach out for the sky
With fingers like daggers,
Teaching angels to fly.
Red clouds plague the Earth like
Some crimson disease,
Filling up the oceans lungs before
They started to freeze.
Not with a sigh in the nights,
Not with that aura of gloom,
But with the fleeting feeling of
The constant knowledge of
Doom,
The stars that were above are
Now finally below,
And the eyes that see disguised
Are as far as they can go.

True love should be treasured
When two people are in love it is beautiful
Nothing is sweeter than the bond of two people
Love is the most magical thing on the planet
Angles cry when love falls apart
Make love magical from the start

You-
you have a lot on your plate
and me-
I am just pushed in next to the others
that weigh you down while you're trying to carry
a thanksgiving meal of responsibility
and at the same time not be crushed by it-
You don't like it when your food touches.
So there I am waiting at the edge of all the chaos
trying not to step over boundaries or cross the line
I am just another thing thrown onto your plate
of responsibilities.
I am a shadow.
A walking disaster.
And I try to avoid all the things
that are so ferociously trying to bring you back down-
but all I do is end up making it worse
making all your **** end up touching
so it becomes a mountain upon your shoulders
that eventually turns into a chip upon it-
you have gone concave-
you became acute when you were once so obtuse
so full of life
so 180 degrees out of everyone else's ******* box
and I closed you in.
Made you realize what you needed to make yourself small
so you could eventually fit the plate just right on your shoulders.
I try to take the weight-
try to pick it all up myself and do something to help you get through
but I just end up touching everything-
You don't like it when your food touches.
You-
you are concave in my convex world
always looking inside yourself-
always hiding away inside of the parts of yourself
I will never see because I'm too busy looking outward
to find something I can do for you.
We are trigonometry-
which is the only type of math I was ever good at in school
but I can't seem to find the right angle anymore
you are too scalene and not enough isosceles
there's no symmetry in the way you look at me-
there's too many different sides to you.
I'd like to think I've seen them all
I'd like to think I've solved what degree
every angle you feed me turns out to be-
but it seems that the angles aren't what I should be finding.
You're just a circle-
I can find your radius
but I don't have enough of you anymore
to find your circumference.
We will always be abstract.