You think to yourself
“I’m always going to be mad at them”
You hope it’s true, though you secretly know it can’t be
When you’re mad you want to be mad
When you’re sad, a part of you feels alive
So you hold that grudge. Hold it tight
Because tomorrow, you might be happy
—back to square one.

As Mars ascended,
One split in two;
The mitosis of fact
Splitting right through.
An anaphase ritual
Lining the floor,
Where I wanted mine,
And you wanted more.

But Venus was kind
When last she was here
And gave us a gift
Of temporal fear,
So we’d done this before
And the God was decried,
Yet out of the darkness of space
He cried:

‘Oh come to me Father,
I shan’t be denied.’

And Saturn, he heard
As he fought with Rhea,
And looked at his mother
And the remains of Theia.
A plan came to mind,
A clever time trick,
And we were caught fast
By the Great Malefic.

As Saturn ascended,
We split up again,
With no time to heal,
Our love was in vain;
For Venus had long since
Bored of our space,
And our love had begun
The sad telophase.

there is no map for forgiveness
just a maze of bone deep navigation
through static
and the unknown frequencies of love

Truth is the product of the pursuit of knowledge.
Though most people, I have found, do not embrace but fear knowledge.
I believe this to be due to the fact that knowledge is something that cannot be tailored to an individual.

What is, is.
Whether you like it or not.
Knowledge can often be daunting and go against the very foundation of everything you hold "true".

But truth is not there to keep you complacent, it's there to drive you, it's what you should live for.
The pursuit of knowledge is an ongoing process, constantly evolving.

One day you can feel without a shadow of a doubt that you "know" something,
and the next day be proven utterly wrong.

This is why it confuses me so that people hold steadfast to antiquated "truths",
catalogued by humans, and passed down through generations.

Like high school gossip, slipping from one grimy hand into the next,
riddled with the stains of ignorance and manipulation.

Knowledge can often isolate.
Spark hatred in those comfortably numb.

But those on the pursuit are not to be feared or confined,
they're to be celebrated and joined!

Because truth is freedom, and it will only unify.

Don't give up, don't give in.

She felt she'd said
all she needed to say
the torn paper and broken plates
had said the rest

in the settling dust that swirled
peripatetic
in the collapsing corridors
of the relationship
there was a tiny quaver
a voice saying,
"you should have seen this coming"

I didn't, and now half my possessions,
my frayed cotton shirts
and haphazardly creased pants
sit on the passenger seat
like sullen accomplices
as I drive toward a friend's basement
so I can get some sleep.

I try to explain the world--
the deeper meanings to my mumblings
all of it a frustrating mess,
an artist canvas splashed with too many colors--
that it becomes impossible to depict which is what.
Is that blue or is that aqua, I don't even know anymore.

When it comes to understanding my thoughts,
it becomes a psychotic break from reality--
where I imagine my fingernails scraping
chunks of flesh from my neck.
I plead for my hands to place themselves around my throat,
"Please suffocate yourself please just let me out"

Begging for someone to understand the mess,
that the khaki colored object actually means something.
Each splotch a representation of myself
every detail aligned to explain a greater idea.

As arguments end, they scribble deep within
a sketch book of sickening black ink;
Marks its place in the drippings of my thoughts,
making those colors lost in translation
so not even the painter knows how they feel.

I will admit, I am shocked how quickly true love can turn toxic,
morphing into a poison that runs through our blood stream making us scream and bicker
and so the love we once felt is reduced to a flicker.
Toxins replacing our delicate words that once held such warmth,
with ones intended to hurt and bring each other to war,
till the point we are dodging our shattered love on the floor,
and grow eager for self victory though there is no award.
So tell me this dear,
is any of our toxic love, true anymore?

Winter. Snow falls into my hand... melts in my palm.
A frozen brand. A stinging balm.
These whispered words are far from calm.
These frightened tears are far from gone.

Whispered words cut like the crack of a whip,
hot like the slowly melting snow,
in the wake of furious words below.
Hearts run cold like icy ground beneath shaky feet stepping quick
into the slowly sinking snow. Whispered words in metronome,
fill my head, though I and He are here alone.

I was not prepared for this confrontation.
In desperation, my feet refuse to slow;
Frightened tears and feet like metronomes;
I am running scared, and I fear I do not know
what words tonight might lead me safely home.

The greatest of distances separated us,
but being abrasive at best,
our two rougher edges always sparked.
Even when friendly,
a side conversing of judgement
and not-quite-resentment
kept the parameters of conversation
shallow and narrow minded.

Deeper inference
caused interference
like static in my mind,
and short circuits were common
even in the most civil of discussions
common to other circles.

Round and round,
wishes to connect and
a secret bid for volatile collision
kept us chasing,
while a wary voice forced us to stay separated
like magnets pushing and pulling.

Never did two people
hate so many common things
and yet repulse each other so completely.