Who was I and what was I doing? I had learned that I was one of the many people who have been lost. We were all trying to figure out something big and great. And perhaps we did figure it out.. Maybe we were all just too blind to see it.

No one gets me.. Not even my own mother. And that’s okay, cos no one really is supposed to get anyone. Where would all the fun in life be if we got people? There wouldn't be any fun.. life is an experiment, and throughout this experiment we test ourselves. We learn, we love, we hate, we cry and sleep and die and pass out and embrace and live.. all at one time. We learn throughout the experiment the true essence of ourselves, but never of other people. And maybe in the end, we never did quite figure ourselves out.

Looking out this double-paned plate glass window into the gray frigidity and red-leaved bitterness of October in one of the last wild and still-untamed bastions of freedom in the west at the mountains thinking about how even they are moving, my darling, and how the spaces in between them are growing just like the space in between the sun and the earth and the space between all the galaxies all at once and the space between the spaces between the world and I and soon I’ll just be floating all by my lonesome in some swirling pool of- not air, no, not even air, just nothingness and watching everything float away like disappearing city limits from the tailgate of a truck on cruise control zipping across the badlands and maybe you’ll be there but going the opposite way and there’ll be nothing to do but watch it all go, go, go, til it’s
gone, gone, gone

In order to dance to the beat of your drum
You must have a sense of rhythm.
There's no use in hitting the beats on occasion
Because you'll end up sounding the way everyone does.
Just like them.

In order to wear the clothes no one does
You must have a sense of style.
There's no use in clashing your patterns or prints
Because that's a fashion and so in the end you'll be
Just like them.

But there are only so many beats you can play
Only so many colours in the rainbow
There's no possible way you can be so different
Because you are doing the very thing that makes you the same.
You're trying so hard to be the person no one understands
The person who's a mystery, who's just so different
That in doing it you've only become
Just like them.

You were a boy
Whose heart didn't beat,
Yet you made me feel
Complete.


F.Z.N

Your skin doesn't lie,
Your lips don’t either.
The soft touch of hand,
Upon body,
You give in.
Sweat, spilled wine and swoon,
Your heart skips a beat,
Only to match mine
In sync.
Lights on, lights off.
Beat harder,
Breathe faster,
Using our bodies to see each other.
Stop and go
Holding our breath,
Gripping the sheets
Until it’s over.

The Silence Is Terrifying.
A creak from a chair or the rustling of paper is all that breaks it.
My thoughts are so loud.
I pity those who are not alone.
I feel scared to think,
for I might sound a whisper.
The Silence Is Terrifying.
Should I speak?
No...
I would startle myself.
Maybe the others hear it too.
The silence,
I mean.
It is so loud that my heart is like
the beats of drums.
My thoughts are the words to my lovely song.
The creaking of the chair and the rustling of paper are the offkey note.
The Silence IS Terrifying.

There are poems lingering
in the pit of my stomach,
syllables hidden in the
depths of the bags under
my eyes,
sonnets cowering in dried out
veins
and haikus dissolving, drowning
in my arteries
at the pale midnight hours
that no paper
could ever materialise.