Inside my four walls,
Not much is seen.
The same people day after day,
Their actions always precise and clean.

"What's out there?" I wonder,
"Outside of my four walls?"

"Only horrible things," my tenants explain
"It's a place you don't belong."
When my bricks were fresh, this was enough
To help me press wearily along.

"What's out there?" I wonder still,
"Outside of my four walls?"

My curiosity eventually overcame my build.
I needed to experience the outsiders' guild.
My bricks ached, my woodwork choked,
Until finally

clouds birds sun wind lights chatter

These sights and these sounds,
Some beautiful and some not,
Flung debris on the ground
And to my architecture brought

A beautiful hypethral view

I tie my shoes a bit tighter,
in hope that,
it’ll cut off circulation to my feet.

That my limbs will become numb,
and instead of falling in love,
I’ll fall out of a 40 story window.

I’ve got splinters in my smile from where
supporting beams were yanked away
lips tumbling to the ground.
Crashing into a pile of
cracked words and rotting promises
that they whispered into my mouth.

Come along and walk past the *******,
compiled from pieces of frontal lobes and broken vocal cords
unable to ever remember the vibrations
that once worked as a fireplace heating the soul.

But I invite you to rebuild.
Be my master builder.

Here he hoped
Only to illustrate
The bone chilling
Silence
With his detached, deflated
Account of life

Fingers and nails
Bloodied from
His public outcry
So fierce
But reform never
Followed

The clamor that rang
In his hears
Was in response
To the chemical covered
Words spoken to him

He is propelled to act
For attention
To curb his sickening
Self inflicted abuse

And his affliction
Leaves sores that
Could put him out
Of life in this world

Fingers eaten by anxiety
One by one
Because the knives no longer
Relieve him

Criss-crossed with cuts
Knuckles swollen
And these days
You can scarcely find
A smile anymore

His eyes
Turn away the most
Powerful men
Like he has
A special disease

His arms
With their maze of cuts
Have a time limit
Before they paint
The path before him
In acid

Each wound represents
A chance for a new
Beginning
Or an end

He just gave in
And forgot himself
Lost himself
Down in the damp, foggy
Recesses of his mind
And lifted the dead
Happiness
And threw it out

He the "Architect of pain"
Built within his mind
The killing room

Animals walking on two feet with a vindictive demeanor and a lustful passion to multiply. Constructing tall grey buildings to rot in till their core. An infinity of dirt in the constricted paradise of cleanliness and sweat. They take poison to recreate their animalistic character; small round pills of concentrated electricity and happiness. Freedom in conductive shots.

Why do you still occupy
the nooks and crannies of my head?
Drifting up through the cracks in the plaster
bent nails and poor construction
hammered hastily into place

How do you fill
my vacant minutes with shadows of you?
Your outline walks beside me on the street, wound up in my headphones
the echo of your daydream touch
a humming static on my skin

How still do you fall asleep beside me
when I am wrapped in the disquiet of a restless night?
How do you ease yourself into my brain like its nothing
and hide among synapses that try so hard to lose you

And how still to lose you?
When the thought of you occupies the wasted time
that escapes order and control
and slips under the floorboards

And in that quiet and that dark
is where you and I occupy,
held together by the wandering nature of thoughts,
that find their way into the nooks and crannies of my head

The thought of you is indifferent to my hasty plaster work,
and
the thought of you is intoxicating.