There are a series of drafts
that blow fiercely through the gaps
of the home of creativity.
Cooling the efforts
of the imaginative fire,
so that it no longer grows or glows.
The home's strength is tested
by its own scarecrow,
who should be out with the crops
to discourage other birds,
that can stop new growth.
But the straw-man persists
with his unequal arguments.
Tampering with emotions
inciting the fire to risky proportions.
And so the home of creativity
burns itself down.
Because it's walls are too weak
that some straw-stuffed clown
can overstep it's boundaries
and raze it to the ground.

White powder on an iPhone case
Black coffee to mask the taste
Rolled bills against my face
Usually no one keeps pace

Sometimes I believe I've gone insane.
My allies made over a pile of *******.
Veins burning awaiting more.
Eyes sore, but my feet seem to slide over the floor.

Heart pounding, nerves firing.
Tiring, not exhausting.
A workout for the burnout.
I have few hopes as to what I’ll turn out.

Only a mind away.
Numb, but alive.
I only feel what I'm prescribed
I’ll press on, needle to a record.

**** that.
I’m digital, my ideas, critical.
I’ll wake up each day with an eye for new breath.
I’ll keep moving forward, alone or in union, i’ve got a plan, and I’m gonna seek it.
Brick by brick, my world, I’ll build it.

my pen quivers above my paper
my fingers tremble & i fear
the ******* scream caught in my throat
will soon escape and tell all.

the page rots in front of me, ink blots
instead of words and rhymes, that's all
i can manage, my heart is cracked &
i feel the tidal blue deep within
begging release.

used to that i could write day in and day out,
my heart mapped out on college rule, notebooks full
but now it's an empty vessel, with dust and smoke
instead of firelight passion.

the day i met you, the day i kissed you,
you scorched my soul and burned the very words from
my lips, my dry aching desert heart, i'm floating away,
gone.

my pen quivers, my fingers tremble, my eyes water,
since the day you stole my pottery heart,
i haven't written a poem, not a single line,
not a single word.

Not being able to give even 1% because you have 100% for just a moment too long...

If I had a bus that promised comfort for all
And a ticket for each and every one of you
And said we'll leave tonight
For where, I don't rightly know, but we will just drive for the sake of being anywhere but here.
If I promised you that at some point we will reach out destinations,
I wonder,
Just how many of you would punch your ticket...

You are the light rain; softly falling towards the ground, giving me a calm feeling.

You are the lightning that electrifies me, sending shock waves through my body; consuming my thoughts, consuming me.

You are the thunder that keeps me on my toes; a screaming reminder of what it is like to be alive.

You are the soothing winds that carry me; a tender embrace, a soft caress, giving me peace at the slightest touch.

Yet our love was too much and it quickly became a hurricane; huge nimbus clouds rioting across the sky, a warning of what's to come; the torrential and unforgiving rain, relentless as it soaked every surface and precipice.

We are each other's salvation, rain, lightning, thunder and wind. **Yet no one ever told us that we would brew a storm and become each other's worst destruction.

A mining town is the opposite of what we are.
We are sunshine and fake laughter
and fake fun
and sun and rain
But we hold true to the fact that we love a good joke.
We love a good relationship.
A good drink at a decent bar.

What I like is a nice kiss.
One that last more than 5 seconds.
That type often means a lot.
or it means nothing at all.

I like that 6 year trial run.
I like when it burned.
I like how the pictures burned with it.
I feel so much about it.
What do you feel?

Do you feel that this town could be taught to mine?
Do you feel we could mine and mine deep  enough to find what was buried deep under?
Is it worth a further catastrophe?
Would it be worth the walls crumbling and you and I would be captured in what was?
What felt like a longer than usual kiss?
The kind that I like,
the kind that once meant something?