Silent can't hear
little kids scream and splash
my hair flows around my head
in rolling auburn ways
chlorine stings my open eyes
I could stay Forever
in this vivid blue expanse
peaceful, blurry, silent
my lungs burn
and i'm reminded
of my human need for oxygen
feet push with a crack
off pristine off-white concrete
shimmering with Sunlight patterns
breath fills my lungs
peace, still lingering
is ruptured by a Kid
with a Water Gun
You speak of stars
As if on first name
No closer you are to me
Yet I am in my own atmosphere
Just waiting to breathe
And fill my lungs with thee
Forget, no don't
The memory in mind
Of when tingling spines aligned
No starlight impedes
Be it out of reach
How your words once made me shine
No comment. Least here in this manner.
now let words
I Love You
who could keep who
Life is better made making decisions rather than weighing consequence.
Meet me in the Garden
Where the wind whispers through the willows
As they bend to nature's mighty breath
Meet me on the sandy beach
Where the peaceful ocean ebbs & flows
Like the cycle of life and death
Meet at the the place
That can only be called
Where no one feels abandoned
Where no one feels alone
To not integrate
To bring men, all of men
To a cave
To be amongst but never within
Where nameless figures
Bound by archaic scripts
Killing in the name of God
All in the name of God
Bound by the undefined
Twisted to resemble
And more lies
Through no fault of their own, yet monsters.
It can not be golden
It will never be golden
You can not infuse beauty by telling gilded lies
If it gets you through the night,
you could sit there on the couch and pretend that I’m not listening.
We’ve been over this time and again, yet here you are flipped
from side B to side A. I hope your tape breaks and this message
is flipping in the wind on a tab with a marker
marked red. I hope you understand.
My life feels like vacation but my… well everybody
will promise you violence over practically nothing
and I think I deserve a better planet. Instead I’m here.
It’s marginally all my ego, but mostly I just want to disappear.
I swear; If I break a heart I’ll fix it, but I’m a disease and a symptom,
and I stick like bad religion. Worshipers take shelter from this cult.
I’d even stab you if I had proper motivation,
and I didn’t treat myself like my own martyr for nothing.
The “real” me may only be what you make of me anyways.
My image of myself only exists within my head,
and in that image I am rotten with perfection.
My only corduroy is torn and smells of bleach,
but I’m too sleepy to change into my skin.
I swear I’m more than just an ordinary sin,
just because I’m also my own martyr.
— The End —