Willows whisper secrets in my ear;
secrets that I cannot hear.
I wish and wonder why
the wisdom I am given is so profound.

Deep, intense… vision and insight
without a useful purpose.
Feels much like a thorn I cannot find…
constantly digging into my side.

I do not understand the what or the when;
Amnesia has stolen most of my development.
But memories are more than mere facts;
The procedures and the logic and the sense remain.

A sense of which I cannot describe…
It tastes a bit like dry, red wine.
Bites my tongue, rendering all vocalization
incoherent; all memories distorted.

I search, I scan, I compare, I analyze…
And, ultimately, I suspend.
Permanence I will fight to the end.
Purpose is to be made… and not to be found.

Perhaps this coherence is not profound.
Perhaps it is of common sense.

There she was, standing on the train
Drops in her hair from the outside rain
She had rough holes in her shoes,
A small tear up her tights,
Beneath her ruffled hair her eyes shone bright.

Reading her book in just a sweater,
Moving her lips with each glorious letter
Not wearing a coat,
Saving up for the right one,
Heading home to laugh and have fun.

The same skirt that has been worn each day this week,
Beneath her blouse sleeves delicate wrists do peak,
A curl behind her ear and
Regular earrings worn without fail,
Behind her she leaves a positive trail.

I don't understand
Why I seek love
On an intellectual level
Rather than
Be stubborn and stupid
About it
Since
I am not smart
But I am average
So I've got that going for me

Not the kind of stupid love that
Continuously makes babies
Even if it can't support them
But the stupid love that
Stupidly burns itself in the fire
And jumps into the flames

Someone call out to him
Before he does something senseless

Someone call out to him*
Because I won't

does your weight make an impact on the your galaga patterned carpet?
do letters really give your experiences justice?
do cameras really capture moments you'll never see again
they cant capture the feeling you were feeling what's seeing to a feeling?
a visual memory to limited words? limited meaning? limited energy?
what is emotion in a passion? describing motives from your soul into motions?
what is purpose?
what's an answer to a question?
common sense?
whats common sense?
limited senses?
i cant think right now.

I liked you when you didn't swear,
When innocence was commonplace;
Maybe we're all growing up,
Lost in life's cold embrace.