Seeing things out of focus
Distorted views
Shadows on shadows
On walls that don't exist
Outside
The confines of the mind.
Tunnel vision
Through open fields
Blind to the wonders
That surround ones self
Happiness is
You're only lost
If others pave your road for you
Sounds of life
The echoes of death
Collections of thoughts
Meanings morphing
Changing
Losing and growing
Through individuals
Molding and defining
Based on the past
Events those of which
Are not shared
Where does the shallow end
How far do we go
Before something
Becomes more than skin deep
Walking backwards
Eyes closed
Turning around
Only to see
If the destination
Has been reached
Not knowing
What
The destination is
Scenic routes
No entry point
Mental landscapes
Lost in a shroud
Of doubt
Scent of rain with clear
skies
Life
Incomplete works of art
Eyes closed
Mind open for business
Musings
A collection of lost puzzle pieces
Dillusional
Abstract
Shapeless
Incoherent prose
The glass is either half empty
Or half full
Depending on the contents
Striving for more
Is the nature of everything.
Stagnant pools of empty thoughts
Time wasted
Following refractions of light
The abscence of light
Seeing only what others want
The future
Holds
What I chose to hand it

Not an entirely reliable structure
No years of cultivated security
But I can tuck my life neatly inside
Almost any opportunity.

Waited for years.
I made my move
Two backpacks
And one suitcase

Surreal is all
I’ve felt so far
Aside from lost
In love and why.

Ask yourself a question
Without immediately
Volunteering the answer.

If you know enough to ask
Then you should know
That you don’t really know.

How can I, idle?
Start and end is You my Lord!
No words! You with me

and there comes that moment call it the first adult moment at 17 from heartbreak or at 20 fighting a lost war when the realization of emptiness attends you and you know in your testicles or ovaries that god is deaf chaos rules eternally the universe stands indifferent and you are but a carbuncle on the cosmos' *** alone and forever alone and that moment may be debilitating or delightful enslaving or freeing and your life is launched upon a trajectory that you can never escape it is a moment of depression or bliss depending on your malleable personality and temperament and you will never ever be the same again...

I told him, "darling you move me but my heart is in the Mediterranean". And he answered, "so is mine"...

Transcendence is before you should you choose to take a swim.
Into your deep blue you dive and all that is within.


Referred to as my subconscious so you may understand me clear.
But there’s nothing very simple about the message I’m sending here.


The colour of your blood, the liquid through your veins,
is really just a pathway to the place that feels your pains.


The heart is an ocean but within it there’s a sun, submerged beneath the ocean, and all that is but one.

Eureka
My thanks to the man who tasted
cyanide and voiced his last Eureka.
“Almonds”
To the man who saw dragons
to be slayed with pen and sword
in windmills.
To the Danish Prince who said
“What a piece of work is man.”
Well, man’s a piece of work alright.

Did you ever think about how
men wear their ovaries on the outside?
Or how you can always win arguments with yourself
in the shower?
My boyfriend traces the edge
of my chewed nails as he asks
me what I am thinking about.

I’m thinking about the consistency of jellyfish
and how it compares to human brains
and the taste of nectarines, overripened
drawing fruitflies to picnic tables.
Maybe I see colors differently
and will never know that my blues
are only a midnight shadow of what they
could be and if I’ve never truly seen the color red.

And how after nineteen years
I still can’t tell if I’m a good person
or just faking really well.
And if that Chinese Emperor
who strapped rockets to his thrown
to find dragons
ever found any.
Did the chicken getting crushed while crossing
the road get him to the other side.
If I died young, could I motivate people
to be nicer to each other?
When did my grandmother die
and when can I ask my mother without her
crying?  There was a little girls skeleton
found next to her donkey in the ancient ruins
of an earthquake. There were several
different species of human alive at the same time
and my favorite color isn’t really blue
And I’m really glad I couldn’t ****
myself when I was 13 because I tasted
my first plum last week.  AND FOR THE LOVE
OF GOD
WHAT
AM
I DOING
WITH
MY
LIFE.
My happy moments will always outweigh the bad
And are my ***** uneven because
when I look down—
What are you thinking about?
Almonds.  They
taste like cyanide.

There is a truth
I know,
and I feel the truth is something
no one wants to know.
Like most realities
others would most likely
want to be blissfully ignorant,
I can't say I wouldn't
Disagree. But it is worth something
unlike nothing,
nothing has no matter
something is a matter.
However dense, however hollow
There is worth in anything,
maybe in nothing
seeds of thought sprout.
Consciousness grows with each
ounce of sunlight from each
passing day.
Branches extend outward
from the origins, in the name of progression.
We grow, we understand

The grave stones in the
cemetery lean on each other
for emotional support
---
The rainbow roads drip
down sewers into the
water they love so much,
making ***** yellow, purple,
blue reflect back and
menace the legacy
---
Brain baby bobbling
around in the head cavity, still
growing and drifting through
stages of depravity and
different shades of blue.
Just now getting to know your
land legs, huh?
You languished so long on
sea beds wondering
when your time is come.
But, here!
You have entered the magic kingdom
of knowing and yet you refuse to know.
Keep back! Your nuclear glow radiates
some sort of disaster brewing and
I believe you conjure up spells
in your sleep to be unquestionably you
without consequence
---
We're all bustling by on methane clouds.
They're pumping our egos sky high,
our marionette mouths brainlessly chanting
"My integrity cannot be bought,"
as worthless precious stones are funneled
through cracks in our wooden bones.
People say I have an old soul, but
I think I'm just trying to pay attention and
put together a person sized puzzle
made of a picture of a mirror
pointed at the universe.
I wonder what I would dream about
if one ever stuck to the roof of my mouth.
The girl who never says please but
always thanks you when she leaves,
at your service!
I stumble through another
eyebrow taboo and I
place the catalyst in a box labelled
"Save it for later."
Walk by a pile of
bruised up bones
clawing their eyes out,
just to be a concept;
unknown to them are their miracles.
I'm pretty sure life is satirical