Ah, how quickly do
Nights age & shatter - like old glass.
How short lived, the stars

Forest floor, underbrush abound;
The light sprinklings of winter found.
Snow kissed scenery, that
Whether cold be dreary
Still seems the more dreamy, than
Tracing each step.
These frigid months of death-
Before life springs back
Bringing fresh greenery

Flower bloom, Summer's end.
The past looms, no wounds mend.
Vicinal tomb. Please pretend
All is well, everything' fine,
And there is enough
Time is a flat circle,
Not a straight line...
Seasonal shift. Darkness find.
Self-cannibalistic, sequestered mind.
Life and death, nature's rhyme.
Final breath; peace from mind.

…and quite becoming, disillusionment.
Old and young children are holding their legs
At the terminal of a new life,
new…

I climbed to the top of a mountain
And rolled back down in a barrel of oil

I threw a plastic bottle in the ocean
Just to see what would happen

I visited the tropics, both of them
And littered in each one

I am the creator of worlds
And I am the destroyer

Stapled in blue light harmony, I abuse my silence, thinking in a way that could be construed as past tense
Slaved to my sand castles that were taken by waves
I'm a kid on the beach giving way to tourists' enclaves


Seaworthy and daft I **** my own gun, a habit I tell you is nothing but fun
I smoke myself to death on this boat that lies rest to my wake
Waves I've created I tell myself I'm obligated to break


I promise the hinges of my door are stressed for holidays sake, and everybody's got a piece of advice that they need to take
It's always as transparent as wishing on a birthday cake


There is no salvation in my morning slumber, whether I hear birds chirp or horizon rise
Car sounds are just as good of an alibi
As childhood dreams are for validating highs

deep in the pit of my stomach
sits a small but heavy rock.

like water at the bottom of a broken well,
it sits, and sits, and sits.

but unlike that water, it does not evaporate.
It will not evaporate. It cannot evaporate.

the rock in the pit of my stomach sometimes feels like homesickness.

that’s how I describe it:

an intense longing for comfort, for ease,
but no respite in site.

one year ago
i thought i was at the brink of escape.

the rock would escape the well.
i would escape the rock.

i was foolish.
you cannot not run from rocks
in the pits of stomachs
so engrained into the lining
that they are fully a part of
who you are.

one year ago
i thought i was at the brink of newness, freshness, wholesome beginnings

i was to be born-again
i was to be crying, screaming into a new life
i was to be able to breathe without fluids
drowning my lungs with expectations.

life cannot be born again.
life cannot be restarted.
life cannot be a clean slate.

each atom i have is different from the atoms i was made up of last year
but they've seen all the same ****.

there is no escaping
there is only moving forward.