How I wish to disappear
completely, to unplug fully,
til I shut down-deep-withdrawn
and there focus on something
that's more internal
and less commercial,
less self-evidently marketable -
something less brand
and more a brand new venture,
out of sight, of mind
and of a sense of duty
to myself,
to the me I left behind -
somewhere less,
somewhere small,
where the music inside
was clearer
and nearer
to the first bars
of the first song
when I first sang along.
Oh, how can I disappear
completely and get myself ready
for my next swan song?

Bic flics as you
place me
between your fingertips
Guide me to your lips and
INHALE
Taste me on your tongue
Before you cast me out
In a cloud of smoke
And watch me disappear
French inhale
As I swirl around you
Bring me back in
For round two

Come whisper your method of writing to me, how you unleash beauty from plain words. I know much about silence but nothing to your extent. Come tell me how you made yourself small – how you perfected the art of being a literal void to avoid those who wrong you. Disappearing.
                    – You've never fully disappeared from my sight though.

When I was raised to sew my mouth shut, to apologize for saying too much, I let the elders cut my tongue. After a while, I told myself 'no, no more'. I took back what they took. And that's when I met you.
                    – You did nothing but encourage and let me be who I thought I was supposed to be.

Come whisper why you feel so small, to me, you took up more space than my own sanity. Silence to me is not unfamiliar, I write ugliness whilst being surrounded by it. I am unsilent about many things, like how exploding art into a dull life can save it from fading.
                    – Why do I get the feeling that when you let too much art seep into your life, you vanish a bit more than you intend to?

I hope you never fully dissipate because you spew art into my dreary life, and as selfish as that may sound, it gives me a chance to maybe stop you from fully ceasing to exist. I hope you continue to release your anger and sadness and happiness through your artistry, even if it pushes you back into the abyss. Because you taught me to not care, you told me to just write.
                   – I will fill pages with only semi-colons.

You taught me that we should make poetry, make paintings, make music; make art.
Where emptiness lies, I've learned to use art to fill it up.

There isn't a manual for this.

What would happen if I disappeared?
Into nothing, out of time,
all stemming interaction ceasing

There would be the grievances,
ultimately stemming from the fear of it becoming truly personal.
Then the world would move on
With the human idea of time erasing me from existence.

The sun sets and the moon cycles
gravity pulls the earth around.
As i sit with you watching the stars,
I cannot fathom all of those who we have forgotten,
and realize i must come to terms

with the fact that i am a tick of a clock that will pass unnoticeably.  
But if that tick did not happen,
then we could not continue:
stuck in a moment when i did not exist.

this evening..
there's no sunlight appears
the rain falls to the ground
along with memories created
but when it dries
memories will disappear
then everything will lose