The rain keeps falling
As dry as a drought.

                       “ Rain drops heavier than water,
                           When it’s laden with doubt. “
He said,
                       “ The ground simply can’t hold it
                                     … So it must go without. “

               ” You’ve never known water to stain,
                  But you’ve never felt this kind of rain.
                  It’s thicker than your skin.
                  It stains your clothes and what’s within.
                  It sounds like hammers as it pounds -
                 And yet, the ground won’t let it in.

          So it flows like a river that only gets bigger;
          It runs like a force that knows no remorse.
                     Despite endless efforts to stop it -
                     It still runs like a faucet…
                                        With nowhere to drain. "

But if the ground holds no plants, is the water so vital?
Is the rain’s sole purpose this lifeless recital?
The ground stays so strong.
It holds fast, like pure stone
But can one stay so long when one’s so alone?
When one is forced to move,
               Will the ground or the rain?
And when the first one has gone,
               Will the other remain?


For now, they coexist,
Each facing a challenge it can’t resist -
Both unstoppable and immovable,
                              They hopelessly persist.
As complements, they combine
                        With the product of a flood.
But the water that’s collecting
                        Has the consistency of blood.

There’s a heart behind this water.
It pulses, instead of flowing.
So you turn to the only man you know,
             for parting words with danger growing.
And he says, as you leave:

               “ I wish you luck where you are going.
                   My son, you’ve only seen the rain . . .
                    . . . The winds are not yet blowing.

Maybe I should leave him.
I can see the pain settling in his eyes as he stares me down eyebrows crinkling in pity.
"Why don't you fix your sleep schedule?"
It sounds like code for,
"Why don't you fix yourself?"
I tell him I can't. I tell him that I've been trying.
But he can't see it.
The shackles, the ball and chain.
The shadows that appear even when there is no light.
He can't hear them.
The demons in my mind whispering self hatred.
Maybe I should leave him/
I can't explain to anyone what I am, how I feel, what I'm doing.
I'm tired of trying to explain, exhausted from trying to live a life that I don't want and trying to change.
Happiness.
What a cruel word.
What a sad reminder that pain is all I possess.
I shackled myself and I should leave.
Before I shackle him too.

Loading up my black mirror Skinner box to feel connected

Growing in the recesses craft horrors have recollected

Knowing when the tendrils attach more ascend to deck and
Burrow with an aim to enact order and stay infected.

Preying on desire with cracked swords a solemn gesture
spills aboard aloft an impactful throne of sordid fester

None adorn a thwarting reaction as a suit of armor
Gunning for the floor the distraction of a warring vessel.

Thunder isn’t half of the problem pouring ocean water.
Nothing but an echo, the past it seems was scarcely special

Wonder if the grip will relax if I can paddle harder
Sunder every bridge in a gasp for the forgotten nestle

Covered up in plastic, ******* thinks he’s just a farmer
Wonder when the bones in my back will feed the mortar pestle.

Fumble with a weapon enraptured in the frozen water
Doesn’t change the fact that the ******* on another level

In the silent deep I wait.
I listen for my call against the endless void of noise.
What I am waiting for I know not.
How and why I am here are equal mysteries,
that fill the lost passage of time.
I cannot know the hour nor the minute.
All that I have is the moon
lapping the surface about.
Never the solar, always the lunar face.
My body is stiff and heavy,
almost impossible to move.
My view is always the same.
These dark holes and splintered eyes
fill my soul with dread.
It never moves nor takes its gaze from me.
I cannot smell, speak nor taste.
When I try,
I cough into nothingness,
My body forcing black liquid from my lungs

Where does the shore start and where does the ocean end?
The waves that pushes you to shore are the same waters that pulls you deeper into the ocean.
You're caught in the waters currents, struggling to stay afloat.
The ocean with its deepness so vast, so tempting, so dark, so alone.
The shore with its infinite sand so stark, so bright, so alluring, so plentiful.
When you look towards the shore, where do you start and where do you end?

the concept
of an afterlife
qualified
only for
the most
holy of holies
is what scares
me
the most.

what if
i've been
good
my whole life,
but one part
of my heart
makes my
entry
rejected?

so what if
i'm gay?

at least
i'm not
as immoral
and hypocritic
as
you.

A Love Letter to Lost Tattered Souls

I.

Why do I so desperately desire recognition
When I know full well glory is beyond time
Even hither
Praises too early gained would
Place one above all in the midst
Of the wheel of fate
Yet
Soon or later with only room to fall
And be crushed by the
Cruel reality
Of eventual and inevitable
Tedium

Unlike a life ever on the climb
Or of a timely return to the everlasting
That will be never be subjected to
The suffocating dread
Of such a loss
Of height

As
The roaring gale would always lose to
The ever-present calm wind
Vital yet unnoticed like the breath of being

And

II.

Why do I despair when my words
Don't glitter like gold
That would make wise men
Lament in fist-raising envy
And mock the children that
Don't understand them

When I know the truth are
In words that would move children
To tears of laughter
And laughter of comfort
As per The Word
That is equally
Ridicule by men
Of ashes and dust-
That will never understand-
Or remain upon-
This world-
As something beneath them-

Like the earth that supports
All living creatures
And the humble grass for lambs
To graze

Be the needed
Not the desired
But unnecessary

And


III.

Why would I feel shame to wail in despair
Beyond my control for a word of your love
When
What is love, without patience in suffering,
What is suffering without pain?
And what is pain without complaint?
There are truth and devotion in my lament
A testament of my bearing the constant silence
Yet still singing devotedly forever
For the suffering Nevermore

Love fearlessly your overlooked
Plain imperfections
And unbloomed seeds of poetry
Burrowed in the present land of a future
Undying forest
Far outlasting the abandoned and
Overgrown gardens of timely praises
That's now lost in maintenance
And translation

As with the minute storms
And only half-day suns
You don't want to plant your love
In bricks of spotless silver and gold
Nor do you want to bury them
In scorched earth
That have never greeted a
Raindrop or the
Stars

Smile, brightly, and make the world gay
In every way, the world is okay.
Uncertainty, the dread of existence,
Fills in the heart for more than an instance,
But softened my dread, did I do today
In realizing that I'll be okay