On the streets
We all try to be discreet
Or completely boisterous
It doesn't really stay in one state
Were always on time or late
Its never one event all the way through
I think that's what people misconstrue
Its too common along these parts
Really all the parts

the star
obliviously
makes her
rotations
of life
around
the black hole
glowing
shining
fiery
pits of hell
if you get close,
but providing
warmth
and life
to her planets
that stay
far enough
away

naive
creature
born maybe
closer to the black
hole
than others
doesn't
notice it
as
out of the ordinary
anything
other
than her life

each
movement she makes
she will
be closer
to her destination
closer
to her destiny

took me
twenty years
of life
until I realized
the full force
of my depression

only when
she got close enough
did she realize
she was falling
into
the black
hole
that this
was what
wanted
her energy
her mass
herself
*******
pulling
with more force
than anything
she had ever
experienced

the realization
that her
entire life
was spent
waiting
to be devoured
by this
hell
oblivion
all she knew
was a
fabrication
never even
thought to wonder
what
she was circling
just
ignored
the glaring questions
ignored
the evidence
ignored
all of the signs
until
it was too late
to escape

event horizon

help me

i am trying
to gather
the momentum
strength
power
to get myself
outside
this point
of no
return
seems
impossible
seems
wasted
I won't stop
until I am devoured alive

I am the star
at an
event horizon

black hole
let me
free

The cast iron skillet of love
Fell on me from up above
No time for a warning to be said
It landed squarely on my head

Pain far from dull
It caved in my skull
Scrambled my brains
Let them all drain
Gray matter splatered
Nothing else mattered

An unstoppable event
It quickly came and went
It left my heart sore
My brains on the floor

we are not human
we are                     beyond
all that fits into strands of dna
we are a phone call away and just at the beginning
writhing with excitement that plays like anxiety. we are the nervousness
that turns the body right left and left right left before introducing us to becoming asleep. we are the narrative to the lives of others. our passwords don't match but I refuse to let popular radio dictate our lives. we've ****** ourselves red and sweet, cauterizing our moral wounds with *** and sensuality. we scuba dove in the bedlam of ***** intrigue where I drank the pulse of your fingertips into mid-morning blackouts.

I don't know what you do, but I bleed foreign tongues. I mince words and reconnect them, the Swedes would be proud. Inside the ribs, beyond our teenage skin, between us we are always something better going unchecked but never unnoticed. we have been enlightened, summoned, and have three unchecked voicemails that we will lie about listening to should we ever be confronted about it. I don't ever want to be readdressed by consciousness, I am unhappy there and here

                 the Power lines
Under

unto us both
we may never meet those quondam girl and boy bent by prurient looks

Time machine roared for a minute...     Future was nearing

with outrageously high

speeded velocity     Surpassing The Bitter Past    &   Collapsing back

In itself !    Surplus      Evaporating Events      have soared above the

mundane Blue Planet

Glistening, tiny, roundabout vessels         have vanished silently, into the

wide open cracks internal to            Ethereal MotherBoard Memory

of         The MainBrain.         Truly Our Vision Focused on the
upcoming Horizon of Hope                                Saw no Evil no More

At the hapless poetry event
I thought I’d have a splendid time
But as a poet I should know
That life has the habit of being cruel
So immensely cruel

So I had to avoid the debris
Of classical poetry
And suffer from the boundaries
Put upon my creativity
My poor creativity

And I felt useless, since it turned out to be punless
They didn’t see the point of puns
And I felt pointless, for I could not rhyme
No, I would not rhyme
Such a horrid time

And people dressed in ironic ways
Tried to evoke the nineteenth century
Pretending that complexity
Makes for better poetry
Oh, my poor, simple poetry

So I stood there, with my glass of wine
And my pun-filled collection of wit
No rhymes to hide behind
And no gravity to my humble words
Oh, poor, humble man

And a lady in red, with blue hair
Awkwardly grabbing me by the arm
Asked me if I had suffered enough
And if I ever wanted to **** myself
God, how I wanted to **** myself

But the irony always wins
As words poured in my mind
With puns in abundance
So finally suffering inspired me
At the hapless poetry event

Marble skies roll over golden fields,
in the silent winds, whispers travel to the ears.
Their faces are free, painted with joy,
under the setting sun.

Born on rocks and forged with hate,
their worlds collide and separate,
and now they find themselves sown together,
under the setting sun.

Warm air swirls and curls and flows,
down from the sky, and through their bones,
waiting for an event horizon,
they feel the setting sun.

Gods are known to tear apart,
the sacred chains that bind two hearts,
but nothing can stop their everlasting love,
under the setting sun.

looking down while I hear shouting
“It’s all your fault”
I want to cry
I want to shout back
I want to scream
do I not have feelings?
can I not speak?
frustrated and angry
my lungs are filled
the burning sensitivity in my throat
I can sense the sobbing
I run to my room
the only comfort that was given to me
I can’t cry
I can’t shout back
I can’t scream
the throbbing of my heart against my chest
the clenching of my fists
the waterfall running down my face
the ripping of my hair
these human sensations
yet the pain inside will not go
is my soul shattering
broken
cracked
I feel nothing

There is no light within, it is
But a singularity of darkness
That pulls all in, light will never
Be for all is swallowed within.

Consciousness is but a black
Tide on the shore of the event
Horizon, fighting, but it will
Always give in because darkness
Lives within.