True self
To say the thoughts deep down
If heard no one makes a sound
Alone with you
Myself
You know the tide comes in
The deeper you  inhale,
    so hold your breathe and stay ashore
They ask knowing not to seek truth but accepting the waters  are rough
Uncertain almost
They are the waves that force you under the second they picked  you up,
You always sink more than you rise
Submerged in deep blue waters
I inhale

Binge drinking my own facade
Thinking I have gotten far
Vanity is my bud
I have rolled the blunt
Smoked and inhaled
I see thick smoke
And my life starting to vanish
I sit and see life pass me by
While enjoying the lies

I wish to paint a picture
with a cluster of words
Each twist of the brush
lashing out a vivid image
Filled with diverse colors
And liberating thoughts
tampering existing beliefs
And infinitely looped ideas.

For what does the hummingbird weep?
For the lost and forsaken souls?
For the trepidation of mortals?
For the embers of brisk passion?
For the lashes of the night warden's whip?
For the eternal brace of hurt?
For the rantings of a madman?

Or is what the hummingbird weeps for not of this nature?
Could it be that the nature is of a nature from which nature's motherly embrace accepts?

Could the hummingbird weep for the mild tranquility of said mother's embrace?
Or for the warm glow of a homely flame?
Or for the amber shine of dancing stones?
Or for the soft brush of lovers' lips?
Or for the faint cry of a newborn in the arms of such lovers?
Or for the quiet persistence of solidarity?
Or for the peace of acquainting serenity?

Truly, the gentle tears of the hummingbird
Are born of a passion true to mine own
For these gentle tears of the hummingbird
Are the same as the trails of ink that roll off my page

No words
will ever be
enough.
To express
what goes on
in my head.
The thousand
storms.  
that rise and
fall.
While I lay
in the
dark.
Thinking
too hard
about all that’s
scarred.