The brilliance of a clouded morning
is often overlooked in memory of the sun
I have been twirling these thoughts
between my fingers for far too long
yearning to reach out through broken windows
to immerse my hand in a dense morning fog
not knowing what will find them
and to take this ache in my bones
that tends to follow me home
rinse it under the falling rain
waiting for the sun, waiting for a new day
until morning comes in a quiet dream
and I wring out these bones
and yesterday's clothes
throwing them into laundry baskets
woven from this tired soul
and taking it all out to dry

i'm restles§ & laZy
& wirəd & tired
& not ⁿ°ⁿuncrayZ
& antiadmired

a little bit manic
& chillaxed as a maniac
i picnic with Panic
& retardədly brainiac

& God as my wittiness
i'm ●ver herə trying
to c○pe with the shittiness
of living while dying

When I stop
I notice your unwavering presence
your persistence surprises me
because I neglect you.
Lovers don’t do that.

In my dreams you are there
passing through my imagination
like a genie yearning to gift me.
Your stories teach me about your desire
to interrupt my ordinary.
I even remember a few of your tales
and try to figure out what they mean
for my dull self.

I know. You don’t like me discounting my self
because when I do so
I discount you my precious one
and the awesome power of your love.

Inspire me today
a day of needed and neglected work.

You are here my love
in every fiber of my body
every impulse of my mind.

I will dive into the river of your compassion
and be refreshed by it.

The fat of the land
In a handful of beauty's toil
Worth the weapon, the wish in the sands
Of marvel's and erudite silence we foil...

Turns of children, into a barbaric claim
With the simple to play, we are a habit in cream
Spare to finish the season of a southern name?
Can, a song and dance with redoubt begin our dream?

For an ancient first to lately the order of final worst
Sidelined with a careful love, the strength we dote
In a clandestine seem of what God meant for theirs
Sitting with charisma's anger, the head of isn't a vote...

A world of sense, with one more step in mind?
Can a stone play in your lap...?
Lent the redress of tag, is our fate the voice of kind
Upon the hurt future, we select from seldom's hap?

Is it me, or did the future just fall in love, with meant?
Quiet spaces and tarter rooms, to pray for a calling bird
That has spoken like a king has remembered its covenant
A harrowing house of freshness and its vex, has made lurid?

War has a beautiful voice until ******...
****** is a wisdom to fetch remorse, like a pride had moments...
Moments with a tilling grace, are a hidden play for copious worlds...
Worlds that ought a heed of mendacity, save a heart by irony relents...

Silence...?, and a medicine in a bottle
If you have noticed a circumcision as a foil of worth
Spare to these, and with a promise in chides and prides, so rotten
But met in the sight of a wishful friend or lover, is an angel yours?

An unconscious self sabotage
The reprimanding echo
A bed of invisible nails

Without the smallest clue
What was this discomfort of?

Exhaustion, a cage without doors.
Menial tasks turned impossible
Stumbling around all dazed

Dressed to the ninth in neglect
I keep forgetting to live.

Yes, I'm staying 'active'.
No, I'm not motivated
to do the things I
used to enjoy,
but I'm still doing them
because look at me,
I continue to operate
through the dysfunction.

The question is whether
this means I'm not so bad,
or my desire to not look
like the world's laziest slob
is the only thing getting
me out of bed.

Gotta get that Vit. D,
take mental health walks
and see the people I love,
all while smiling through
what feels like
the thickest fog and looking
through leaden eyelids.
All I want to do
is go back to
a dreamless sleep.
Wake me up
when I'm a person who
functions by desire
and not by design.