I lost all my ambition
when I moved here with you.
Now I'm in no condition
to do what I have to do.

My mind's mixed up with worries
on track to coming true.
And now I'm in no hurry
to spend all my life with you.

I used to dream of writing
for some big magazine.
Now I dream of hiding
with a bottle of amphetamines.

Some days you say you love me
and want me in your bed.
Other times you loom above me
and drop your judgment on my head.

If you'll just come out and tell me
what it is you want from me,
then I'll lose the pills I'm taking
and put you in that magazine

And everyone can read about you,
with your name beside "forever."
Otherwise, just say adieu,
and I'll write it, "darling, never."

Grief is nothing until we reach it. Though we know, death is
always a definite, no matter what our inner world declares,
presents to us or it forms us. Dislocating us from the world
and providing less meaning, fading away, innocence loses
as the notion of expectations leaves us. Rendering to deal
with reality, alone.
(knowledge variable)

The artist knows how to play a poor hand well. In utter style, causing envy.
On rainbow edge. Knowing truth beyond illusion. The surface mingles along
painting colours, wishing it would drop and fall over this earth's surface. Moan
and sigh. Existing art, modern magic.
(knowledge Variable)

Feelings of desperation and solitude,
Some for me but not for you.

Turn off my machine,
Make my heart stop beating.
I can no longer feel the blood run through my veins.
It aches, with the will to not live.

You've taken away the one sole purpose of my heart: to love, to live.
No hardship has ever been so difficult to achieve.
I've come so far, yet I feel so far behind.

All I want is for you to take a moment and say my name,
Call me by my name
But all I hear you whisper is hers.

Freedom a burden with load, pressing on shoulders,
poetry cannot tame or teach passion in wild tones. To
gain oneself, to lose another. Mystical wisdom that on
purpose collides with reality, producing illumination.
Poppy seeds and sunflowers. Fireflies dance with the
moon’s silver. Evading the inner self, spilling forward.
Profound elevation, risking a profound hurt. Colours
in romance, music to the neo. Leaving behind memories
of joy and forgetting all-else, on the account it never
to exist again.  
(knowledge variable)

Being alone is created from vast amounts of reasons,
quiet minds, quiet mouths, loud poetry and demanding
art. Prying eyes are constant from the outside. Peering
always. Never a helping hand. Not an expressive concern.
Working hard to endure, harder to be oneself. It’s easy to
be like everyone else. Poet continues to dream and lays
it out onto papers, blanket words, for dreaming about
the grandeur greatness, in art and in social forms, are
far more exciting than being one. For it’s sad how much
of life is filled with the mundane. Muddy and murky.
And how disappointing it is when one steps out, to be
something of themselves.
(knowledge variable)

Even the horror has stopped, the irony has a place
in one’s heart. Poetry is always forgotten during the
horror. I had always thought, if the eyes of death
blinked first, would give me a smile. It didn’t. Death
just continued. Now there’s fictional truth about me.
(knowledge variable)

Underneath, there’s a stream of something different,
tender feelings, fear, broken pieces, memories, wishes
of the future, a complete inner-world, where everything
is speaking in poetics. Maybe a whole disaster. Touched
and ever flowing. Shattered over the crackling floor.
Where everyone seems to step on. Musings, letting me
know, endurance and there is no promise of life. Maybe
it’s you that’s destiny. Colliding together. For I’ve written
poetry before. Because I wanted t say everything to you,
without fault of forgetting and still want to say everything,
without skipping a beat. I’m desirous of all of it, everything
that comes with love, simultaneously and burst in explosion,
as if love was the first time ever. Actions in wild passion,
forgetting what’s underneath, I’m wanting to love now. Like
if forever exist. Validation happens in love. The mastering
of flaws, happens in love. Perhaps even streams of the
stronger, meaning of one’s life. For we know, bypassing the
unexpected turn, the horror of stumbling upon love, poetry
would of never started, if wasn’t for moments like this. There
is life without you, for that I cry, it’s something I would rather
not, endure if I must, viewing the world with hate and complete
bitterness.
(knowledge variable)

Maybe all our hearts are born broken. The despair
inside, a result from shattered pieces. Yearning is
unbearable, like fully being alive. Soulmates, odes
in poetry.  Knowing one another in dreams. But the
search for, angst making, tear making, soulmates
are meant to dwell in any poetry. You'll be embellishing
in natural beauty, I'll be watching you, writing poems
to pass the time, wishing for one glance.
(knowledge variable)