Mourn the Moon in the morning
for he had lost his night shift.
Let it be a warning
for the Sun shall rise at night.
Bright blinding darkness descend
on us, threatening to swallowing us
And every single star there is.

They'll be no wars,
just a simple surrender as
sunshine soldiers surround our souls
telling us our new roles.

What we thought we were,
we are not.
What we thought we weren't,
we are.
And if they say it,
it must be true

We act the polar opposite of ourselves
because of some solar energy,
some hot headed, gassed filled entity
has made us question our identities.

Is it our thoughts,
or actions,
that define us?
Our we confine to one,
or is the two combine?

I'm inclined to say:
I don't know.
I'm only learning how operate
in this world.

So many questions with no answers.
Just an obsession to understands
the oppression against us.

Doing so will hep us understand ourselves, right?

So send in the Sun,
mourn the Moon ,
and figure out the chaos born.
For soon it will be done with us.

A
        ghost, ghoul and demon
live where my
        trust,love and happiness
used to be, their names are
        past,present and future.

There's a skinny European ballerina dancing for me in my room
And I don't know what to do
Her eyes a piercing blue
There's a pretty European ballerina dancing for me all alone
There's a feeling in my bones
A burning kept in stone
There's a single European ballerina dancing for no one but me
The only thing I see is
Her radiant beauty
There's a lovely European ballerina staring me in the face
My demons held at bay
Transfixed by her grace

Burning brightly as I
stare at the dancer divine
My eyes are full of fire,
aglow in the darkness of night
In the light
She catches my gaze in her sights
My pretty European ballerina
Waits for me to cross the line

The monster under my bed
Has created my internalized fears
Still afraid of the dark
Creepy noises
Shadows and such
Internalized fears running amok  
And as these fears collide
Inside my head
I have started to realize
I was always
The monster under my bed

I can write lists of things to do.. but I won't do them.
Raging thoughts.
Wayward feelings
and THE RUSH OF SOMETHING I DON'T EVEN KNOW THE NAME OF.
Welcome to this world, I didn't know what the HELL I was getting myself into.
Thinking about what other people think way too much.. and then trying not to.
it doesn't work and I try not to.
BUT I STILL DO.

Such an easy feat it must be, no?
I'm talking about my little brother's show.
More or less, he keeps bragging.
Take it or leave it, won't stop nagging.

But I ain't got nobody next to my seed
That's going to be leeching on me in greed
There still feels like a brother's near
And if it weren't for him, I wouldn't have fear

It's a godawful show, too
Props made from parts of the loo
Actors made of cardboard
Falling onto the hardwood

The denouement was a bore
The ****** made me snore
But I had to give him credit
At least it wasn't his script, he read it

As I sat in an uncomfy chair
Watching him talk about current affairs
I got called up by myself to dinner
And declared myself a winner

I got no siblings, I got no brother
I got no father and I got no mother
I got no grandma and pops
'Cause that's where my tree stops

The show goes on, I stay on stage
Make a few jokes about minimum wage
I sit in a chair in the audience, too
Watching cardboard actors and parts from the loo.

Never ending marathon
Its a struggle just to keep breathing
existential asthmatic
Internal conflict

They can't see what's going on
The pain I dread
Ink marks on my brain
Addicted writer in my head

I want to escape--
Reside is my safe haven instead
But it's hard to run away
When everything you're running away from is in your head

Perhaps beauty is not the glitters and gold of perfection. But the scarred cracked frame of reality. And as we explore these trenches; we find the most rarest forms of honesty.