I have resigned myself to this;
time stretching onwards a pale weak grey like that of a dove, promising peace
-- sod your peace, after all, heaven is a place where nothing ever happens --
-- heaven is Las Vegas -- everything and nothing all at once,
and around the corner of my hesitation
comes a voice as lifeless and mutilated as the rest of me:
"shut up and live."

I have walked unshoon through dust-choked wastelands
where they strung belief and imagination up
from the flagpoles, by their throats
and burned all our dreams to light up
a night grittier than a mouthful of gravel in a desert.
tracing my tracks and trails by the bloodprints
left by bare soles lacerated by shattered dreams underfoot.
"just shut up and live."

I have dreams, curiosities, wondering too deeply
what the last moment on Earth would be like,
what it would take to breathe through the end
and run face-first into oblivion or whatever's beyond it.
I sicken, and weaken, and wake up gagging on my own sweat
and the echoes of a voice made harsh by dysagapi:
"shut up and live".

Loving you in memories may be worse than living in reality. You cause hidden smiles and day dreams. I live for one more stolen moment with you. Sometime forgetting to live with myself.

cast
condemned to the depths
to look up at the blue overhead
where waves crash
gulls streak the sky,
and sun sit high
down there
in wait
to attract
the unfortunate
passerby

Life could either be
defined by your parents' mistakes
or solely yours,
only here to live and learn
with the hindsight
that you may well be
one of those mistakes too.

For me
It was all black and white
and She,
from the beginning,
has been living
in Grey...

Like bells they hear this ringing
Not of Christmas but of orange goodness.
This Irish voice walks past on balled up green,
her hair red as the warmth in early March spring.
The voice speaks of prickled roses that lie at my feet,
she reminisces on the tacky green and welcomes
the seaweed green.

It's baffling the up and down in her voice
Like a paper crown it could tumble,
My eyes dare look left.
She's skipping now, down to the town hall
to walk off the corners edge.

Sometimes, what we have left are regrets.
Indeed they don't come first.
But living without getting pressed
       is tantamount to a horrifying quest.

existing in this land-sphere quite touch-and-go
when you stare for something that you hope to
when something expects to be with you
until you discern that you obtained neither

things are unreachable on your own limitation
useless is your own notion
to gain nothing is the best way out that you ever made
the excitement is just filled with none nothingness but the soreness