Today i clacked my shoe heels on the bench
paced the piece like a pommel horse with a fire in my eye
and words that hurled spears of love to the stary eyed sky

Today we let the smoke penetrate more deeply--
the oxygen osmosis contained hydraulic thought
And for once we tore the masks off and screamed TRUTH
to nobody but ourselves

I refill my gas tank with the petrififed remains of ancient mistakes
that died to an uncaring genocidal
time
feasting on borrowed bones

Today the heavens sing with every sunset
eyes glued to our utilitarian hand-
held
hand device, we dont even bother to look up
that bothered me immensely

Today I spoke with a woman who recommended the stars as a good starting point to our astral projection journies
and i wondered if our particulae had ever reverberated this strong
in the aeons before

Tonight I will watch the stars
try to figure out if i had ever loved death more or less,
until now.

You are that person I see as light
but now your light seemed fading.
Our journey is still a long one
but your smile is slowly disappearing.


May I raise you up?
May I helped you smile again?.
May I help you stand because I know your knees are weak?.
May I carry you throughout the path.?
All I want is keep you smiling,

To give you all that your heart needs the most.
May I be the shield that would protect your happiness?.
May I be the one to be there always.

All that’s made me is all worth trading
just to have one moment with you,
to make you smile again.

On a sunny day in July
I met one pretty awesome guy
I will never forget that day
So will you stay strong ‘til May?

I consider you my best friend
There may be some fights to mend
You know how to make life real rad
I could even say I am glad

You have saved me from the bad times
I might even say you are mine
I haven't seen you since summer
I guess that's quite a ******

I may not have a lot to write
But you make my life oh so bright
I guess this is goodbye for now
All I can say now is meow

Deep like oceans
Flowing like rivers
Falling like leaves
And growing like trees
     Running like the animals atop the earth
     Sounding like horns on the holy night
     And burning like the sun in the summer sky
          True like the words the apostles did speak
          And round like the earth with its edges beneath
               Stained like ink
               And pressed like books
               And tested like an automobile which looks
               Like Christmas morning gifted to man
                    Like the clattering of pots and pans
                    And the soothing touch of a mothers hand
                         Like this, like that
                         Is what love is to me
                              But what love is for you
                              May still yet to be seen

I've been living in a constant
and catastrophic mental state.
I'm trying to silence my memories.
I need to forget the emotions
That I'm forced to relive.
I've yet to eliminate
Their presence in all I do.
There isn't a single moment
That isn't embraced in nostalgia.
The lyrics in songs I'm unable to delete,
Reanimates it all.
I've used a million different words
To explain what I couldn't.
In the end, I am faced with the reality
That I can't just run.
I can't escape through objectivity and pencil lead,
This time.
All of my unspoken secrets remain,
Slowly clawing away at my sanity.
In remembering where I've been,
I'm killing myself from the inside, out.
I know,
You can't empathize or understand.
And…
I've always known this,
So, it's okay.

Nobody ever really wanted to.
Nobody ever really could.

However...

There exists a deep loneliness
that's rooted in my own deception.
I'm always fighting to be listened to.
Spent weeks painting pictures nobody saw.
I wish someone had just proved me wrong.
Which sounds odd, to anyone else.

I don't want to write
what's never gonna be read.
Why write out the details
of a story nobody wants?
I often wonder -
Even if I am finally opened and read -
Would their understanding
change my story's end?

"“To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come," as Shakespeare wrote and Shakespeare dreamt and Shakespeare... became he who ruled the world of words.

What dreams may come may come in bits
What dreams may come may feel as real as walking down a frozen field
What dreams may come may come so quick one can't escape one simply feels
The horror of a nightmare real as being trapped with none to hear
The yelling moaning wretched calls one calls for help yet no one hears

What dreams may come may come in peace
What dreams may come may come as fields of roaming grains kissed by a breeze
What dreams may come when one is whole and eyes the field as endless wonder planted by a higher power
What dreams may come may come in jerks of memories lost from years gone by now brought to life as one just sleeps
What dreams may come may come as real as real as life and love and death
What dreams may come...
You know they may...