I’m sleeping tied in knots,
I’m waking up still yawning;
it’s just become too much.
I’ve been multiplying my shots
looking for an ounce of calming,
but it can be hard to walk, without a crutch.

The stars are looking bleak
I’ve been busy living on the ceiling,
and prodding at my skin
as it’s become numb to all feeling.
And It’s always latest at night
when your head finds a light,
and your mind takes flight
then you gain blinding sight.

I’m sleeping with clenched fists,
and I assume with clenched teeth;
it’s just become this routine.
Body and soul contorts and twists,
layered both above and lying beneath
it’s the most flexible and restrained, I think I’ve ever been.

I had plans for this time,
but they’re reduced down to “oh well,”
begrudgingly accept that this is fine,
maybe dress it up with a “this is swell.”
I might never again see the light
but I’ll adapt to living in the the dark,
evolve, survive; flight or fight
I’ll be nocturnal existing in the park.

Victory has a hundred fathers
but it’s true defeat is an orphan.
The little things that no one bothers,
can be the greatest gifts; overflowing with endorphins.

Can you tell me where to find the bright side?
Apparently it holds all of the answers.
to cure the sickness that plagues my mind;
the worst but least lethal of all the cancers.

I’m counting the minutes
and I’m stacking the week,
and the intensity in it;
so insanely heavy I just can’t speak.
When will these thoughts diminish?
It’s growing stronger, it’s turning bleak.
The floors will shine and shimmer with wax and finish,
but it will never ever silence the creak.
The floorboards inevitably became weak.

I wrote a poem long ago
As an assignment for class
It was the first I was proud of
That feeling didn't last
It captured something
That rarely I'd place
An ever-present
Mask on my face
It was written there
Now lost forever
A truth I knew
Would bring me no pleasure
Titled "Masquerade"
I thought that was clever
Even used three words
To put rhyme to those letters
It was whole and it was tragic
Though I wrote it stone-faced
Turned it in, to the teacher
With no smile or grace
That page was Rumplestiltskin
Its lines gave form
To thoughts never shared
Within my brain's storm
The poem was an answer
From the hand that wrote it
To a baffled 12-year-old
Who couldn't control it
She gave it back to me
Along with an A
That I stuffed in my pack
And lost the same day

Heart burdened, the river turns.
The bed is unmoving, curtain remains closed.
Autumn leaf dance, sun hidden, moon peek;
What is it that heaven seeks?
Tomorrow, I head to Chang’an,
Tonight, I take a sip of wine.
Sun rested, cold wind echoes;
My wine cup has shattered…
Tonight, I can’t take a sip of wine.
My mind drift far between rivers;
Dazzling among the night sky;
I find my heart unable to rest.
Sun has now dawn, my body is feeble;
Withered like ashen embers;
Today, I can’t head to Chang’an.
In the end, Man proposes and Heaven disposes.

You're so varicose vein,
Youth is gone again,
I suppose I'm still lucky,
I found my glasses, you see,
That's as good as it gets today,
Let's hear it for oldies, yah!