In lieu of being fake, I don a glass mask.
Observed, a brittle basket case full of sass
blinded by the rays in which we bask.
A riddle whose answer you need not ask
because I am already clasped behind your back.
That itching thought
of which is oft ignored; through a mind it may bore and crack.
If judged so, daft recognizes daft,
realizes life lays down sordid tracks.
When elegance is noticed be appreciative of the act.

Wings spread; flappable;
something else now, as a matter of fact.

i've only ever locked lips with boys,
and although you're younger than most,
you're the man i want to kiss.

Eternity is every mans ambitious endeavor with woman of mine and child in hand. This utopia which emerges from love and greediness is my life’s paradox. My most eager wish of eternal life is bypassed by my sensitive tear canals my over sensitivity for life in this world which the universe has created for me. Ungrateful for this nonpareil chance, a life as an intellectualistic individual in a cosmos with 7.5 billion other intellectual fellow creatures. Despite it all my mind still desires to let life be and let go of the dream.

I’m a paradox.
I say I don’t care,
when I really do.

I say I don’t need someone
to ask me how I am,
while I am longing them to.

I say my voice matters
and act as though it doesn’t.

I want someone to know my emotions
when I haven’t told them
and never want to tell them either.

I want to be happy
but I think of sad thoughts.

I am lazy,
yet I am ambitious.

I crave attention,
love and support
but reject when it
comes in my way.

I am strong,
yet run back to the ones who hurt me.

I am a conflicted contradiction.

Warm like the sunset.
Brisk as November.

I lie between your thighs with meaningful intent.
Orange and yellow phospherence fills my space after you have left.

Dense air fills the area.
Smoke infiltrates my lungs
inhaling the poison, I become addicted.

The aura grows demented.
Brown and yellow.
Orange and green.
The haze is to be seen as if in a childhood dream.

Something quite familiar,
but nothing like I've ever seen.

Distillation of my soul.
What has once been lost,
is now sure to be found.

Distortion of the mind dominates the spirit.
The heart inevitably beats pure, white, innocence.

I'll judge myself more frequently than anyone else.
Passion explicitly rests in the mind.
My desires are a gift to me.
The sun setting will always be free.

my poems are so good that they're bad. they are infinitely deep and meaningful and therefore don't mean anything at all.