those shadows under your weary eyes
that change with every passing night;
line them like dreary curtains, hiding your many plights.
your head still plays that one tune;
and your shadows are like the dark side of the moon.

never the same, as if it were night in a field of rye --
accompanied by the pearly lights of the midnight sky.
the inky blackness of your conscious hemorrhage,
drenched in freezing waters, against the depths of your memory begin to effleurage.

which at once creates a hazy fog in your great ocean,
too still and opaque to make a single motion;
and those dark, glimmering eyes open with the golden sunrise;
warm and blooming, syrupy and glaze

swirling with auburn and chocolate haze.
i can never forget, and i will never regret.
you speak, you ramble; you and your cares;
and you breathe, breathing a mist into the cold air.

you wake, from your slumber in that freezing past,
stuck behind that window pane of shattered glass.
i love both of you; you and your other half --
the reason i break out in a severe laugh.
the dark side of your moon --

the sliver of light that breaking through.
your heavy-lidded awkwardness, a
shy smile, as you grip your coffee -
this winter chill in your bones, your meek and quiet authority.

the rose blooms in your face, when you quicken your pace.
the other is teeming with vigor. he is filled with a profound rigor;
eventually he will intrude,

forced to pay for his life through servitude.
he wakes in the dead of night to do what he believes is right;
he wraps himself in white armor, becoming the knight.
with crimson on his hands and
plum bruises on his knuckles, he retreats,

and so the hectic process repeats.
his trauma heals and dawn arrives,
and the other wakes up, believing the muddled disguise.
you lose track of your sleep, the days, the time;
your pain, the month, your mind.

your insomnia grows at your windowpane,
like a flowering *** of healthy nightshade.
and your crinkled, dusty flat,
along with your wrinkled kitchen mat;
is perfect for a lazy evening chat.

and though you may undergo many changes,
i will still love you and your many phases.

Autumn is here, the leaves turning pale.
Evening is here; the day slowly fades.
The falling leaves, the gloaming sun
The arched moon, the winter's turn
All singing a melody of revival
For death is necessary before life's arrival

look at the night sky.
see how the stars move,
and the moon changes.

growing and shedding.
cyclical
and never stagnant.

i want to be the same.
moving
and growing.

i am trying to mimic the moon.
but how can someone so limited,
achieve such growth?

how can i endure the loss
and still wait for the bloom?

Days feel like months and months feel like years but alas,
only minutes have passed
and I’m still in today
and tomorrow is yet to pass.
But I have tried to move on and be free
I have tried to be better than I am today than I was yesterday
But this war unto myself
Has only ruined me.
I don’t know when the wait will end
I don’t know when my life will begin
But if life is to begin then it can begin again tomorrow
But that’s not the point
That’s not what the wait is for.
I’m waiting to be free
To be unburdened from life’s destiny
I wish to move on to a clear beginning
But to begin again, means an end is to come
So I’m stuck in this endless spiral that goes nor up nor down
Just moves in rotation to complete this circle
But always begins again for me.

The waves are silent. The waves
don't move. Nobody wants to be here
and nobody wants to leave.

There's a man trapped
under his house with an alligator.
His wife does the thin space walk:
an olive, a cherry, and an onion.

She'd sensed his gaze and took off
her dressing gown. She asked if he thought
her bottom was too big, her mind too small.
He said a faded, faulted no.

He's stupid, but he'll catch on
sooner or later. He once saw a ray in her,
but she fell out of orbit. Waxing and waning.

She's got to be careful, after
the sleeping pills and gas. She knows
it's Wednesday because she
took her last pill on Tuesday.

Allowing the world she so painstakingly
built up to ignite and burn apart
in front of both their eyes.

The truth is I don't want to be a lingering after thought. A space that fills void. An unattainable purge of what you have been lacking. A comma in the break of a sentence, I've been in to many situationships to idealize anything less than romantic. To many almost & could have been something's. It's like a reflection of the sun but the heat never dissipates close enough for me to know it's real. The existence of it leaves my soul aching in hunger even though my belly is full. Maybe that's the difference of it, getting high off sugar and the other endorphins. One the body can sustain, the other just a flicker of a high that last as long as the burst of affection. To be desired is a supernova of lust. It's a star that burned out centuries ago but the light still fools you into believing it's present. To be loved is like the moon and all of its phases because even when the moon shows up in parts, you know it's wholly still there. Still yours. Still will rise again tomorrow.