Absence is a strange occurrence,
a shapeshifter manifesting
in the most trivial things.
A presence where there is none.
Something never entirely gone.

There is some kind of soft magic
in the way your hands glide
across my skin, half knowing,
and half discovering,
deciphering,
decoding all that I am.
The way you go straight to the heart
of the matter, yet in doing so,
you're perpetually awed both by
your new findings and by the
remnants of stardust you left
behind, last time.

Say it;
God doesn’t make mistakes

Talk to me in the language of atoms
tell me that divided is a myth
yet life goes on riven

Tell me that we’ll still roam the same sky
even if we separately collide
even if we don’t make a sound

That our destruction is beautiful
even when shatters is all there is
that remnants are proof of existence

Say we existed, existed but never lived
tell me how we ended the moment we started
tell me that time is flawless

But lie to me about relativity
I swear that’s how I stop rearranging the stars
to alter our destiny.

how can i forget your love?
when my skin remembers your hug
as if it was burned by your own smell
how can i unlove you?
when in my ears your voice echoes
as if it was recorded long time ago
how can i erase your name?
when it was carve in my smooth-papered notes with my blood,
with a promise that you will remain.

Everything feels fake
While I try to reintegrate
I'm so expanded and 3D is so contracted
I'm not even turned on, I'm not even attracted
The way people live, the way people see
3D thinking is a waste of my energy
I'm unenthused by the boredom of this plane
Everyone wants to be in control, everyone wants to stake claim
Stick with profound, stay away from profane
Chill like a tree, step away from the propane
Don't set fire to yourself and your path
Give people room to breathe, no one cares about your wrath
People are so preoccupied with looking like they're cool
But in reality they're nothing but a tool
Now don't get it confused
With something you can use
It's someone that will abuse
They don't care about your views
They only care for what they choose
Which is something where they win and you lose
What is this place with billions of minds
With trillions of thoughts that will be our demise
Self loathing, hatred spewing from one mouth to the next
There's rarely anything spiritual about modern day ***
There's no making love, just hurry up and ***
There's no facing problems, just drink beer and ***
How did I get here, is this really what I have to see
I know what my purpose is, to show people how to be
Not like a preacher, just hand them the key
I know the truth and I live by example
Come see me and I'll give you a sample
Some fall in love when they get a taste
The rest run away in all their haste
Thinking that they're better and smarter and cool
But running from truth just makes them a fool
There's a place and time for what I have to say
But it's not for everyone and it's not everyday
People who hear me are the ones who are supposed to receive
They have a greater purpose if they're able to believe
Knowing there's so much more than what we can see
Go beyond the physical, peak into 5D

There is a quilt on the bed in Shea's room,
Pink, red, blue, green, and violet,
Lace and stripes and polka dots,
White pillowcases with crisp corners.

There are books on the shelves, different genres,
Stuffed in sideways and upways and frontways,
old fantasy, thrillers, adventure,
Smudged ink in their yellowed margins.

There are papers on the desk by the wall,
Poems and Post-its and signatures,
Cardstock cut into star-shapes
Journal entries and unfinished sentences.

The closet is empty in Shea's room
Cobwebs and dead ladybugs lie still
A lamp has a cord around its middle
No breeze stirs the air; the curtains are closed.

There should be music in Shea's room.
There are songbooks, yes, but no hum of the heater
No branch scrapes the window outside
When a storm comes, the raindrops fall without rhythm
No longer are things made in Shea's room.
The colors are faded in Shea's room.

They say that there's something in Shea's room
Memories and fragments and pleasant dreams
They say stories came alive and still linger
Seeping through the cracks of the wooden floorboards
Horses graze in green pastures in Shea's room.

But I know what's really in Shea's room.

There's a year's worth of dust coating Shea's room
Not a thing has been touched for months
There's no Shea to be seen in Shea's room
Since she headed for the hills and never came back
There's no life and no soul in Shea's room
Shea's room is an abalone shell
The inner shine scrubbed away by disuse
Only shadows survive in Shea's room.

There is nothing alive in Shea's room.

Just an empty closet
And books
And Post-Its
And ladybugs
And remnants