This theory is one of no meaning
A senseless kind of excuse
Something further than this
Deeper than we can comprehend
An ache a vacancy in our head
Filling the space in this silence
Too loud too vast for us to escape
Mixed into this lust and fear
Our out of sync lives broken dreams
A masterpiece of our miscreations

I was sad today;
Because you begged me
To think of your good points,
And I never told you any.

Rest assured there are many,
Very many, I would have liked
To have told you them
There and then.

I tell you so much about my past,
Quite a lot of which is conflictive,
As if several mes
Were struggling for supremacy.

Much of the time,
There was a pretty normal me;
Oh don't get me wrong,
I was always an attention-seeker,

But I really do genuinely struggle
To make sense,
I really do genuinely struggle
To make sense of me in the past.

“He hit me while I was down.”

Well, maybe you should get back up.

“But what if he hits me when I’m up?”

Well then, maybe you should pay attention more.

“But I didn’t do anything to him!”

Ah, you finally understand how the world works my friend.

This a "plain simple summer weekend,"
A vastness of terrain awaits us here,
Clean skies and cool breezes send
An unending limitless blue so clear,

This is it, the mountain spring and pine,
One lost lover, through thick and thin over
The years and never forget this moment,
The land only belonging to the great mother.

Like a forbidden island of delights it awaits,
Valley and fields and palm trees, streams,
Into hidden forests and meadows, our new beginning,
Forever...! Through all the years light now dimming,

But it's just the same, light and dark...everything disposable
Accept this image I have of you holding onto me, the spark,
It seems now we are all this pose-able, like some kids toys,
Not interested to take a walk past the rush, even if it's a safe park.

Love now lost, why? Just to be cast on the rocks of tomorrow,
It does seem that death started with something of sorrow,
It does seem everyone is addicted to the next big craze,
Save your pretty penny for the rainy day, sunless haze.

It's all about you, even when it's really about me, I'll make
Everything change, I promise, give this art a chance it makes
Perfect sense if you care to pretend my pointlessness matters,
If I sat there and served everyone, a security guard, car salesman,
I would matter, but no, I'm worthless because I hate those things
I would rather  die than carry on being a waste for not liking
These %#@#$@ jobs that they keep shoving in my face!

As I glance at the stop sign one last time,

*BASH...the cars tires still spinning...

I'm thinking again
Feeling again
Thinking too much
Feeling too much

I feel like a storm,
A hurricane,
My mind is...
Collapsing

I don't understand
But in the end,
I never have
I never will

I'm just trying to understand
Something my eyes see
That my heart doesn't
A new story,
My mind is making,
To make sense of it all

Sense
It's one of those things that just needs to be knocked into you sometimes.
Sometimes it's knocked into you by the people you least expect by reasons you would have never guessed.
So thank you to anyone who knocked sense into me.

I see you too much
I hear you to much
I smell you too much
I taste you too much
I feel you too much

That you became my
6th sense

I wrote this in the dark.
Because the last poem stripped
from the book binding and ripped
from my chest was not valued at
the utility company's worth; a two-hundred dollar bill is not easily disbursed when each
poem nets zero cents per word.

A candlestick will
dematerialize faster than
a wax seal on parchment -
one that establishes the epoch of
Civil Rights -
this is a correlated falsehood
of fixed rents in a gentrified neighborhood.

The plus-side of *******
the poor to cater to the wealthy
is that when the new occupants
move in, and the stainless steel
refrigerator is moved in, the empty
box is placed at the curb, and with
the right imagination it can easily
become a home for two.