I paint over
the true colors
that they show me.
But they blend
and I no longer know
what color it is.
It's a mix
and that is how
mixed signals are created.
They are not made by them.
They are made by you.

Sending all signals they possess the soul
Feel a jolt from clouds of lightning

This is all true I know
They have taken my soul

Replaced by something new
Just to get a new aspect view

Free the eternal soul within me
Not a question of why or what is with this

Songs I sing can not be replaced
The thought of that can not be erased

Things these days have no means to an end
I hope that someday there will be a another message I can send

Feeling the pressure I release a gift that will surface
Hoping someday something new will serve it’s purpose

They all confused me
Confounded because my talent is not lazy

Help me survive where I want to be
Because they all diluted me

its not a good sign when
you stop writing your words
for those that may be willing to lend an ear;
its not a good sign when
your computer doesn't recognize the hello poetry url
that used to be so deeply embedded into its system;
its not a good sign when
you feel your poems no longer have meaning
it is pointless to write anonymously to no one
its not a good sign when
you have to fluff your scripture
to make it more believable to readers,
or maybe yourself.

You're a satellite that relays pain
Synchronizing circles in my brain
While signaling shame
To come join the game

You present a mighty mystery
That makes my sanity history
From agony that is blistering
That's what your wit serves me

The ambiguity
Is slowly ruining
My innate ingenuity
Yet I must act intuitively

You're a satellite in the air
In desperate need of repairs
I ask to see your schematics
I'm told I'm being dramatic

I float through space and time
After losing this race of lies
Along with the grace of mine
While stuck in the pace of grind

Before too long I answer wrong
A one-sided game of ping-pong
And your attitude is singsong
Not caring if something's wrong

Outside of the Earth's atmosphere
The sun is to be feared
Because it doesn't care
I experience a solar flare
Then the gamma rays poke holes in my cells
Until I'm eventually in hell
With a satellite that can't communicate
Only ruminate
On information already gathered
So there is no room for me
But until an asteroid splatter
There will be signals I see

Oh, how nice it would be
To live supple minded fantasy,
Where subtle signals from the skies
Augment virtues of humanity;
To look upon the Gods and see
They've--relinquished all morbidity,
And as the evil within us dies
So too, the epic of tragedy.