I better not crash someone else's car
Or ruin someone else's life
Balance they say
It a learning curve they say
Wiggle your nose
While rubbing your tummy
Im tired of being tired
Of never being good enough
Never pretty enough
Or funny enough
I stutter
Stumble
Bump into stuff
It's a curve now they say
But it's not a learned one

what about the future?
what about the past?

well, what about the present?

right now there’s so much going on,
like how i can feel the vibration of the mower
in the distance,
the little scratchy nubs all over my body.
i’m trying to see from behind the scratches on my glasses
but my eyes are so drawn to the 9000 shades of color that
are so pervasive and sensitive.

and your talking is hummed and hushed,
like your morals,
because you fail to practice what you preach,
and what i’m figuring out in the present is that
i’m doing the same exact thing to myself maybe slower,
now, it seems, but
somehow even quicker.

and the clutches of that Mazda clutch we crashed
when we were fourteen are crouching to my level,
trying to say hello but all i hear are bubbles
in the pond where your little sister tried to drown herself.

the spiraling candy slide has me nauseous and ready
to spew chunks all over mom’s new ornaments,
and the plane changes again, the doctor’s office
and white gloves reaching inside my mouth to shut off
my anxiety, my perplexity,
to show me the worm inside that’s making this happen.


but all he pulled out was my brain,   entirely whole,
and i snatched it from his hands
and smothered my hunger
with such a satisfying snack,
fingers included!
                            what the **** did i just do?              Was it that Demon called Panic that, personified as moi,
took me on that train
without my permission?
                                    
                ­i really will never know what it is   that i have
               that is so special enough to be able to see
all 9000 colors in the spectrum.

they’re so vivd, it scares me, honestly,
                               and in the dark i feel fine, because there’s nothing
to see, but,
in the light, for real this time,
i wish somebody would take out
my eyeballs,
                                          and walk me like a
                              dog for the rest of my life.

To exist in the light,
we must be mindful of the dark
and every shade in between.

A close friend of mine who has depression tells me she knows that it can be difficult not knowing.  She says it was why she was afraid, because the happiness she felt was arbitrary and that sooner or later it would be replaced with soul-******* and mind-numbing hopelessness. Too happy, meant that it was a step and crash away from being too sad. Every good feeling had a sour ending.

But I’ve realised that such is the rhythms of life, and the balance that keeps us in check. This is the human condition where compassionate and noble people also experience shame, wounds and discarded pieces no one wants to see. People can hold breathtaking beauty while inexorable darkness runs through their veins.  

Light and dark both hold the innate understanding
that one cannot exist without the other.
It is for the same reasons that we must let ourselves have access
to the full range of our humanness.

The poignance of a well lit room
overshadowed by impending doom
the effervescence loom
the smoke screen hues
lyrical debauchery of the cacophony of the bees
the monotony of human bee-ings
the trees sway unrest
the roots melt with soot
the oaks bent their heads
raise a white smoke flag in silent victory,
Where are we lifeless or livid again ?
Are we questioning dreams of ourselves?

These veins **** as a toad hops,
onto the gravel of a broken pavement
from a shallow pool of naked warmth,
somewhere deep hidden under these falls,
a white sleeve of corporate piety;
human mirth of bilious greenery,
crackling like bones,
the froth of jealousy pools
as teary eyes roll over
rapid.eye.movement sleep,
it lurks behind crimson bushes,
eyes glinting like headlights,
glitter fury.

You’re an abomination to every blood-poem
I’ve surmised so far, no matter how far.
Your eyes match the size and shade
of my backyard moon orchards.
A satiable reflection of what we used to be,
In a spectrum of green.
I cease to be.

Each mind is situated on  the spectrum of belief and reality.
Both ends suffer in their search for the truth.
The man who spends his life navigating the spiritual realm.
He attempts to find the greater purpose for everything.
Every blade of grass, each eroded stone a symbol of something bigger.
The nuances of life analysed and expanded upon to their very limit.
Given meaning in the name of God or the foreshadowing omen of an individual.

The man who traverses reality, grounded in science and logistics.
His mind filled with hypotheses.
Observing outcomes to explain the inexplicable.
He fits his grass and stones into the puzzle of a greater system.
In doing so he is God and the purpose for all things he assigns.

Both men strive to be the voice heard by the masses.
Their findings recorded, read, believed.
In the end does it truly matter.
Two lives spent.
Kneeling, yearning for some kind of affirmation that their time was spent correctly.
That they added anything to the greater scheme.
Pages upon pages filled with every detail in a grain of sand.
The end comes, the ink runs, the pages wither to dust, knowledge lost, purpose forgotten.
The world keeps turning.

miss you
i miss you very much
my crystal tears on the ground echoing spectrum
my cancerous conscience misses you and lays ****** in your eternal love while i decay towards my retribution of infinite hate
its been 20 million years and i still feel kindred,
like petals falling! Shadows calling!
and I can only live as a shade of a ghost

all i wish is to go over days when you were close to me
Those are memories I've carried all the way
So I swear to all the angels
Should they bring you back
I would kneel and thank’em all until the end
Oh I, I miss you


to my beloved spectrum
wish you were here to end this melancholy......

Your creativity is showing me a spectrum of colors I myself had never seen,
and though overwhelming,
it's mesmerizing all the same.
The shades of your voice are enough to get me lost in the art,
the cool and warm tones of your words leave me wondering just what season it is.
Similar to the Wisconsin weather I endure daily,
so warm and embracing one moment,
nearly as cold as the deadest of winter the next.
You told me your worry about yourself because of how your mind works.
That over the last two years,
it has not mattered who we've seen,
what we've endured,
we always come back to this.
And can I just say that
I never thought I'd be in this kind of relationship.
Late night phone calls and
distanced "I love yous"
followed by confessions I fear I'll never admit once the line goes dead.
We always joked we'd marry when we were younger,
but the reality of it is becoming realer than I'd ever imagined.
Through it all, I just want you to know that
I wouldn't mind getting lost in your voice one day.
The spectrum you show me,
almost as vast as the space between you and I.
And yes, I really have thought about this-
because I consider you my best friend
And that's something no amount of distance will change.

I've got a block. It belongs to somebody named Writer.
I'm not getting too far in this life I'm living, either.
My head is swarming, but my pencil is dull.
I guess this **** will have to stay in my skull.
I'm not a kid, but I don't think I'm a grown up.
All of my life, I feel I've let myself be shown up.
I've got it in me. But I guess I've got some demons.
Any shine that I have, they dull it out, "yeah Syn, keep dreamin."
I face my fears, but they always seem to stay with me.
They've been my longest companions, sad reality.
There's a spectrum inside me, but I touch both ends.
I try to live my life as both, but they just cannot blend.
I wanna Rest. And if I'm lucky it'll be In Peace.
But God said to me "Syn, you're not much help deceased."
I met Kurt Cobain. Told him the feeling's mutual.
To finally mute the thoughts I know unmutable.