It’s the kind of subtle trickle
That turns the asphalt into a glassy mirror
Ripples, ripples, ripples
Over it like a black pond
The silver lining of each little droplet
Streaking the sky with shades of gray
The streetlights cast an amber glow
Upon the shimmering mist
Hiss, hiss, hiss
Against your stinging flesh
Turn your face up towards the darkened sky
Let the rainfall and streetlights wash away the dust
The dust of the souls you carry on your lips and cheeks
Etched into your back and palms
Their burdens may cause you aches and pains
Let the rainfall and streetlights wash them away
Rainfall and streetlights
Rainfall and streetlights
An urban confessional
Where the sky leans in to listen
As every perfect drop of water hits your skin
It’s the sound of a cleansing
Only you can comprehend
And although the hope of purity may have been swept away
by the wind of unfixable mistakes
It’s still the belief alone in possible redemption
That keeps you from relenting to temptation
Drink up the tears of the sky, child
You are forgiven
You were always forgiven
After all
Paths were made to be strayed from
Straight lines are mundane, they all look the same
And never give a little boy glass when you haven’t taught him
how to grasp what’s right in front of him
When he drops it
It’s a dangerous job
Picking up the sharp shattered pieces
Do not make him do it all alone
Yes, inevitably you will cut yourself
On the broken shards
Crimson teardrops
If they tumble from you
Do not distrust your calluses
You made them through your own hard work and suffering
But they can only do so much for you
Remember your skin is a shell not impenetrable armor
So it’s best to avoid the things you know will cut unnecessarily deep
Bleeding is just another way your body assures you that your heart is still beating
Looking up from the gutter the universe awaits you child
Do you not realize what’s at your fingertips?
Infinity
So don’t give in just yet
Let the rainfall and streetlights heal you
Drip drop, drip drop
Let them bathe you in warmth
Radiating
Let the rainfall and streetlights take you away
To a better place
Wherever that may be

There is wet sand in my veins
and I’ve never seen the ocean-
but I thought I saw it in your eyes.
Maybe I was only trying to find
the salt water
to help me float.
You were silken yet solid, a work of art
I felt I did not deserve.
Yet under every glistening
oceans’ waves
swims monsters and demons
we cannot see
or the pressure will crush us.
I am a cyclone
twisting in every direction:
dizzy, destructive, and dying.
But I am still. Too still.
Calm before the storm.
Calm before the storm.
If this is calm, god please
let me dissolve…

Branches twisting in my head, stiff with frozen dew
-Things I maybe should have said and words I thought were true.
Branches crowding all the rooms it's hard to find my way
We fell apart like fallen leaves in autumns cool decay.
These trees were once like works of art that hung upon our wall
until the frames all fell apart - we both just let them fall.
And what was left were skeletons of what was once serene
I thought that I could love - but tell me, what does that word mean?

I'm trapped.
Trapped like a rat.
And he is the house cat.
We live in New York,
which is to say,
we live in chaos.
We like to dream big,
but we don't follow through.
Afterall, a cat will attack a rat because it's a rat.
The way of our world.
A beautiful hurricane of a vicious cycle.
When it rains,
it pours.
You and I are a perfect example of no pain, no gain
but the gain is really so miniscule that this game,
Mr. Cat,
seems like there is truly no glory in winning.
A rat can try to run from a cat, and very few escape.
If I could evade the cat and leave New York...
I have the time to contemplate...
Could there be a better existence in which I am a) not being chased, attacked, or trapped by a cat, and b) free of the noise and chaos of New York?
I have been in this corner for awhile now.
His patience is everlasting.
He guards the safest escape route.
Cat's are smart.
There is, however, a crack in the wall.
But it would be a tremendous fall.
A chance, perhaps, this rat could scale the brick wall of the apartment building,
down 10 floors to the alley and scurry scurry scurry far far far away.
Wait.
He is...retreating?
Is this a trick?
No, it seems I've bored this tired, old house cat!
This is my chance to leave, lickety-split
out through the hole behind the welcome mat,
that rests against the south wall.
I peak my head out of the crevice -
there seems to be no cat.
I run. Scurry scurry scurry.
Hurry hurry hurry.
Too late. It was a smarter trap.
Retreat! Retreat!
His teeth sink into my hind leg.
I squeak, I thrash. I poke him in the eyes with my sharp nails.
He releases me and I hobble scurry to the crack.
The cat is attacking the wall.
Furious.
Next time, he won't allow me to fight back.
There is no point in staying here, afterall.
I will take my chances on the wall.
Out the hole, brick edge by brick edge I cling and claw my way down.
....
I made it.
...this is a free rat.
There is no cat.
There is still noise, anger, people everywhere;
shouting.
This is not where this rat wants to be, either.
Out of New York.
That's what is desired.
The cat has left me with wounds,
and memories of torture.
I will go, and heal, over many of moons,
and find peace in my future.
Run and run and free free free.
So it wants, so it has done, so it will be.

i tore apart a white rose today
i tore apart
innocence
purity
spirituality
sympathy

how ironic.

i saw a tan old station wagon chugging down the road
i saw
passion
fear
excitement
beginnings

i look at you
i do not see
love
care
fondness
strength

i see a corpse.

I dedicated each shade of sky blue to him
with every darkness I remember my heart's aches
but the luminescence of light blue
with the sun shining life into my eyes
reminded me of his beautiful soul.

A sea of nettles and nails that scream their injustice at you
People who seem like they've shaken off their prickly outsides and their hatred
Turning to congratulate them
Embrace them
Before you find the truth beneath their pillowy covering
Nails can be blunted and nettles can be softened but they remain below your surface,
Waiting for the right moment to be sharpened and grow back their stings

I see your injustice and I raise you my peace
It hurts to tear out your nails and to burn off those nettles
But oh god does it hurt more to walk your tender, soft body through that forest of pain

What is beautiful in San Francisco?
Nothing.
In this city we are all ***** sinners looking for a sweet distraction of purpose.
What is beautiful about San Francisco?
Everything.
In a place where desperation meets innovation, we give birth to skyscrapers, art, music, joy, hate, ***, love, and positively shining ideas. However essential to our existence and our sanity, these things are ugly because they stem from us and are therefore destined to warped, mangled, stretched, killed, and forgotten. But San Francisco tries on, steady as her bridge, to bring people to the enlightened kingdom. But we dark inhabitants are fated to lose the battle; for she cannot help us rise above the pull of the flaws of man.
This is the story of me.
And of Him.
And of San Francisco.
The story of opportunity for a new life, and an unavoidable failure.