I put her to sleep every morning with the birds.
My little blanket darling.
She sleeps while I brave the worlds agony.
My sweet blanket darling.
One day, her eyes told me stories of solitude.
She never actually slept while I was away.
Her eyes showed fatigue and weary.
My poor blanket darling.

Now she's laughing away the responsibility of her promise.
My little blanket darling ran away.
Our hearts are frozen in time from the moment.
My blanket darling lives on in my dreams forever.
While her body lay in the mental institution.
I  lay her away.
As I steadily go insane.

To,
The distant dream,

Accept my greet,
The time has come for us to meet,
Yeah!
I won't fear you anymore,
Coz this time I won't rest,
Coz this time I'll give my best,
Coz this time i'll fight no fight,
Coz this time I'll have full right.

Longing to meet you,
Yours admirer.

I'm falling down gently,
Gently into the void.
I know now slumber beckons,
But I work to keep my stride.

The lessons learned in life,
The ideas with which I've toyed,
Seem so minuscule in retrospect,
Before, before this void.

I used to care so much,
Anxiety was paramount,
What is all this going on?
The pain only surmounts.

I'm searching—
Hope begins to crumble.
My heart breaking—
I stagger and fumble on.
And, there,
Up upon this mount,
It’s brightness shines!
The light I see!
How foolish
—Blind!—
It was
—Of course!—
All along in me,
This slyly hidden, plain-view, visible key
Turning to unlock the secret of my ’I’ mystery.

It had always been but a flicker,
This firefly of my mind.
I stumble on now towards it,
Weariness defined.

Reaching out, I grasp it.
A soft smile brightens my brow;
I shrug off the shackling pain,
Rise from my burdened bow,
Standing up above the corner
Of one of this road’s many rolling bumps,
Where someone in the mirror once told me
I’d never even master the jump.

So I fly high now,
My destiny, the what I was searching for,
Clear in core, please—my people—
Prepare for all that I have in store.
Now I know,
Yes, I know for sure,
I will toil, toil nevermore.

I bought a few sprigs of lavender tied with yarn from a boy outside the bookstore during the brightest days of summer.

The small decoration lay on a stack of books by the bed, scent fading with the passing days, inches from my pillow.

Meanwhile I ran about dusting and polishing, fluffing and waxing, making everything nice.

At night I fell into sleep moments after lifting my feet from the floor, forgetting all I dreamed.

a poetic darkness clings to
the edges of the room
ageless in its mental aberration
all the years of its incessant whispering softly the sounds
of a life forsaken to a hunt for
all the things that can never be prized possession
all the things that forever slip through seeking fingers....

my face demonized in the mirror  
unchanged except by the years
still holds the taint and taste of her words
like a thick oily poison slowly seeping
from the soil of my eye
where such lovely dreams once grew
now only a parody of silhouette dark upon a shadow
the void form of a man against the cloudless gray sky

an emperor's tongue speaks regal
but the words spoken fall like black leaves from a black tree
dead and devoid of all aspects of a beautiful fall day
an emperor's tongue lavishly paints visions of such beauty to come
but like the footprints in newly fallen snow they are
doomed to fade in the sun
little lies constructed to tell the willing girl
that her satisfactions lay not in the mirror
but in the pit of some man's soul
in the vile places of lust and longing
her love to become a void form against the grandeur of starlight
her plans for the wedding now only faded ink written by a child

my face demonized in the mirror
I seek to choke out the words that would spell an end
to this mournful song
seek to extinguish the doubts and rages that haunt that image  
I am the one who has made this face in the mirror
carved it out of the stone in my heart
I am the one who sees its ***** lines its twisted fable
my hand slips to the light switch and
turns off the forever eating at my soul

I am weary but I cannot cease my toil
I have wasted enough time on frivolous pursuits
Yet they are my only respite from the world placed upon my shoulders
The dark softness of the night sky beckons me away from my work and wakefulness
But I cannot cease!
I cannot rest, no matter the personal cost! For the consequence of my failing shall be a much higher toll!
My future in turmoil
My family flummoxed
The joy of my life leeched away by ghoulish specters I cannot fight off, only bow before
And I want it all to end--yet I wish to live my dreams and fulfill my hopes!
Woe be to the laborer who serves the demands of those they love!
No rest seems unselfish, no indulgence is guiltless, the self is stripped away to become a slave of the labors of love!
O sleepless rest! O restless sleep!
How I long for the simpler days of childhood!
How I long for the sweet sleep of the innocent, to which I can never return!
Woe be to the weary soul!

There I stood,
a grown man, (or at least I like to think of myself as one)
shaking her hand,
her hands; dry, rough, hard,
and my hands had never felt so soft as during that moment;  so sheltered as when I touched your mother’s hands,
her hardened thenar, those callused fingers, flooded me with warmth in the midst of a December night,
I could feel her love,
those hands that laboured all your life for you,
those hands  that have toiled for you,
your mother’s hands,
the hands of love.