I miss you every day, as I pretend you never existed
It's the only way I feel ok, but my mind is twisted
I love you, I always will
I just hope feeling alright doesn't always rely on these pills.

I'm not ready to move on, my unconscious clearly shows me that
I'm afraid to go to sleep because I know you'll be there
and when I wake up, I just stare
blankly into the light of my clock, trying not to feel
disappointed in the fact that you'll never be here.

All night, I run from sleep to avoid those dreams I hate
but in the morning I scratch at the door of unconsciousness
begging it to let me back in,
because those dreams are my only escape.

The lilt of imagination
Turns quickly sour
Untoward, yet
Benign
My lapse into
Unconsciousness
Beckons the question...
A tapestry of truth
Against my wall of lies
But, if I breakdown
What will be left
But rubble?

You never see the world the way it is,
You've never felt cold, hard truth;
Your heart isn't whole, or close to it,
Though it's never been torn in two.

The time has come forth to ponder and think,
about the spiritual planes that are reluctantly unforeseen.
Of the dimensions that are surreal to those who use emotion and feel.
The mind creates an undeniable creation that disguises itself to be real.

Enduring and speculating on the thought of consciousness and love;
one will realize the reality of our minds perception defying the dogmatic breeding brawl.
Although our minds potential is finite and cleverly obscured;
we will begin to witness the marching of shooting stars so pure.

Imminently clear, we begin to reach a higher plane of degree.
Meditating to the point where we become one with the universe without plea.
Encompassing the ethereal and uncovering half-truths,
perceiving the ultimate correspondence intelligently and shrewd.

Where will one travel amidst the taunt of death and fear?
To a place that is all well too known, a herd of aimless tears.
Lacrimation will enlighten those when they have fallen in the solstices peak.
To experience a world that was previously known as a philosophical creation by the streams.

Metaphysical questions will mark its toll to the soul who learns to decipher no more.
Otherwise, contentions will cause despair and half truths will then have to bear.
Inducing a different consciousness to a degree not explored before;
one will embark on a alchemic journey of the mental transmutation to the inner soul.

Mental creation spurs the ****** of the universal degree of spirit and mind.
An illusion so concurrent to the law depicted within our eyes alter-mind.
Deception will avail to those who blindly believe they have prevailed;
when attempting to solve the riddle behind the creator of the tale.

By: Michael M. De La Fuente

1:07 a.m.
wake up
shake

it's foreign
my legs are being clung to
i just want you to let go
it's a beg,
it's a cry for help
in the back of a black suburban
a scary place
where headlights are not used
a hand cannot be seen an inch in front of you
but somehow my body is found
and you invade
without permission
the words to shout
"Please stop"

3:34 a.m.
wake up
shake

sitting on the rotting dock
the cloth i wear
falling through
the salty rain
burns my cuts
lashed
the Norman in the yellow boots
and the white beard
retrieves my soul
he is not the gangster
who disturbed me before

4:56 a.m.
wake up
shake

powering into the church
stumbling over the invisible crutch
nothing more strange
it's a place i've rarely been
all eyes are on me
they know i am the spawn
of the heathen
but all i can do is cry
into the open arms of the church goers
and explain my long travels
and running away
the horrid torture that has reached my city

6:21 a.m.
wake up
shake

the white beat up car
holds a young mom
with her baby
who just stares at me with envy
as if i hadn't just been hurt like she
my parentals were called
and i was on my way out
something the young mom seemed
to have never seen