you're an artist, truly you are.
you took my body and made it your canvas,
smoothed my wrinkles and unfolded my ends,
you painted and painted, stroke upon stroke
poured love and tender care into each flick of your wrist.
till one day, you stopped.
artists block, you called it.
no inspiration, my fault.
your smooth strokes turned to angry screams
crumpling and ripping each page of me,
stabbing my canvas, torn with headaches
so yes, you are an artist.
and now I know why I can no longer draw.

I keep our memories
Locked in a box,
Hidden in my mind.

Like you keep
Your love for me,
Hidden in your heart.

She's not me,
But neither am I
Without the piece
You took from me.

We never fished
Our puzzle;

We never finished
Our story.

Our love ended;
It was tragic,
It was a blessing.

I sat there, amongst the oak trees
as breeze tickled my face and cheeks
danced around me like a girl in her teens
sun rays played pickaboo behind the leaves
my eyes bared their childish tease
i was alone, the last man on earth
as if i could hold the girth of life
like i was holding my knees in my arms
everything was there while nothing was there
was it a dream? i'm not aware

the barker in charge
is sniffing markers
& the dog's the one
in the shock collar.

good god.
I'll come back

tomorrow.

galapagos, I'm sorry.
rocketship jalopy
wrote a handbook on
banana boat cutthroat
reconnaissance exotica,
abominable
beast of tropic atrophy
broke folk casualty engulfed
in telescopes & TV shows

being monitored thru a monocle
the theatrical apathy & topical misanthropy

can anybody understand me?

Are you afraid?
Are you ashamed?
Are you with doubts?
Are you hiding something?
Are you keeping something?
Are you sure of what you doing?
Are you confused?
Are you insecure?
Are you giving up?

Tell me, what's the matter ?

I want to leave it unfinished because then no one will get hurt

I remember the pain,
The gut-wrenching pain-
That consumed
Me
I remember the quiet that followed,
The dead silence-
That soothed
Me
The sound of your voice,
A voice that had used-
Me

My book has empty pages
that only you can write.
I'll turn them, leave them blank.
I'm giving up the fight.
I could search forever
and wonder what they'd say.
But time will leave them empty-
words gone, just as those days.
Still my heart will wonder
if I m in your book?
Did I leave some pages empty?
Do you ever take a look?
The story is unfinished,
it's trapped in times before.
But words I cannot read
will echo evermore.