I had such a great thought
but its gone away now,
never to be heard from again.

What is love?
Asked the snail to the to the bird,
Does it come from above?
Do you see it in the world?
Can you find it with your eyes?
Does it look a certain way?
Does it come in a disguise?
Or do you see it straight away?

The bird was silent for a while,
He thought about his trails,
When he answered with a smile,
He said "Well, little snail".

You know the breeze that blows?
Gives you goose bumps on your skin,
And the water when it flows,
Like the motion felt within.
Its like the fire when it burns,
Sometimes it can be scary,
When the passion suddenly turns,
That is when you should be weary.

Little snail I'm about to,
Tell you what love really is,
This answer is for you,
So shh and listen to this..

Its giving someone the power,
To completely destroy your soul,
If ever things go sour,
Your inner warmth will turn cold.
Your love will take a piece of you,
And nurture it forever,
But nobody can choose,
Who their love will endeavor.

The snail started to worry,
Said "Will i ever find it?"
Should i start to hurry?
I'm probably right behind it!

The bird let out a laugh,
And said "Oh no, don't stress"
Love will find you on your path,
When your time is best.

I never had a thought that wasn't preceded by ten
confused by five
seconded by none
writing them down feels impossible
like choosing your favourite line from your favourite song or fully comprehending what it is about the beat that makes you move

my thoughts don't flow freely
they scatter and smash
cascading like the great flood without even a paper ark for respite
structured without form
prone to sink at the slightest wave

my thoughts misbehave
run riots
race wolves
some fly off to the ever after
and the darkest hover round like distant drones
a distraction
a constant buzzing
a worrying sight

I don't think I'm doing it right
I'm not supposed to think
just write

but my thoughts won't do what they're told

You are different
Or unique
Not only in queue
But also in view
If you can do anything
To many things
With its simplest way
In somewhere
To let it know
To someone
In sometime
Is something
Great
In everywhere
With everything
In the surrounding
Of everyones

It’s crazy
How you can think you’ve
Figured it out.
But really,
You’re more confused than
Ever before.

every time i open my mouth

someone makes me feel small

if my feelings aren't valid

why should i even speak at all?

In the false spring, there was light

                                                               Epiphany

                               Eureka in technicolor

But blinders above centrifugal spokes
                     scattered through prisms
           a deflection of armor
And
                  
                                   The rain came.

                                                                                       Light remained.

But what previously perceived
                       as vibrancy
was shattered in repeat streams
                       of disbelief
over every evil stitch seamed
                       in the fabric of my clothes
                                                                     And Rose-

Colored glasses gave way
                                                without rest
                external tempest
                                                with self-inflicted misery
I could not leave.

                                                                    And now I see
that the foyer of this love
                                               was not chromatic
                                               was not prismatic
                    though gaudy, flashy this all-encompassing
Prison of color
                                  was nothing but
           mediated, alternating, monopolizing
                                  preoccupying
                                                                    Shades of Blue.

                And then there was you.

The false spring melted down
                    to fragments in cracked glass
Wiped my blood from broken mirrors
                    no longer asinine and crass
Still mentally impounded
                                                 in emblems au courrant
Took a sip from poisoned drips
                                                                   just one more scar to flaunt

But every day in smaller strides
                                 the forage cleared and scorched
The winter came with sleet and
                           Rain
                                                             another touch to tortured

And as the ice begins to melt
                       and false spring lays to rest
With you there are no problems except
                                                                         where to be happiest

I hear the tone of a thousand galaxies. Only sweet angels shed whimsical tears

    Some thoughts form bubbles in the mind, and with a pop, they are gone. Prancing further and further from the fingertips of those who wish to comprehend them.

      They still their breaths and try as they might, halt their lungs but thoughts are fickle things that only come when one does not call for them. This mind experiences assorted thoughts, some plunge like rain from the sky, rapidly and frigid, with no notions of passing by.

While others are sweet and delicate murmurs, some thoughts hold nothing but lie full of animosity and self-hatred, there are those few certainties that cling to our senses like moist cloth on heated summer days.

       And there is a singular truth that none can deny. Through these sights, soaring belts of asteroids and the birth of newly hatched nebulas can be seen.

     For these gazes see freshly pickled specks of lights dispersed across the realms and heed the sounds of a thousand galaxies.

And in these galaxies, holds dust and nothingness