am i good or old?
I am a liar
seeking truth.
A hermit traveler
freeloading on
souls.
I need sleep
but hate
watching
my crazy dreams
roll by.
I am hungry
and
would eat your
heart
in order
to better
understand you
and
care more than  the
size of my hand's
capability.

I wonder what you are doing this
very moment as I sit vulnerable and lonesome
a million miles away from you and
your smiling eyes that have an effect on
me in ways even the stars will never
comprehend because they have never
laid next to you or sat impatiently
waiting on a text from you.
You are the exception to everything on
this earth that leaves a bad taste in
my mouth and makes me spit at
the very thought of not knowing you.
you mean mountains that move to me.
you are the best that makes me want
to be better at moving mountains so
that i may become I and get back
to the place where nothing is needed
because at least we have each
other on this big pile of trash.

my ink pen vomits on lined paper, tender cuts of beef
unable to be kept down long enough to be properly digested.
my words embarrass me.

you tossed
your answer
at me
cool
and casually.
even the
way you
tell me
no
invokes images
of god
blessing me.
singling
me out
among the rats nashing
their teeth.
I adore
your voice
It is
a song
for my
soul.

I have become
an enormous
nervous shipwreck.
too distant to
create what I
feel.
Eyeing the beautiful
and
missing out on
chances to
cooperatively fashion
love
        and
                 beauty
to be
birthed in a world
of mud.
you are
death in a glass
that has me so
scared of losing.

your sadness is my shame and
I seem to understand it
ok enough.
I have noticed a change in
you since
last year.
I recall in Beech Grove
how you were loathe to
steal.
I believe I have
witnessed this world
change you a
little.
I went through it too.
just sooner.
so exactly what is
the world
doing
to
us?

how often does anyone go to sleep smiling?
i really want to smile more.
i feel fine.
i feel good.
watching you hang the sun every morning and
take it down and hide it at night,
summer's come and gone already.
its gone
again once more.
you wanna know one of the reasons
i know there's not a god?
there's plastic surgeons.
insecurity exists.
the city never lets me sleep
though i never really try.
sleep means nothing to me.
dreams mean nothing to me.
i express my sadness with anger
typical boy
i don't even know how to cry
there's times i know i am supposed
to be crying in front of someone
and can't no matter how hard i try.
even if i want to
even if i  need to
and i wonder if people think i'm heartless or
are they wise enough and experienced enough
to recognize that i am only a mad little boy and
thats why i don't cry like a little girl.
you ever cry for a long time and then finally are able to stop and breathe,
your tears dry and your eyes are puffy,
throat full of snot and it's hard to breathe?
that physically exhausted feeling you get,...
that's how my spirit feels all the ******* time.
plastic surgeons actually exist.
there's sad little sixteen year old girls
who get made fun of for having small *******
so her her parents pay for implants
and a doctor gladly takes their money
and gives the sixteen year old girl fake *******.
this kinda **** actually happens.