my stomach is a ******
being knocked around in
a game of mocking
humor.

my wall was only made
stronger by your scorn
by your judging red eyes that
burrowed deep into
me.
my wall became taller
when you tried to figure my
heart for a criminal.
my wall became because i let you build it.
and now it is a house to
many birds that sing.

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'm confused so
show
me
who your
heart
              is.
i'm fragile so
show
me
what your
heart
              is.
i'm late so
show
me
when your
heart
              is.
i'm lost so
show
me
where your
heart
              is.
i'm young so
show
me
why your
heart
             is.
i'm found so
show
me
how your
heart
              is.

my friend asked me what i'm going to do in LA when i get to california. i told her how i am going to wander around aimlessly until i die. she hung the phone up on me. i didn't have the guts to tell her how i plan on doing nothing at all. i plan to sleep outside. i plan to get strung out. i plan to be in a place where i will never have to look at the same face twice in the same day ever again unless i want to. and i don't want to.

my mind is going dark. my heart is resisting the black. i am scared and you dont know im scared. ive cared. ive cared. it seems more people die in the summer. well its almost over. the fall of my fall reminds me of falling last fall. i cant breathe right now and i want to wile out so these **** know what my mind is really about. i can show you this death that my lungs fear. i am suffocating. i am making bad decisions and want everyone else to feel this **** i feel. my grandma doesnt hug me. and for that alone id pop you. try me.

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.

I was a banana slug
caught trespassing
in the center of your house.
I felt nervous and
out of place when
you found me and
put me in a jar then
stared at my slimy sunrise body.
I thought
surely this will be the end of me
I will be killed.
through the glass I spied
your heart beating
for me as you picked it up
like a carriage and
carried me back to
a turquoise valley that
was familiar and beautiful and
released me in the rain.
looking back I remember thinking
about what all I must go through
to get back inside your house.
because I loved the way you were staring at me.
the way your heart was beating for me was new.
and now that feeling is lost.

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?

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.

The world changes around me but not as I sit perched,collecting memories and organizing them in my thoughts that sprout up through cracks as would a **** in concrete. A dandelion. Not you, a rose, like in Tupac's poem. And i digress because thats what I do more often than not. We speak of our impressionist dreams that are just alike, but not yet realized. Not a one. Well one or two but that's it. And that's only a tip of an iceberg. Which is us in danger of melting like the rest of the revolutionaries along with all the changes occuring around us. Will our love change right along with us  and everything else? how will it be to be forty and married? Would we be content? would you go search for him? If you found god would you be done with me. Would you declare me a heretic if I didn't go to church and let jesus live inside me along with the rest of my collectibles. If you found god, would I pretend to have as well so as to not lose you. Hopefully, and isn't that all we are, a sack full of fast foods, hope and regrets. Nothing will go south or sour! We can't let it! Our love will survive all the ******, gods, alcohol, ******, alleys, concrete basketball courts, blacks in the ghetto, american presidents, economic revolutions, rapists, murderers, taxes, mortgages and regime changes. My tongue, along with my eyes, along with my lips, along with my fingers, along with my hair, along with my hair,along with my grey matter, along with my heart, does truly believe we will love longer, harder, deeper, truer and out last, out live, out happy, out joy, out defeat, out wit everyone. I told the elders we don't bother to pray. But we dream very well and not in the real world, not in their world, but in our world. The one we created for ourselves to fly in and out of rain clouds and swim in black water thats flooded on the inside of parking garages. I want to tell you things in a way that can convey myself and still be understood fully. I'm not sure if it is possible to get a ride, convey,write or paint my mind, my soul, my heart properly enough. but if anyone could ever understand my sore joints, and dances with death,it'd be you right? Because we are the same. we have been drinking from the same cup. and been dealt the same ****** hand but at different games. you are the lotus on your wrist and I am the owl in my throat and it means everything yet nothing to everyone else's big scheme. and still everything to ours. you are the only one here who understands why I think rain puddles with oil in them are beautiful.

please, may i run?
with a wind in my lungs enough to fuel a truck speeding down
the highway and headed west to a place where imagery and
songs make lasting impressions; even on those who have never been there.
please, may i run?
grow tired of only dreaming in my sleep and with
blank stares at walls during NA meetings listening to a
fifty year old child speak of his glory days.
Please, may i run?
i need to be somewhere in order to be and it's
gotta be far from here because here there is no being.
please, may i run?
until the souls in my shoes are no more and left unjudged
for their actions or lack of.

i want to thank you for letting your guard down.
i wont let you regret it.
i know your still letting some wounds heal.
i wont ever forget it.
the tremble in your voice, i know
will not compromise.
don't ever not
speak to me.
i am hoping
to stay cornered by
your truth.
i am hoping
to stay cornered by
your beauty.
our love is an architect,
carefully making plans,
drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes in the day
and drinking by himself at night
trying to separate the world from you and me.
baby, i've noticed the way
the sun reflects on your hair as
your hand runs through it.
i love your hair when it's messy
and you fuss about it.
i love to see pieces of your neck
when you look up at me,
right before your eyes trap me
giving away exactly how you feel.

you, you make my bones murmer.
you make em burn.
you make them yearn.
you make me afraid to sleep.
you make me afraid to steal.
you make me afraid to hurt people.
you make my main muscle twist.
your easier to love than any empty building or
endless railroad or
highway at dawn or
or sewer with lifewater.
i have walked around hours and hours before
just looking for a place to rest.
that feeling i got when i knew that a particular
place would do
thatd id be safe for a night
without anyone to creep on me or
rob and **** me or
call the cops on me.
when i lay down my head and i am
falling asleep surrounded by rust and
the smell of mildew
and ****.
a place where my memories wouldnt flood me
to the point of insomnia
and i could finally sleep
with no guilt or
regret or
fear.
you are that place.
a safe place to rest

your smell resides in my mind behind a door i didn't bother to lock up after all. its still in there though, collecting dust among other things. i was excited for you once. i was excited about you. i loved the tangles in your hair. i loved the way you looked up at me when i stood over you. i was scared to death and i felt like i was crazy. my mind was so fatigued and i shouldn't have said you were to young to really love or that i'd **** your dad. i loved you and i was sure of it. i felt so old and rusty. i wanted to be held like the child.

i saw you first
you watch me burst

time is not real unless you are an adult
monday ***** so bad sometimes i sleep under
tuesday's promise of money and dog food to
fix my lack of communication skills

i fall in right beside you.
pretend to know more than i do.
we share the same interest.
we know nothing together.
you died for a while.
then i wept.
man i'm tellin ya,
we will make it to oregon.
we will shoot up and
hit on all the pretty girls
we are going to live on the beach.
aimlessly walk around.
aimlessly fall.
aim less.

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.

a moment ago i was holding her hand and telling her that her hand was soft and beautiful and she said to me that my face was soft and beautiful and now i am thinking back on that...
if thats the case, i believe my face is a liar.
a misleader of sorts.
it leads people to believe that i myself am soft and beautiful.
i've been told i have very kind eyes.
that may be but i know the truth about myself and it really does boil down to fact that no one knows me.
except me.
not my mom.
not my best friend.
not my other best friend.
not my girlfriend.
not my sisters.
not my brothers.
people only know about me what i have chose to reveal to them.
( in that sense, i guess you can be whatever you want in this world.)
whether what i have revealed is true or not doesn't matter.
( and i guess some people are better liars than others. some people would try to lead you to believe certain things but they're bad at lying ((which i think means they are unintelligent because you have to be pretty intelligent to successfully mislead someone/everyone)) and you realize the truth about them that they are trying to hide)
my face is a liar.
it'd lead you to believe that i am kind, soft and beautiful.
there is a fraction of me i suppose that is.
say 9%.
but the rest is not.
i am in truth, a master manipulator.
i am a sociopath.

i wish we were
two quarters
smashed together on
a train track that
some pretty girl carries
around in her pocket and
leaves on her dresser then
ends up trading them to
her friend for some
markers during art class

a yellow bedroom
in the future
holds some promise
that joy inspired
smiles can hold
together things that
seem most important
and gotta be
since i have
put so much
stock in this
right along with
you yet your
tears last night
accompanied with your
voice quivering over
that machine struck
so much fear
and anguish into
my bones that
my marrow feels
pain and my
heart beats harder
and my lungs
become desperate enough
to make me
realize i am
no longer independent
you and i
are a part
of each other
even though we
are miles separated
with a feeling
of dehydration and
such a thirst
that can only
be slaked by
your everywhere hair
with a knot
and your eyes
that slay me
every single time
i dream of
them.

Brush your hair off your pretty face
Now I can see you smile
Are you real?
Or a dream that's lost it's place?
My mind's been gone a while.
Everything you see is alive
You're only as deserving as your weakest side
I've flirted with crazy for too long,
I don't have it all under control.
Everything you see is alive
You're only as observant as your weakest eye
I wonder if our lives were meant
to be aligned
I know you will leave
when the sun comes up,
so I think of ways to keep the sun asleep.
I love the tangles in your hair

our home was a secret
secluded from the the carnival and lights.
an orphan ( like my mind ) and
stale on the
inside.
the center was
pitch black and hollow.
except for our warm bodies
harvested deep in the middle
there was no life to it.
just us
listening to
an abandoned machine
sing us a song
that'd make our dog
scarlet cry.
i like to believe that we
created a pulse
for our home.
a heart beat created by our
unsure of love
and
my trembling hands.
just enough to shield us
from the magenta moon.

i want to walk around aimlessly behind your eyes so i can feel first hand what makes your heart so kind and warm like a mother's milk. i would get lost in what would look like a monet or rembrandt masterpiece painted in the prime of their lives or maybe the darkest days of their lives when they were so blue and grey only  a cup of strong coffee thats went cold could wake the foggy feeling of sleep induced by sleeping pills to get over the lack of boi that erases everything in life that is terrible until only you remain in my heart that has now slowed, become irregular and fragile. the anxiety from this separation that i am feeling makes me wish i could just bathe in your heart that pumps joy into me in such a way i become frightened because why should i feel so safe? i want to get lost in your mind. i want to drown in your heart.

my words, i know, are not enough.
as profound as i may think they are.
maybe if i could sing...
because i would sing to you.
then my thoughts and words would
defy gravity.
they would
be heavier and more stark
when they reached you.
outside the window of this bus,
the weather reflects my state of mind
the sun struggles to be seen through
the mess of clouds that swirl and
toil about.
am i the sun or the clouds.

i have a ******
in my wallet(why do i even carry a wallet)
that i'll never use
i cant talk to women
i can only look
and become bitter.

Some days I think I need nothing
more in life than a spoon.
With a spoon I can eat oatmeal
Or take the medicine doctors prescribe
I can swat a fly sleeping on the sill
or pound the table to get attention.
I can point accusingly at God
or stab the empty air repeatedly.
Looking into the spoon’s mirror,
I can study my face in its shiny bowl,
or cover one eye to make half the world
disappear. With a spoon
I can dig a tunnel to freedom
spoonful by spoonful of dirt,
or waste life catching moonlight
and flinging it into the blackest night.

who in history came up with the idea of a promise?
well, i'm having trouble keeping some of mine.
as a promise maker, i'd like to curse the promise inventor.
such a bad idea.

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.

try believing in things that seem impossible and make them possible. be like peter pan and refuse to grow up. refuse to be sad. and when you are, cast it along with you fear and anguish out on me. i will eat it. i will devour it until it disappears and is gone. don't you get it? please think ******* this.

just create a path that lasts for me; please?
one that's made of pinks and greens.
one that splinters my soul like a carpenter his hands.
it's clear i'm fading and
it's clear i'm faded.
how more obvious can it be?
my heart is as equally shy as my mind.
so just make **** easy.

silence enveloped every excuse
and doubt ive watered like
a plant that grew and silence
overcame and crushed
my enemies inside my
subconscious. never
have i had time stand
still before, until today,
while the world waited
for sarah and me to
finish kissing.

the best of your love is all i will ever want for,here on this earth. your's is unparalleled. keep me and i will keep you. i will keep your secrets and feed you mine. feast on my soul and i will devour yours. rest your voice on my shoulders and soothe my eardrums. our hearts, micro-fractured, are mending with our help and aren't we stronger than we realized? YOU BETTER START BELIEVING IN YOURSELF AS MUCH AS I DO OR YOU'RE GONNA MAKE ME MAD. when things are difficult we can just kiss. and lets make lots of love since the world is short of it. we've day dreamed and pictured our love in the future for six straight months and i don't believe we've come up short at all. i love the smell of the inside of your house. you've become my house.

i wish i could sleep as easy with impending doom at the creases of my mouth burrowing deep as a seed of doubt. i wish i were as fickle as a woman who's ideas and belief's change with every new lover. i wish i didn't feel the need to leave my i's lower case because i feel like a lower case and wonder if the reader would ever even pick up on it or is there ever even going to be a reader. Anyway go to sleep and i'll let my eyes dry out and itch because i'm scared to death of dreaming. i cant stomach the fact that we sleep a third of our lives or in your case half of it.

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.