I have the sniffles
Because i didn't take precaution.
I have several sweaters
But they didn't sell in auction.
So I ventured outside
into the frost an'
got the sniffles
because i didn't take precaution.

Spinning on the north pole.
Truth be told, it's being pulled
in all directions thus the spinning inflection.
A prosaic misdirection.

4 cardinal directions but when they conflate
you get eight.  If you prorate
in-between you get sixteen
directions you can take.

The only mistake you can choose is standing in place.
At the pace your face is rotating on your flesh case,
your bones will displace. your mind will efface
from it's designated space.


Don't be a waste. Move along.
Pick one of the 16 directions you can take
Whichever one you pick is the road you belong.
Just get to where your going before your swan song.

Remarkably ineligible scribbles
like a doctor's short hand.
Every so often we peer over the edge of our hearts'
paper bound representation
and catch eachother's eye.

Its that moment.
When our gaze meets
we don't need to see to understand.
Actually, doing it in the dark is part of what makes it exciting.
In that moment
when our glance
makes our worlds collide
within our irises

you strip.
shedding off the plates of armor
hidden in your sweater dress and scarf
your thigh-high boots, arm-length bracelets
and the baggy beanie so elegantly
laid upon your head
Twirling proudly,
exposing every twist and turn,
every pothole and hill.
These roads I have yet to travel.
Still I can feel my chain mail unravel.
We stand there exposed.
A queen without a crown
and a king without a throne
and our kingdoms unite under the banner of white sheets
and blue lines that define our bodies, hearts and minds.

Its just a moment
then its  back to scribbling.
Smiling and snickering
and silence occasionally interrupted by
Trains & Sirens
Its better than ***.
Really, it is.
Just to know my muse is at the end of my nose.

I am too afraid of feeling to talk to you

I will admit that I still love you very much.

Truthfully, I really want someone to be honest with me

I talk to inanimate objects more than to than real people

I know and understand a lot more than I show.

I honestly do not believe I'll live to be 30

I push people away because I have terrible abandonment issues

I constantly shake even when I try to hold still.

The only way I'm capable of crying is through laughter

I go far out of my way to avoid people.

Who ever knew
my best friend
would be a pen?

Yes.
I know.
It is irrational for me to think like this.
I poke holes, second guess
and jackhammer at my own foundation.
But, you see, I do care even when
I come off as crass or I dishearten
your image of me.

I
Just
Can't
Stop
Myself

These destructive feelings
and urges towards relationships
are deep rooted in a fear
of abandonment.
I'm a battered man.
Batting below average.
Yet, every chance I get
I bunt or try to get hit
because that's more comfortable to me
Than swinging and missing.

But I do care. I really just don't know how to show it.
I hold on too long to brief moments
that seem to pass from memories
as if I stole them. I'm just nostalgic.
It's the little things that are big to me
and the silly stuff that resonates profoundly.

I do understand though.
The burden of my depression
rests solely on my shoulders.
It's not something I can brush off or
roll over. I just hope that you all
bear with me as I tunnel my way
out of this insanity.

I don't know why
I keep telling myself
"You and I.", "Us.", "We."
like butterfly wings
are paired, intertwining.
I need to face reality.
Your constantly showing me
That I am uninteresting,
Romantically.

We started too quickly.
Both torn from our last companion.
So we rushed in, sickly
And lept from the grand canyon
No landing zone. No bungee
Only resistance was my banyan.

As we descended into certain doom
a single thought occurred; I don't like you.
I'm pushing you away so I may land in my own tomb
And when comes the cleaning crew
My mess won't mix with your gloom.
Such a reliving thought to be separated with hew



A most despicable thought is being for better or worse with you

Sincerely,
Timothy Brown.

P.S If you don't understand, I'm breaking up with you.

I died on a Sunday
A day of blessings,
peace. Eternal sleep
was interrupted by medicine.

It happens

When I woke,
I was surrounded by strange people
White suits and blue masks.
Needles in my arms
Sensors on my chest.

That must have done wonders for your anxiety

My...heart...simply...stopped.

As if it no longer wished to fill the pain
of a life half lived. Loves almost won

You can't "win" love

Fights never finished. Things never said.

What did you do?

I quit my job. I told the woman that I like
my feelings for her. Changed Apartments.

What did you really do?

I began living.

Freely

Then next time I die. I will not have regrets.

You and I are cut from the same stone.
Diamond.
The extreme pressure we face gives us our shape
our sparkle
our shine
And our formation
reduces the common denomination
of things that can affect us.
The things that do penetrate
within us, permeate.
Revolve around our universe,
Dictating our hue.
We may appear blue
or red or yellow but deep down
Our own imperfections define us,
which is why we are Brown.
While we have different varieties
Only one thing can destroy us
decisively.
Diamond.

Hold on.
I have to clean this up.
I don't want your soles to get cut up by my lack of ambidexterity.
I'm right-handed but I thought I'd try this out with my left
And I'm not as deft with it, especially in the moment, but I thought I'd give it a shot anyway.

It's my fault... I don't know how to juggle.

I'm usually good with rotation but
between the dilation of my eyes and the inflation of my ego,
the sensation of being flippant left me in a painted tuxedo

And it's raining...It's been raining.

I'm not complaining but the paint
is running and bleeding; An apotheosis of Leonid Afremov
needing emotional content to prove I exist.

*I don't mean to be like this. I don't want to be like this.

They were the knotted extensions of her soul.
They showed how she twisted the truth
right out the lies she had been told.
Since birth people tried to typecast her role.

Marry a man
Have some babies
Grow old

Her family would say someone mucked up the recipe;
sugar, spice and everything nice. She was
dissimilar to the 3. Her sugar was solitude.
Her spice? Tattoos. Everything nice in her
had been stripped and *******. So the only
thing left of that were the bits of metal in her lips,
nose and ears. "Brush your hair 100 times a day, dear",
Her mother had said for years. And she did
until the day she told her parents she was
a different kind of queer. Then,the tears.

Somewhere between her mother's damnations,
her father's belligerence and her usual
rebuttal of indifference, she began to take interest
in her hair. Those long, straight strands were
nothing like her. The red reflected
her parents rejection. In that moment.
There was clarity in the contorted
version of love she had to incur.
She decided the only expectations
to accept were hers. And just like that
the barrier between her and the world cracked.
She decided to dread her hair and dye it black.

As the years went by,  her parents learned
to accept their daughter. And in return
each year  she would send them a photo
showing how her hair had gotten longer.
She also added trinkets to the locks and let
the strawberry color grow back.
Yet she kept the tips black to remind herself
no matter what the world wants her to be
the most important thing in life was her self-esteem.

I came to this place on two broken
Knees.
Six words said: Can I have a drink
Please.
They are not that expen-
seive
I believe I can deny my carnal
Needs
I know even wizards can
Bleed
Profusely some Gods speak languages
Falsely.
And certain people speak but stare
Blankly.
Layman's terms: the majority is
Lying

Rinse
Repeat
A simple man, trapped by society,
Raised to feel indebted to his family
His fantasy is printed and framed
Above the job's lobby. A beautiful
Scene of the mountains in Nagasaki.
The clear air clears the clouds
Of the the solvent factory
So he sits and stares
Ever unsure of his trajectory.
Rinse
Repeat
The quality of his life is priced
At $4.50. If he can't get his fix
Of burritos and churro sticks,
His world turns to bricks.
His grip slips.
The slight weight shift on his hips
Strips his exuberant demeanor
Like a lunar eclipse.
Rinse
Repeat
When he tries to adlib the script,
Life and love kicks him in the intelligence.
His happiness doesn't take precedence
Over the dead presidents he needs
To keep his residence. It's evident
In his directionless aggressiveness,
He feels irrelevant to his existence.
So, he slows the pistons of his brilliance.
Rinse
Repeat
His silence has made him forget his presence
He's become convinced that washing metal prints
Isn't against his will. That the fulfill-
Ment of another's vision is the pill
To his sickness. Like the use of litmus
Will heal his mental limpness
Between 9 and 5. The only thoughts
He completes are *rinse and *repeat

Look at my hands.
They create and shape
Reality on my demands.
These scarred phalangies
contour concepts like destiny
deftly. Meticulously configuring
My Rubix's cube territory
Until the world before me
Is a model of what I wish to see.

I am a god

I will twist this existence
until I find it suitable
for my presence.
Only then my appearance
will be seen as a blessing.
Maybe then I won't have
to be loved from a distance

We just can't be friends.
I don't like to pretend
that I am ok with you being within
my mind. I don't want you to be akin
to the despair and sin blanketing my skin.

It's not evil but the protection from it.
The confection of your innocence
with my affliction is one thing I'll forever
hold an objection to.

However this fantasy I hold
in your decency is something
hard to restrain. Your look and touch
dispel my agony. Like an act of banditry,
you rob me of my disdain.

Maybe it's your nature
to be nurturing.
Maybe it's the danger
bordering my being.
Maybe I should just ask you.

*I just know you don't deserve this mess

Its starts off with a bitter shock
an almost emetic feeling envelops
Try not to loose your cool..
Force the feeling back and down
It gets easier with practice.
In the middle is
elation
euphoria
empathy
another word that starts with E
At the end is a sinking feeling
Magnified on the wooden table
Sweet Memory left with Bad Taste
*They should get married some day

Name: Finn The Human
Age: 17
Date of Birth: Unknown
Residence: Tree House, Grass Kingdom. Land of Ooo
Known Relatives: Jake The Dog.(Brother) Stormo (Son)

Finn The Human was a beloved Hero in the land of Ooo. Saved Ooo and the universe several times from the evils that happen in our crazy magical world. Loved and adored by All that live in the land of Ooo ( except the stupid globbingl Lich King) He will be dearly missed. A statue will be raised in his honor tomorrow in the center of the Candy Kingdom. Princess Bubblegum, Flame Princess, Lumpy Space Princess, Jake The Dog, Cinnamon Bun, the Ice King and Gunter will be speaking at his funeral expressing their sorrow. Feels all around to those whom loved him. Finn was all of our hero and will be dearly missed.

I can't help but wonder
how I have come to this place.
Held together by the past.
Rallied for the future
Accepting this present
It is a wonderful gift, I must say
Yet, I can't help but wonder
how I came to this place.
Did I come here to be safe?
Did I come here to be known?
Will I stay here?
Will I venture into the unknown?
No matter where my mind goes, I will always wonder
how I came to this place.

Picked up a little spark
out the corner of my shut eyelid.

Such a weird emission in this charcoal dark.
It began a faint glow.
Slightly brighter than the black
above, beside and below.
Then the glow became a hum
of violet and gradually grew
into a blue.

That color, so serene,
became a green  and its vibrations
were quite intense. Just like in the earth
out of the green, with a little help from it's blue fellow,
sprouted a most glorious shade of yellow!

I became intoxicated by this colorful spectrum,
drinking deeply of each color as if on some
florescent binge. When I had my my fill of this bouquet
out sprouted the orange and red.

They all danced in a kaleidoscopic
shuffle, shifting about like lovers
in a masquerade ball.
They would collide and waltz
twirl about each other with excellent grace
and then, in search of their original partner,
separate. Once the couples were reunited,
they took flight from my eyelids and slowly
but surely, in a most marvelous display,
everything returned to black as the colors faded away.

It's a three pronged hum-a-long.
No captions while you sing-a-long.
Mumbling, stumbling
over words that don't belong
in your mouth.

Thank you for the left clicks on my life's nicks

Drinking
                                                                                                       *Smoking
                                      *******
                                                                                                                                        Partying
                                                                        Dancing
                                                                                                                    Making out

            I don't understand what it's all about.*

                                                            Standing around a party devoid
                                                            Of any fun connection;
                                                            Annoyed by the blatant lack of direction
                                                            Among my peers.  My college years
                                                            Are being spent disassociating myself
                                                            From those hell bent on doing nothing of
                                                            Importance.

Here's the thing about this place...
I'm glad you love it. It is a great home.
but its history is unknown by those whom like the face.

There have been a number of occurrences that are... abnormal.
Those who live within these walls experience a change.
This place was the site of some strange rituals.

In the basement is an odd device
That grants the user the power of immortality
For an even stranger price of venality

what does that even mean?

Basically, you have to put yourself in life threatening danger
every month in order to retain that skill.
Stranger, your fear of death and you life will never distill.

**Would you take that deal?

I drink to remember the times I forgot, while drunk.

I've missed hundreds of poems.
A potent poet focused on verses well spoken.
Not one that's been chosen,
Just one that's been frozen.
Stuck on ambrosian bread;
No head, Soft bed, Strong bread:
Just got better instead
On a strand. Better than
Better hand. Rather than
Burning myself, I went outside
And got some help with understanding
the hand I've been dealt.

Your presence is like Midas touch
a bit too much,
we,
smile at the sight-of each others blush
nah, not but
we ****-heads over bread
over loafs
over who gives better head
instead
of which heart is gripped by the solid gold clutch

Its a bit too much much, what we feel
between your mascara lines
and my rifle's steel
My carbon-tipped boots and your high heels
paying for your nails and these light bills
your fingertips are still digging deeper into my back pocket
My wallet, I wanted this  
but steady paychecks don't mean we can afford a tryst
with a solo violinist and a dinner candle-lit
pent-up in the penthouse painted
red, jaded rooftops, movie sponsorships
Blockbuster hits not folded dented
Like your life is rented through my hardships

Listen to this song again

Beginnings are uncanny ends

That moment

One occurrence

Seconds split between friends

What time is it?

Last laugh

Bell's ring

stumbles past

Ice cubes and cold air

Gasp

One more round, please

Gulp

I'm a bit nervous about doing this

Rather a bit anxious

between the stool and the poker chips

I've spent too much on this

What's your name ***?

We can tryst if you share your name

I can show you I'm not to blame

for the sadness and dim lights

and the shame

The tab is mine to claim

*You reek of whiskey and smoke

Wandering through mornings
Cloaked in night
Silence resounding
 Pausing for a red light



                                                        ­          Camels running through a desert  lung
                                                    ­                          Iced tea becomes an oasis
                                                        May­be smoke, Maybe air, a need-to-know basis
                                                           ­          Harder to tell as filter meets tongue


Cloaked in night
 Silence resounding
 Wandering through mornings
Pausing for a red light


                                                         ­                                                                 ­                       Thought to think
                                                           ­                                                                 ­                               of opinions
                                                        ­                                                                 ­                                    in spite of
                                                              ­                                                                 ­                            reflections.
                                                                ­                                                                 ­        Notions and concepts
                                                        ­                                                                 ­                                 birth ideas;
                                                                ­                                                               grandchildren of the mind.




Silence resounding
Wandering through mornings
Pausing for a red light
 Cloaked in night
                                                           ­                     
                                                                ­          

                                                     ­                      Purpose lost within frosty
                                                                ­          air through a thin white T.
                                                              ­          Crashing thoughts parallel E-
                                                              ­                 Y-E lids amid empty
                                                                ­                  lots and streets.

                                                               ­               
Pausing for a red light
Silence resounding
Wandering through mornings
Cloaked in night

Erik
Eruch
uh
How do you spell it?
Stephanie on the stereo
with Sophia ******
stains on the sheets
I still don't know your name is
what?

Erik
Eruch
uh
How do you spell it?
K dot
G dot
com
But there are cookies
on the paper.
Wipe up the crumbs
I thought cookies were coming
Well check you receipts.

Got a lawyer?
Got a broker?

Erik
Eruch
uh
How do you spell it?
Timothy
or timmy
No, not tommy
I'm Tim.
Sacrificing monsters, I started
as him. It. Clown. Bonkers.
Check the roster I'm no mobster. Lawless.
Flawless i'm not.
Scars on this and that
knee.
Broken shoulder I'm holding in my ***. you.
S. S. Mathematical  difference.
Its a distance but I will be there

Everything I say can never be unique
Its all recycled and up-cycled from spit on the street.
Next to the pavement,
underneath
the asphalt,: black, ******, bleak

When I speak
There is nothing new to say.
Combined in a verse or tense
past or present
prosed in a way
obscure to rational thought. Cursed.
It's worse than worsening.

Suessing,
Sprucing up words
that were
left right
on the curb.
Busted,
Rusted
in god's stead, they trusted
dollars and bills.
Dollar bills
encrusted with lies

Idol-I-
zation.
Idol-me-nation.
Idolatry gives life
to puppets. It's really a Toy Story.