i was dead inside
until the 4th of July
now i feel
but I don't feel alive

hey, could you come over here and help me please.

i kinda got too high

my reflection didn't believe me, that i could walk sideways on the ceiling

his ******* ego just won't let go

so to prove I could, i take one more hit if ****

just one more step

**** ya!  i'm doing it!?

how about it, don't know how i did it?

shouldn't have never ******* done this!

now, i'm dealing with something that's unappealing to me

what the **** am i feeling?  i'm ******* sideways on the ceiling!

i shouldn't have taken that last hit. now, i can't get down!

for ***** sake!  will i ever comedown?

i do know about gravity?

it was a gift that was created in Einstein's mind, just thinking **** up all the time.

invented by a human, that happened to come around and found out, that before his invention,

people were having trouble, not falling down


the Thought tells the voice, what he's thinking about

then the voice will get in touch with his guy,

to reach out to my guy

to have my guy tell me, to think about it


so, i think about what the Thought really thinks about all day

the Thought, must think a lot, cause the voices talk a ******* lot,

while silence listen in, my head begins to spin
i think gravity is my only way to win.

i desperately need to comedown!

but nobody ever came around, to show me how to use gravity

just thought i'd let you know that, you now know that?

i know, i'm kinda confused and my confusion is hard to understand

i'll ******* yell like hell, but say something else?

if you are confused because i am confusing to you,

and I'm now confused about confusing you,

you're confused too? that's too much! we're cluster ******!

now, that's just straight up, whatever the ****
i'll never understand it sorta ******

i don't get it?  Confusion?  there's nothing confusing about that

maybe Nobody is confused?

and all of his bottled up confusion eruption episodes, gets Nobody aroused

******* bowel arousal?

i'll **** myself, if i scream out loud,

Nobody's around and every other Somebody that i have found has passed me by, i haven't come down, yet.  still, stuck on the ceiling,

will i ever find a clever way to hang around here, instead of never coming down

i pray out loud, i shout a foreign language out of my mouth,

i doubt if i'll get used to the sound of what am saying

i can't understand why confusion surrounds, everything is now confusing and I am confused about anything that can confuse

how about that i refuse to let you use that candle,

to light my fuse,

because there is no light inside of me?

what i can't handle, i ******* dismantle

i blew a ******* fuse!  lights out!

Nobody's around, Nobody is here to help?

i light my candle to keep myself company

i use it to light the way, when i step outside to see

to see only me?

but it's good that Nobody is here to watch?

No One ain't around no more?

when Nobody is not here, then I don't really know me

and when I'm not myself, i use myself and introduce myself to myself

it gets strange here when i'm a stranger that is in danger of not having myself as a friend to help me and myself

now i am alone, even though Nobody is here?

just to not appear?

does he disengage?  can he tame his rage?

whenever it gets strange here, Nobody disappeared after lighting my fuse

so i don't know who the **** to accuse

****, now i'm all kinds of confused

it's a confusing feeling to have with so much confusion around

confusion has shortened my fuse!

and Nobody is nowhere and now here to bring the news?

I guess maybe I do lose

stranger things have happened when somebody doesn't know who they get to choose to be when they don't feel like themselves,

leaves ya kind feeling like Nobody does?

Does nobody feel themself?

about to ******* lose it,

getting lost, all confused, and ready to ******* blow,

candle burned out, turned around and upside down,

spinning in circles, it's too much!

i start to dismantle, losing my grip because of my loose as **** handle,

it's falling the *******, it's too much to handle!

makes life unbearably

now you have gotten me even more confused,

i swear, i'm losing my grip, on this loose as **** handle,

but what confuses me the most is, wondering why the ****,

you are wearing ******* socks with your sandals

I wake up early
with this poem in my pocket
and the sound of the sea
my arms stretched out
across a crimson sky
the sun rise of
untouchable love
I catch my
invisible breath
I see you smile only
in my memory
the waves of emotion
are reaching out for a
soft place to land
as the wild flowers bloom
in an open field of a
thousand sleeping wishes
I miss what I
decided to destroy
when the spring wind screams
at this world of broken dreams
I search for level ground …
Clay.M

in the quiet  
   of your mind’s  
      cacophony—  
   where shadows play  
         and whispers weave  
      a tapestry of  
         fears and dreams,  
         (you are not alone)  
you are the  
   garden  
      of chaos,  
   wildflowers blooming  
      in the cracks of  
         your heart’s  
      pavement,  
   each petal a  
      brave  
         echo of  
            you  

let the voices sing  
   their strange melodies,  
      (not monsters,  
         but echoes)  
   and the highs and lows  
      are just the  
         waves  
   of your  
      vast  
         ocean soul—  
   rise and fall,  
      flow and breathe,  
         you are  
            living art,  
   a beautiful  
         (messy)  
      dance of  
   light and shadow  

so gather the stars,  
   weave them into  
      your thoughts,  
   (you are the night’s  
      tender guardian)  
and let the world  
   hold you—  
      fragile,  
         fierce,  
      a constellation  
         of  
   everything you are.

one little thing at a time
                 ...and bring a pen.



I feared i might sober up
and there wouldn't be much to write,
but slowing down to take a look,
moving at the pace of life,

not rushing it,
but taking it as it is,
seems so much more now to jot down,
I can hardly keep up with pen.

This is where the real poetry is,
and where it's always been...

Those loooong Journeys
cross-countries by foot,
and deeper still,
on more spiritual quests within.

Strolling along without worry or care,
relying on faith without understanding of a godlike dose of "luck"
that seems ta always just,     be  here.

The poetry is in the moment
when it's written, where it's found,
life exciting, breathing, be still and
          witness it all around.

smooth
as marble
strangely warm
are her
alabaster arms

benieth
long bangs
a curve of grace
is her
piquant little
face

a waif-like
gamen little thing
she is a fairie
with no wings

a smudge
of feathers round
her head
she lies on tile

almost
dead

the world saw
her wounds and scars
but we don't
care unless they're

OURS


now her
pain is
in the
past

now
she
has
her
wings
at
last




(c) SoulSurvivor Aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc

Funny how we ogle,
We observe,
Drive hours and hours to see dead things in their glass cases.
Browse them like wares,
Oily fingers on cleaned display cases,
Capture precious flesh and sinew in pins and needles.
Funny how we do the same thing to ourselves,
Encase ourselves with powder and resin.
Polish and glue,
We ink over the parts we dislike,
Turn ourselves into perfect statues of time and torture.
We poison ourselves with the things we claim will make us live forever,
Clog our pores with cream so thick we can’t move.

why do I always ask myself
is this
the most ..cked up
I ve ever been
when I m too ..ucked up to know?

(hey, maybe I m not fcked up??
maybe this is the way humans feel
all the time
maybe this normal and everyone else
is fcked up!)

(lost the thought, what was I thinking, anyway? aaAAH,)

why do I always ask myself
is this...???