I am almost connected
truly with another.
I am only almost,
because my naked mind
strikes fear and harbors a violent instability.
I have seen reaction,
drawn conclusion,
and decided to dress
and hide next to you.
Aimless intention lacks relevance.
Why speak up?
I'd rather mute
than lie.
So here I tell the truth.

I take her in vein
and trip down miles of wooded watershed
and here she is, in my blood,
set there by instincts of flow.

Rooted now in my flesh,
as a means of cellular cycle,
I take this,
a calming, natural, primal drug.

Her ecstasy and my withdrawal are nothing short of
beautiful experience
and divine addiction,
a breath of euphoria which pains me to look away.

Words dedicated mean little,
fluid and merely symbolic.
The ethereal fountain from which they spring however,
that driving instrument of sense,
have emotional and chemical relevance to her.
Grounded heavily in reality and sobriety
is the humble expression of love.

The calmer the room
The more accepting its workers
The cooler the busy heads
The more I see a nightmare
in its reflection

I'd hate to remember how I felt
and that's why this mechanism
twists and flips and burns
staring straight into the fear harbored by unintelligence

I'd hate to stay here
so here I am again
It's living sometimes

**** metaphor
Something written raw is real
I need truth without censorship
Please, crash down on me
I've got no place whatsoever
Where is this honesty that haunts my mind?
Is it's translation possible?
Are efforts in vain?
Will this be, again, wasted time?

"Do you have something to work on?"
"Yes."

Critical self expression under an invisible eye
Pointless pondering twists my fingers
and those twists fire neurons
proving an unending cycle of evaluation
Pointless and without reason, nonsense
Today I feel torn
and reach for a less fictional explanation
of what needs this page
and of why
Tell me, who the **** cares about this?
I don't need it
I hardly even value it
Better here then soaring without direction

Vague function, left unending

I wish I felt more for you
or for those who surround me
Yet everyday attention and concern
come rarely in this current state
The one I dare not let go of
for extended expansion of what I need
Sanity is that which I hold dearly to
and yet the notion of such makes me insane
What a beautiful cycle of unmoving hate and love
I die to bleed
I live for lively comfort
and chase that which is not there
leaving me **here

I find little difficulty
in fixing my eyes on metaphorical suns
when a soft tune drives my gaze
Unaccompanied, however, this ideal is broken
with results of pain and blindness
A strike of actuality
A tear in the fabric of what ought to be
Reality weighs heavily
on those who pay the right
(wrong?)
kind of attention
Not every waking moment need be evaluated
lest it become mutated memory
A view does eventually return
A view with the scattered remnants of that metaphorical light
Tainted by, perhaps? A reminder of?
Floating positivity, avoiding center sight
The good vibration
that is burned into the senses
to remind oneself
to blink quickly
or lose daylight
to a blissful sea of darkness