to become immortal, you must devour
the gods. begin with the god of fear

and when the god of the nile
floods your heart's temple
lay your offerings underwater.

The roof of Alcatraz.

Embodying the psychedelic lust of youth.
We stealthed our way into the ancient cinder block.
Old and moldy.
Cold.
We made our way to the top.
A cold breeze off the bay sea.
Pushing along her hair.
We sat in that cold night air.
Just watching.



Garrett Johnson.

she moves to me
whether in a picture or sat against the sea
as a cloud she floats gently above me
the currents and the streams
her neck where sections sit
the way her necklace rests ever so delicately
her soft brown skin
through all this land
she moves to me

she is
gold
sunshine on a crystal morning
and pearls
silk
nothing
everything

she moves to me
whether its a mirror or stood against the sky
as the music the cosmos makes in our silence
the stars and the planets
her neck where moons beam
the way her necklace follows her collorbone
through all this space
she moves to me
whether its gravity or we as entangled particles
and we are in every moment as we are together
our quantum dancing
her neck where time begins
the way her necklace falls so gracefully into place
through all this time
she moves to me

I kiss her just below her right ear
and I know now is everywhere
and everytime is now
the sun and the moon
the spiral galaxy
the walls that hold in time
I kiss her just below her right ear

she moves to me
whether its the wind or impossible odds
as the dreams we hold dear and our hope that keeps us strong
our faith and love
her neck which i caress gently
the way her necklace seems to retire when she does
I kiss her on the eyelids
she moves to me

I wonder if you can read between these lines on a screen
And realize that I really do say what I mean.
I ponder what it's like not to just be seen, but heard
To command the center of attention with each word.
I imagine a new world with a little less noise
Where I could even listen to the sound of my voice!
But mostly, I wish for the world I wouldn't want to leave
Where one is judged by character, not how one's perceived.

i really loved you
i still do
but i can’t do this anymore:
pretend that i’m fine
when i am not
pretend that i don’t mind
when i do
pretend that i’m happy
when i am sad
i did it for you
so you could be happy
so you wouldn’t end up like me
but look what happened in the end
life took you from me
and i need to let go of you

I can't believe you don't love me anymore

What makes your soul cry
On a Tuesday afternoon?
When the music is the same,
The weather is the same,
But your heartaches more than usual.

What causes the tears to fall
When you are not grief-stricken?
But the hole in your chest grows a few more inches.

What makes the bed your fortress
The sheets, your armor
The pillows, your shield.

What creates the world outside to be your enemy?

It's just a Tuesday afternoon,
and a little rain.

i write tragedies
not sonnets
i'm as dark
as the night
my soul
holds sadness
grunge
is my aesthetic
and cheery
is not in my vocabulary