Scar tissue is
ageless
but my skin
has seen a
thousand
sunsets
when sleep
eludes me
and the monsters
that fester
underneath
the silver slithers
of time
burst free

These poems come from dreams,
From places where there are no rules,
No conventions,
Where there is more rhyme than reason.

These poems come from dreams,
From random scattered images,
No connections,
Where things just allude to what’s real.

These poems come from dreams,
From a way to communicate,
No clarity,
Where feelings overtake the mind.

These poems come from dreams,
From a desperate need to be heard,
No filtering,
Where raw emotions author words.

Each unhappy in their own worlds
They were driven together.

Then desperate for each other
They clung to their unhappiness

But now apart they soar:

Their weightless bodies drift
And when they pass
These two old friends–
Ghosts locking eyes–
Glide without a smile.

I didnt think i would expose a poem,
or even,
conjour the courage to knit a cape out of my addiction...
This is me settling my habits with cigarettes to rest.

I ditch the nicotine and tobacco and cigarette paper,
and although the thought of this triumph is enriching,
Right now my spirit is pale, and stale of vigor,
The livliehood of a single puff,
could heal all pain of the moment,
until yet again,
time takes its toll,
Frozen I feel,
stuck and bewildered having my crutches
swept from the vice grips of my hands,
and now,
I am to stand on my own two,
with the will of my own my mind and my own heart.
Gravity is heavier here,
as if landing on planet Jupiter
Alien! Indeed is the feeling I feel, feeling, I fall...

Rugged and ruined under rain,
daggered with bows
and blind groping over braille,
Who knew victory could feel so grave, ill?
so grim and muggy and moody and mundane.
The greatest dynasties fell to dust,
and yet God doesnt even show a face familiar to man,
but is felt with the grace of a feather,
behold a blooming forever,
Clandestine, a boon worthwhile...