You step outside of the moment like a misty window bystander with your hood up and your hand warmers that you’ll put in your scrapbook so as to bless and keep this memory all your days.
Sift out the sound waves as you watch the dancing silhouettes of the good old days
Bringing tears to your eyes as you remember that someday this’ll be in a box wrapped and taped scotch-like for you to look at and think how lucky we were.
But right now you’re pulling all your best strings to carve out scrawled negatives on the glass before the condensation of your breath fades fades away.
Oh doesn’t it remind you, dear,
That we live in the awareness of fleeting moments rather than the moments themselves?
That we only put the remaining numbers of seconds on our dance cards and not let our time with fullness instead take our hands and waists?
That we scrounge for the film that we can Mary Poppins jump into on the other end of a short while instead of running the risk of forgetting by ripping open the gift of the instant we have been personally given by God?

Don’t let it pass you by because
Even though it’s only out the train window if you
Let it permeate your heart forever that’s the
Only way you can keep it in your pocket during your walk towards eternity.

If I moved a muscle right now a window would break.
If I took a solitary step the tiles beneath me would crack.
Submerged in the oscuridad save for a small pulse of luz called optimism because that’s just how I was raised.

I know I can’t pretend to make an oasis
Because how well did that work out for me last time
The lightbulbs can yell and scream and punch the air
But nothing will make them turn on without a power source.

I can’t be breathing hard or else the candle stub I have left will blow out I have to
Guard it but keep looking for my next step using its meager light trusting
That the beacon I look for is not further than the reaches of my
Light that I will with the remaining shards of my life to keep on
Reining now is uncertainty that is
diametrically opposed to the concept that the sun is gonna rise tomorrow I promise so let me stroke your hair and shroud you until it does.

I exist in this limbo of heeding the hours that come. The ticking of the clock drudges yet I gulp every last second as it arrives.

I voraciously **** the teaspoon of trust I have left that the
Audience is just watching the plot arc to progress and that
The dramatic irony of  some surety is just beyond the radius of the hardly illuminated path beneath my shuddering feet.

Maybe someday I will stumble upon the next candlestick or something.
Maybe someday I’ll find a working light bulb buried in the snow or something.
But here I progress or something.
Un día a la vez or something.
Grappling foot by foot for something.

Something.

How possibly can I listen to you
If you are trying to shove it down my throat
If my eyes bleed more abundantly than tears fall
but what else can come out but blood
After you allow my head to be stuffed with stars.
with planets.
with words.
questions
statements
stubbornness
art music letters ghosts emotions scars–

what it is like to be in one's own deathbed
i will never know
until the ghosts tell me.
i can never be good at what they want me to
so i will be just another blurry face

i am the mad hatter on the closing brink of insanity

So I’ve decided to do my homework.
To study the blood of myself and another.
To compare the burning of the eyes of hell and earth.
To watch the girl standing in the flowers of defeat rising to create the very scorching voice that calls them to whither.
To use my veins in the designing of my wounds on paper.

I’ve decided to go into the hearts of those long broken.
And find pearls which have not burned just yet in the fires of passion for a principle.
I watch the fire
Walk through the fire
And through the sizzling of the skin on my feet burning from walking on the coals
I get these words

Most often
It’s all taking place in my own heart.

The dreams I have when I’m ill
Are almost as sick as my body itself.
I toss and turn
As all of the happy thoughts I have mold themselves into something horrifying

The people that I think of
Their eyes melt out of their skulls
They grow hair and their faces are deformed
They smile at me, a most terrible smile
They laugh at me, and chant strange things

The bakery that I go into
Its colors fade into a grayish and terrible shade,
And ghosts surround the thorny, black weeds which are breaking through the walls.

I bring myself to waterskiing on glass-like water
And I drown
I can no longer breathe
The water infests my throat and ears and mouth,
And when I try to breathe all the more water is pushed down my throat.

If I open my eyes,
All I can imagine is a simple coat being the sillouhette of a person out to get me
The person standing outside my window,
Watching for signs of the circumstances to hide me from the light of day forever
The ghost which dwells in my closet,
Its very presence chilling me to the very marrow of my bones.

Thoughts and dreams such as these haunt me,
Scaring me away from sleep.
My dreamland becomes a place of desolate darkness
As my night goes to waste with my sweat soaking through the pillow with every. Agonizing. Thought.