Writing words for familiar enthusiasm, an emotion used to creep into the mind.
Creativity crawling out the head— like spiders each with 5 limbs of their own.
Pulling strings with their fleshy appearance.
A dance for free will compared to an object.
Sketching imagery with lyrical flows served to ears.
In spite of all the efforts…temporary rest acts as a trigger.
A writers block
A brick tied to my chain.
Words coming in and out the ears, not knowing what to do.
The headphones tune it all out, the pain of not being free— a slave to the environment and it’s still imagery.
The experience is mutual.
A lie beheading a rose.

1 Ring
5 Rings
10 Rings
20 Rings…

I was just sleeping—
walking down the stairs
with heavy feet.

The window cracks
shining light to my face—
tempting me back to bed.
Opposite of a charming kiss
given unto a princess in slumber.

…

But I cant go to sleep
as she doubled the rings on the door.

So I opened the door
and like a dead corpse,
I faded by the light.

“Ahhh.”

At that moment
I remembered what I dreamt of…

“Lying and Semaniusly”
Blurted out
as I realized
I was already blocked?

“That makes no sense!”
I thought to myself.

Why would they do that?
What was the reason for it?
Was it necessary?

All of these questions
and my mind was tied
to the self-deprecating rings
that stopped me
from searching in this dream.

———————————-

To acknowledge
that I left the dream confused
was frustrating.

But cleanly
I came out of the dream—
and had to check
if it really was a dream…

Contumely so—
I left with a new word.

“Semaniusly”?

She called me over when her parents left, and invited me over for a date.
Before I was in her room
It was advised to bring some protection.
Latex?

All for her to be done?
————

Latex Gloves.
I pulled out and began scanning my fingers across her room.

At the end of the room :vines.

Vines from trees, flowers emerging through and from. An allergenic smell emitted—carving out the thick toxins as they fell onto the floor like a staircase of crumbling debris.
Like pages of books falling flat onto the floor ill by the plague and far from recovery.

The smell of lavendery-daffodils. Like new laundry, everything was scented in this room, by color and by smell.

No visualization decoded by my eyes all because they were fried.
Red and puffed.

The frequency in the room, making zap-roided sounds.
Electric like all the different shades of blue, a savory sound and a unironic taste.
I would not want to explain because I kept it all to myself.

I marveled at it all and not whatever was in front of me.

I viewed her emotions as inferior to this delight of a room.

Far better than anything sensory she could of course do.

A distraction these walls became
Overwhelming to me was not the best of both worlds.

The only distractions were nothing but this interior design…

That feeling of being obligated.
Like a signal mom caring for a child that is not hers.

In the same way you came to me.
For whatever reason you adored me, like a child meeting their favorite superhero.

You admired my works like nobody else.

I admired the love you gave to me.
It was warm and unfamiliar.

So I stayed in bed a little longer.
The look that you gave me was passionate and ready…a burden on my back.

Something I could not repeat with my physicality.

I am a stranger to love and because of that I must vanish.

Leaving an oblivious note that you will read.

A Personality fostered so well.
Ever since that day you came to me.

Came to me and tutored— showing all your works to me, never displayed onto a wall but kept well in memory.

With trust there was no faltering, passionate as a phoenix—I thought.

Still your heart-ached.
With no other options,
you were compelled to do so.

What hurt was your departing.
Although you left,
your actions spoke to me.
With understanding I kept to myself.

Unfulfilling love.
A lingering feeling so strong
its power engulfed my body.

Sensations coursing blood through and from my body
Baiting us to fall ill to our temptations and temptors.

All I see is a deep blue
imitating the flame of desire prancing around my room.

On my bed, there is nothing but that color I see.
It’s deep yet it fades—
Both the color and the feeling.
The feeling of a serpent gone & nearby.

Problems to fix—
Solutions at hand
Over the limits, the mind is stuck.

A stuck mind destroying energy and twisting your thoughts.
To get over it is pressing more than just the block button on your thoughts.

Determination and Will-power, chained to the leg.
Jumping over the gate with barbed wire cutting deep.

Problems to fix—
Solutions at hand
Over the limits, the mind is stuck.
Stuck on the fence of barbed wire.

The mind is stuck.
Restricted from getting over.

My methods to run away have been eradicated to ash and steam, always hot at the moment.

The place where my heart resides is only hazardous, confusing itself with toxins.

The place where the brain commutes with the rest is not functioning.

One thing holding you captive to chains, your imagination carrying you to somewhere else.

Listen to the doubters, they say “You’ll never stop.”

Like a tunnel all hollow their only echoes are denial.

Whatever situation you're in, plead with two hands to take it away.

Even when tears dont fall and it's hot outside, outcry to make it work.

On the two knees you use to stabilize yourself, look up and watch the clouds drift as time does.

Intense focus on the clouds as they move inside time and intense focus on the conflict inside.

Cry out more to make it payout, because if all your efforts are in vain, something is not working.

In a season of sunlight, cold treats and the smell of chlorine attaching onto the legs of swimmers that willingly swim.

People committed to their ice pops and their sun tans,
indulging in the friendly weather as they speed through roads in their designer cars— while blasting music for unnecessary attention.

Many, accompanying a crowd of sailors enjoying the entertainment for themselves, as they live their lives lavishly.
Draining activities like vampires till it transitions to nothing but tastelessness.
—————————
A secular season
Worldly attracting pirates
Wishing woe to them for their negligence.

No sign of hygienic safety in hoards.
Hoards of people that account for parades.

What are they celebrating for?
Their freedom and many other things
Only paying attention to what is filling
But not the main course?

A person in captivity
Not free like everybody else.
Noticing the bigger problem

Will not drown in the world
but drown in their soberness.
Because in their work they will find purpose.

It was not man’s dream
to walk the Earth, or gander at the spectacles in the sky—looking at shooting stars different in color and size that appeared white to our naked eyes.

The dream of an astronaut is that of a child.
Because children don't let go of their ambitions.

Always seeing all the colors of the moon lit stars, which is regular to them.

A telescope and a room filled with geniuses is the comparison here.
It was never ironic for the world's prodigies to consider taking a path in space exploration.

Willing to make a name for themselves, they would want to be as big as the sun.
With little to no care of what risk it might pose.

——————————
The Day Of Launch:

“Apollo 11 was the first successful crewed mission to land humans on the Moon. Launched on July 16, 1969, the mission culminated in Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin becoming the first humans to walk on the lunar surface on July 20, 1969, fulfilling President Kennedy's 1961 goal.“

You looked at the magazines stapled together.

Today you walk grown ready to engage with bodies outside of your world.

The ship is titled upward and the rocket propelled directly up, the countdown is only brief—because of time.

Today or Tomorrow you have left Earth behind.

…

Distortion in Space, a place where everything is lost.

A time when a grown man wishes it was a dream—because of the foolishness of this world’s product…children.

In a fallen state.**

Looking at friends and family—
Seeking guidance in their daily lives.

They struggle with losses they are too ashamed to
share all because of their psyche.

If I interact I am nosy.
If I complain I am stubborn.

I can't mind my own business because of our connections.
————————
I investigate relentlessly and ask nothing but questions.

In my own world…
I spend my time in a delirious state—
Some would describe it as a ticking time bomb.

Like trends that never end.
Better yet addictions.

Some days are like picnics with an abundance of food—
The rest of the week is comparable to dew coming as a signal to the crack of a thunderstorm, soaking everything in water.

I stretch my youth out in limbo.
A perfect pause for—
“The Scream.”

I writhe in my downfalls with droplets of rain devising my tears like water going through pipes.

I can say…

Many of you suffer the same way and are confused in your youth.

With feelings for one another.
Our sympathy does not support the struggles of being different.

As it is now…there is a distance between you and me.
And there is nothing more to do than wait for your brush to be revitalized.

Your strokes would radiate the board with colors, colors so vibrant they make a pedestrian walk back the second time.

Knowingly, I cannot watch over you….
So I will look you directly in the eyes as I will tell you this.

Good Ideas—
Good ideas.

I lost the plot for today.
Scattering my brain because of demands.

A people pleaser, it seems like—
Filling their commands
with every good wish left in this world.

Even mentally gone,
there’s still so much to be said.

Exhausted.
Yet in need of execution.

Intentions foggy to many,
but metaphysical to me.

I could remember it tomorrow—
but I will not follow suit.
Not a computer so it’s all selective memory.

This emotion is pure,
and I can’t let it burn like the thought in my head.
So I thread on
whatever is left
and make it work.

Good Ideas—
Good Ideas.

I feel compelled to speak my mind—
hectic to nothing else but the air trapped in my heart.

Butterflies in the stomach, yet nothing near the heart.

Lost in thought, trying to find what’s right, this ”divine reverence.”

We have in one another—these leaps of faith similar to stockings.
Chances of increase and decrease are fixed and  100% of the time it is crashing.

Economy makes the shots, always putting synchronization first.

Individual lives are startled and judged by their apparent fans.

What would I know? Kept my mouth shut, people worked differently.
That makes us more of individualists then we claim to be.

As I take a picture of you, I sacrifice a fraction of my life—recollecting your actions and words in one picture everytime I take a look.

At the end of the day we are individualists, so to write about you is a whole different story.

Only by the components of our life could we waste time on one another.

If you could make me second in command, I would make you first…
To be with a Guppy as close as me.

Stepping on the line, ready to commit.
Committing to your work and consistency
activating your drive.

Leaning above the line for the slightest amount of advantage—lined against those who are said to be just as fast.

Anxiety, distress, panic, whatever you may call it.
All discarded and use as a tool to fuel the adrenaline.

The next step you take, activating the sparks to freedom.

Running like a freed slave— all the way to the end of the line.

Butterflies are flying around—on a bright sunny day.

Butterflies that are a honey brown— as the crust of the sun.

Flying around because the sun is out.

Not to hide or hibernate in their cocoons.

Concealing themselves from the outside world—not doing that today.

They can't inherit the trait of being anti-social, because they are not human.

At least not in this season, because it is bright outside.

Not being contrary to anyone’s belief.

Not worrying about the input or the output.———
These butterflies are free, scavenging around for places to hide.

Although the night had ceased, the Sun.

They—> Butterflies,
ran around like elephants encountering mice—
or humans encountering roaches.

Looking for a tree to settle on, as if there were not numerous amounts outside.

Out of all the figures outside—
It chose to stand by me?

The spot on my skin that is the most rough.

The spot on my skin textured like trees.

The spot on my skin that looked like the trees.

“Oh.”

Realization then dawned on me, just like that the sun woke up like a new idea—
and the Moon left to attend a party on the other side.

Like the Moon, the butterfly flew away, back onto the tree with a newfound realization.