Its a little outlandish,
Dont you think,
To believe what you hear
And confess that is the truth?
Isn't it naive to think,
Think that the world is too nice,
That everyone's just as convincing
As your own nonchalant notion of life?
Isn't it foolish,
To fall in love
With the same broken heart
And still preach that it'll be alright?
Dont you think
Your life is much more than a period,
But it is one where you can be yourself
For the world to see
To behold
And to be?
If only you could open your eyes
To the things you thought were true.
If only you could let your mind wander
And set it free in the corn fields.
If only your ideas were a product of will power
And probably then see it fly in the wind.
Why do you hold yourself back
When you only have just this lifetime,
This short span of life to cherish?
Why do you worry about the petty things in life
When clearly you're so close to falling off the edge?
Why do you hide your dreams
So that you can be a part of some society
Aching to strip you of your individuality?
Why do you refuse to be you,
When this is the best **** person you'll ever be?

Noonday demon
crescent sun sundown
sleep

soon come slippery slant of moon
spreads its light across the room

the night is nearly gone

gone to where the wind goes
gone to where the tall trees stand

gone gives way to daybreak
creeping daylight

rise

wait

repeat

(Or Bi-Polar Disorder)

I. Depressive phase- 
   
I love you for your kindness first,
then for the peace in your eyes.
How could anyone as sure as you
not be the one sent to save me?
But save me from what?  
From doubt?  From myself?
You are God’s gift to me yet
I can't help it sometimes
I picture myself ten years down
the line with you not caring
and me destitute and homeless,
living on the streets, alone.

           When the transition comes
            I see it come and embrace it,
            picking up speed it screams over me
            like a snow white avalanche,
           a huge chemical ****** in my brain
           that cannot be stopped.

II. Manic phase-

Here I like to entertain myself
with vain fantasies of sainthood.
I’m standing and waving
to the faithful in Piazza San Pietro,
doing what’s necessary to secure
my martyr’s destiny in the after life
where I’ll have a place of honor
in the great hall of God, and through
a window in the floor I’ll be able
to see my mourners
filing past my gaudy reliquary,
crossing themselves as they gaze through
the philatory glass at the peaceful repose
of my sequin studded bones.

           *I have come to understand that
           this matter may never be settled.  
           I’d truly give anything for you
           to have  power enough to hold me
           in the middle, to hold me in
           the purple fog nothingness
           but I believe it tires you
           to prop up a puppet all day.
           You’d rather love me in each moment
           which is the truest love there is
           and that makes me the luckiest
           man on the face of the Earth.