I worry for you, my friend.

You look at the colors
With stars in your eyes,
But you still haven't embraced death
As a part of our lives

You push the happiness
With such certainty
But you forget that darkness
Is also a part of reality

I worry that you have forced
Your contentment too much
And once the high is gone
You will fall and crash

*And I'm not sure if I will be there to catch you.

having to talk about the weather
with someone who knew
*every inch of your soul

veiled behind the barbs of acacia
the river bathes in the lazy sun

she's a thousand years or more
but knocks my heart's door
like a flirtatious teen

come deflower me
bare me in your poetry
wear me on your skin

soon she would be lost to the sky
leaving on the banks echoes of her lust

i pause for a piece of her
before my dream turns to dust!

My fingers stumble over the strings,
over the flicker-book of life;
missing half of the important things
going on around me
until they have been and gone
and never to return again.
Childish lapses cause me to stare at the ceiling
through important demonstrations
that could save my life some day-
I always begin to imagine
my fatal accident
at the hand of a misplaced floor sign
as I sign the contracts
for those I feel no loyalty for,
in a signature my jittery hands
can never replicate.
My feet gain their own volition
when approaching anxiety,
and so I never know
if I will run away,
or run into the storm
of half-familiar faces
and half-tolerable anecdotes.
I am still a child, I know,
beyond my lanyard
and half-grown beard,
always dreaming of escape
whilst keeping close to home.