What am I doing with my life.
Torn.
Between the life I have made for myself and the life of an immature man's dreams.
What have I done to myself? Surely this is not a healthy venture. Do I continue to follow the dreams, or do I lay down, content with the reality I live in?
They warn that the mind of sobriety is the clearest, but maybe that is a lie?
The inebriated mind seems to be the clearer of the two. Then again, it's the intoxicated one thinking right now.
It does so seem that the current mental state understands emotional matters just a smidge more.
Maybe just more in tune, no filter. No white noise interrupting.

I am dying.
As most are, I am unprepared.
I feel death tingle down my arms
And rob my struggling lungs of air.

I feel it settle over my mind like a haze
Of drowsy, unfocused wooziness.
I am terrified of it, I am scared
I can feel the cold grasp of death.


.


She hands me a bottle that clicks with magic
She tells me it's not much and I believe that.
She hands me a bottle after she checks me over.
I take the bottle and remove myself from where I sat.


.


I remind myself that I am not dying.
I remind myself that I can breath, am breathing.
I remind myself that I am not tingling.
I lie to myself factually: I am not dying.


.


I don't believe her or myself
If I were to believe, would that make me crazy?
If I weren't to believe, would that make me crazy?
If I am cleared headed yet somehow feel hazy?

**** this lazy rhyme in off kilter four four time:
Am I crazy if I feel my lungs fight for air though I have no problem breathing?
What if I feel my body shutting down when I am more than healthy?
Am I crazy if I know it's the end but can't explain or even postulate why?
Am I crazy if I write so someone knows what happened when I die (whilst thinking I am alive I wont die but I am dying which is just the panic speaking but if it's not then I'll be gone  by tomorrow which wont happen. maybe.)?

I am both fascinated and
Terrified by you,
And the way that you move me
With the subtleties of your being.
And I suppose I forgot that my heart could beat faster
Than its usual, too-steady,
Too-predictable pace.
You remind me that
Nothing is predictable.
You remind me of the person I am
In my favorite dreams
After which I wake up
Disappointed,
Simply because they are over.
I never feel more alive,
More wholeheartedly present in a fleeting moment,
Than when it is you
With whom I share it.
The purest warmth I’ve ever known
Is the closest I’ve ever been to your chest,
And it is there that I know I am home,
Drinking in the glow
Of everything that you are.
I touch you and
Forget immediately how to be anything
But yours.
I touch you and
Realize immediately that there is no way to be
That could ever be enough.
My favorite mystery,
You defy normality
In every possible way.
You are a beautiful
Anomaly.

I'd meet him in a world of paper and light and broken things
The first thing I'd notice when he opens his mouth to speak
is that he has a silver tongue
The words that fall off of it
Black, like a night without stars
And his eyes hint of bitterly earned experience
With which he so easily sweeps past the picture I've painted in sunshine
That so easily seems to fool everyone else
He sees the abyss that looms in my heart
And concerned, calls out to me "Are you falling?"
And of course then, I fall, in love
I cling to him like he is my guide in this new shadow land
Like I expect us, together, to go seek out and fight
The dragons, demons, darkness of our minds
But I forget
That I don't know him
I don't know his cracks, his how he came to be
I have fallen for his words, for the precious silver of his tongue
And not the human boy, in all his realness and heat
You would think that after world upon world of broken paper and bent light
I would know by now
But you'd be wrong
Apparently, I am like a child with fire when it comes to the darkness
I am mesmerized

For some reason, I always think that I will be there the day the boy with the silver tongue remembers how to share his story and speak in sunshine and in being there, so save him and myself.

To taste the bittersweet nectar of thy lunar lips.
Lie me hope, sing to me the song of the helix.
Proffer me the chance to breach thy bastion,
encompass thee in my love and compassion.
Sanction me to be that one whispering love stories
in thine ear while bathing in the Aurora Borealis
dazzling and clear.
You and I, a rickety tent and a love nothing less of
heaven sent.
In mine heart thou shalt forever remain.
My panzer maid grant me...the fall of rain.