I don’t think that you wanted to make me,
But if you did, would you tell?
A silent note is a deafening coattail
To follow the cries and the yells-

For the roadside seems as no one else has tread here
And the wind from a breeze is never felt.
The blood on my feet indicates that I’m walking
But I think I never walked, I only fell-

If I’m the only one that is meant to endure this
Then rid me of the scenery and smell-
Let me feel alone on a world you created
A world that continually feels like hell.

But it was the past
And I didn’t care too much
I had my chance
This was a dance
Thank you for calling me off the wall-
You are a favorite memory
So the story goes
You are a favorite memory
Thank you for calling me off the wall-
This was a dance
I had my chance
And I didn’t care too much
But it was the past

Can words really move mountains
or shatter through steel?
more than that,
I find words to be idolatrous temples
paying reverence to the self god,
spoiling, decaying,
bringing finality and ruin.

there is no cure to words
there is no stopping what a mouth can create,
words surpass auditory expression.

fear the words that have yet to be spoken
loudly enough to destroy the stars in the heavens
and obliterate life as we know it.

does a sacred stone
still retain its worth
if it was never taken
from it’s hidden earth?
could it truly be
a treasure trove
if no one sees
its alluring glow?
-
is my mind right to tell me
that invisibility doesn’t cause irrelevance?
or is that just a way to cope with
the ever feared unfounded-forgotten-pestilence

concerned confusion moves like a lizard up a wall
scuttling in and out of my conscious thoughts,
like a heart murmur before the attack.
to my dismay, the condition is caused by this
new way of living-
having a routine,
steady pay,
safe environment,
and consistent community-
i have never been so weary of a foundation so sturdy
that it could replace the earth's crust
and prevent all tectonic movement.
yet
i am so afraid-
i am so afraid that this peace
is just the ashy smoke of my fire finally dying-
the eye spots left over once the sun is put away
and i can no longer stare at it's glory.
i am afraid that this is the cost of my comfort
and that i am no longer upset because i have learned
to accept it.

at times it feels like there is this monolith in front of me
blocking my path to the valleys flowing with milk and honey.
rain
can you wash this mountain away?
let it be made out of sand and sink slowly into the ground.
rain
can you remind me of the secret of contentment?
that there is some secret valley to be found in each moment?
sun
dry up what i have set into ruin.
let nature persevere (as it always does),
growing deep out of damp crevices,
bursting through foundations
laid harder than these new livings-
laid harder than anything old
that i felt i could not
break.

they will look at me and roll their eyes
and bring me down for being ridiculous,
for being exaggerated
like foam spilling over the top of a pint glass-
but as they roll their eyes
and point out their reeled in lines,
i will not let them know that i am smiling
at the little-more slack-
the little-less grip;

sometimes these faces go weeks without a smile-
even if i am being torn down
little by little,
i am thankful to see the creases of a smile,
and to hear the sweet sound of disapproving laughter.

"they won't know what you did last night!"
there are hurried steps they hear upstairs
but the date night can't wait.
It's already waited 35 years to happen
and now that he's started to go to bed early
lock himself up in his room
and isolate from his friends at school,
they can finally get some alone time
and enjoy their passion fruit.

"the time you spend away is just a joy to this world!"
it made sense to him that no one came to the rescue
and that his parents celebrated his demise.
Just in time for him to pick the position for them to find him
while he's dead and long gone
far away from the responsibility of
saying goodbye to those who will never stop missing him
but
"they will finally love you when  you're gone!"
was all he could hear
from the chanting harmonies to
hell.








eyes locked to only light in the room like a moth
he believes that he has pain like a damage brain
but his mouth still waters at the thought of happiness,
enough to make him live every single
day.


-stop pretending like life is one step away from suicide
because you diminish the pain of those who are
and pretending that you have pain will only get you so far
and your misjudgment will lead others farther into the dark-







the moonlight is out and I just can't think
about anything else than the fact that I
don't understand-
i never know why i feel like i'm sad,
when i feel so nostalgic that it burns it's own path
through the forest of thought that surrounds my mind
and i wish i could come out into the light
but i know there's a reason to explore every inch of this
darkness that lingers inside of me drifting-
i just want to say that everyday is worth living
and even these dark parts of the world are worth exploring
there is joy in the eyes of those who starve to death
there is joy in the eyes of those who know nothing
there is joy in the eyes of many who have suffered
and there is joy to be found in the eyes of those who are suffering.
there is new glory
there is new fountains of sparkling welfare to be found and fountained into our throats and to come splashing out and onto others-
there is much to ***** about
(in a good way)
there is much to be found
and much to be lost
and not enough time to keep trying to write something sentimental
when you have nothing to say.