eroding before me
are these tiny strings
still pulling apart
still tied to me,
but
I know these delicate attachments
won’t last as long as
the ropes I tie around my waist,
but the invisible touch can sometimes
silently vibrate against my skin
and catch the lighting,
reminding me who’s at the end
of my string
far away from me,
and I can be happy-
yet
sometimes
I see
that this
hidden thread
is marked in crimson blood
threading itself through my skin
into my muscles
and out back again-
I must not only
pull out my scissors
to cut
but
now I must
pull until the barb slices through my skin again-
a lesson I will never learn.

have you seen his eyes?
or did the maggots get them first
when his skull sunk into dirt-

did the roots latch on and pull?
or did his body choose to dive deep
and anchor at earth’s feet-

was he wearing a crown?
or was his head scalped and dry
leaving no room for pride-

did they celebrate when his body was found?
everyone blames the one who seeks the skies
but forget they were born belowdecks-

I love to see children in session.
their lives are in harmonic transfantasia
until a conductor calls upon them for duty-

did you see which trains they boarded?
for they left in a rush
and may never remember their heartsong-

did anyone catch the conductors name?
a traveler near to a tender soul
can meld it to his very own-

will they remember home?
when the aromas return on a springs breeze
a new nose will turn away-

it won’t be long.
a foots journey will return
back where it belongs.

-for their dreams are drowned out by the whistle,
their hearts meander upon riches,
and their skulls blow away as what was good is enjoyed
by maggots
and dirt-

Painted colors
Painted colors
You said we’d be painted
To be different from the others
But all I see
Are walls painted
Grey

I bring my little light
Into a bigger night
I fear that the darkness
Can cover my little life
But I know this candle
Will burn back the dark
Till day
Break.

Once the grey box takes you
Tumbles up and shakes you
And puts you to the test,
Let them cut you open
Spill the paint to show them
That your colors can’t be repressed!
When they try and hold you
Crumple up and fold you
And mold into something else,
Burn your wick till empty
Set fire to the plenty
Your fire cannot be dispelled!

you hear the call
you answer the call
you follow the call
you chase after the call
but after all
who is calling
who is taking the fall
who are you leaving behind
back on the wall
an empty hall
shouting empty calls-
who are you leaving
to pursue what you are believing-
who is at the back hand
of your swing-
who is carrying the burden
that you’re carrying-
who takes up your cross
as you carry a wooden symbol
claiming that you hear the call-
i sit and wonder if you heard nothing after all
except the voices inside the heart
where deception befalls-

Thick smoke spit
My tonic
Swell eyes split
Black cloud fix
Late night drips
Late night sips
Sipping up sap
Sapping up tipsy
Tap taps on the tips
Watch the floor lifting
Shifting
Smash, crackle crispy
Crunch mc nuggets
Four AM grizzly
Grizzle grease griot
Giving slurred wispily
Words like the feet
Falling faster swiftly
Like the head shoulder
Knees toes tickling
The senses of motion
Devotion to sick things!
Sick things!
Sick things!
Few friends out late
Grab a cake
Grab a mate
Grab a bake
Grab a fate
Drive it fast
Make it last
Make it crash
Make it all end quickly!
Quickly!
While she sleeps softly
Coughing up blood
Never felt haunting
Wanting her to wake up
Like the day's drugs scoffing
I'm the same drunk drugged up mug
With a lie stuck to the name like made up love
Like made up stories of truth masked with icing on top
Like the cherry minus vanilla, minus chocolate, minus ice cream, minus nice things
Minus life, minus death, minus point, minus breath, minus art, minus stability, minus self sufficient tranquility!
Find life
Find it right
Find it tonight
Find it before it's time
Find it before it's out of sight
Find it before your friends dead in head lights
Find it before you're a murderer plastered on the headlines
Find it before you find out that you wasted all this time on bad highs
Bad rhymes
Pushing away coffee cake
And pineapple plates
For a daily dose of dead drives.

the gateway
guarded by your skull
leads many to their grave,
reminds many of the way home,
for the paths burned through
lead to all too familiar places,
and the burns of rage and true way
leave all too familiar traces-
how can we move forward
when the gateway leads you to fear?
how can we move forward
when the road to purpose only faintly appears?
we have our sight
but our mind’s eye isn’t clear-
we lift our bodies
but our mind’s soul won’t make a move,
won’t get out of here.
our hearts burn true to lead us to our destiny
but honestly
we’re trapped inside this hopeless mind, and we’ll forever be
And never leave
unless we change the prison we know, with gruesome force
and change our course
in time-

when the axe is poised above our head
and our foes brandish it with haste
to relieve our necks of their heavy dread
and to bring death, destruction, and shame-
i remember the words a song once said
of seeing a brother in the enemy's face
and will not fight back against my death,
and hope my foe’s soul wont meet my same fate.

faintly it can still be heard
crawling with
overgrown nails
up the creaking ribs
crunching on each bone
spreading deadly poison.
inside us all
lives
this desolated creature
waiting to fill our lungs
and with forceful breath
fly out into the wind-
it can still be heard
gnawing
growing
fattening itself
to spread it's diseases
until the regurgitation inclination
springs it upward
and out toward the air,
to consume
and destroy
all of it's enemies-

a pebble pounce bounces down the deep street
blowing with the brushing breeze
until the undertones of unpleasant winds
bring to a stop the stumbling pebbles steep steps-

listen
catch your breath
before life convinces you
to waist your lungs on a screaming match
with a sidewalk-
you don't know about the wind
little pebble.
all you know about is your pounce bounce
flouncing, doused in doing your daily doings-
yet you don't know about the wind
little pebble.
when your steps are stopped, you must be stopped
and when the breeze dies down, you cannot move-
yet you think you are in control of your movements

listen
acknowledge that you don't know where you are going
or what you're doing with your goings
and maybe
when the goings stop their showing
and tentative winds stop blowing
and you are sitting
stuck
without motion
on a sidewalk crack
slipping through
yet intact
maybe you will not curse the road you are on
but thank the wind for carrying you this far
little pebble.

just an undercooked
distasteful rare
half way there
mouthful of hair
always striving
with underwhelming care
to do my least best
the least that i can
the least i can bare
-
yet that's all it takes
to be standing here
making clear
with joyous sneers
praised for malintent
in how i lead my peers
to do their least best
the least that they can
the least they can fear

there aren't enough blank screens
and entertaining fillings
to make me feel like my words have meaning
and that life is worth taking off the gloves
touching
feeling-
breathing in and being thankful for living.

someone came along
and cut the string-
scissors in hand
with malicious intendings;

its fun to watch things fall
or weightless things float to the ceiling
to watch them crack open
or lose shape at the breaking endings-

and i
run back to see
the things i kept close to me
are destroyed or out of reach-
just a boy
staring at the sky
wondering when that balloon will come back down for me-
or when the rubber will touch the sun and begin melting.

people are either clouds
caverns
or crowds
-jagged inside and out
hard to condense into one thing
or a mystery, never to be pulled down.
yet they capture
our eyes
and minds
making us wonder what lies inside:
what is left to be figured out.

i play with a pencil, placed on my desk
pattering the patterns playing in my head
and heart, helping me to focus on the board
proudly performing arts in art class, thinking of more
than the blank page
the perfect slate
the new creation to be made
im creating
recreating
imitating
the intimidating, impressive instrument
imprinting the imprints through pencil and finger prints
banging out the band's
sick-nasty
convulsive
seizure inducing
polyrhythms-
i shake my head
but i wish i could shake my soul
scream out of control
yell until their ears bleed
and i ***** uncontrollably
to the sound of these sounds sounding
like i need to say something to stop their stomping, stamping, pounding

-the teacher kicks my desk
and tells me to get back to work
and to stop tapping
because i should be doing something else;
it doesn't matter
can't remember what it was i was supposed to be doing anyway-

i might not always be the best fit
and might not be able to squeeze my edges in
i will doubt myself again
and i will think that someone else belongs where i am-

there isn't enough time in the day
for me to get the thoughts out of the way
to deal with the shame
and the self hate-
as the minute hand spins round and around
i cannot stop myself
from thinking that God's breath was waisted
that he should've made someone else
and that the air i've tasted
should've been ****** from my lungs
something i never should've felt.
i see the sun in others eyes
and worship their beauty
and curse my ground
because the radiating light
from the sun i'm viewing
could never come from my mouth
or my heart
or something inside my stomach
growling for more-
all i do is consume
and drink up the spills on the floor-
i am the dog
begging for the scraps
and i am unworthy of anything
besides that.
besides the moldy trash.

i might not always be the best fit
and might not be able to squeeze my edges in
i will doubt myself again
and i will think that someone else belongs where i am-
because where could i belong!
where would my place be
would i sit beside you
or beneath your feet-

(my heart humbled knows what i deserve
-the worst
-the crumbs
-the feet upon my head
but you pick me up
tell me i'm free
wash me clean
throw me a feast
robe me
and celebrate how you are no longer lonely
for your cherished son
who did you wrong
and spit on your name
is not lost in a grave
but is home-
i
am
home)

truthfully
you will never see me
the way i see you
and you will never forgive me
like i do-
because
we are different you and i
different grass
same sky
different heart
different minds
different understandings of riddled rhymes-
and you will try and see me
and i will try and see you
-truthfully
i do
see you-
but that's not enough for one to be seen
and heard
and understood;
there has to be a greater blanket
to cover up good
to cover up blood
and to hide all the wounds-
but as you cut in deep
you stab me too.

Holly smokes a packet a day
and it makes her voice sound raspy-
but business can’t stop you from being a babe,
but these babes just ain’t that classy-
and you can shake what your momma gave ya
and get all that you need crassly
but that can’t stop the people from starting to say
“I think that girl gets nasty”.

You are the rain
sometimes cooling down
sometimes in the way
sometimes comforting me on my couch
sometimes frightening with rage-
but you are not just the rain
you are a cold front
on a hot day
with the sun still shining-
brushing against my face;
and I dream of when you’ll come
and I beg that you would stay,
I anticipate the moving clouds
knowing they carry you my way-
but you are not just a cold front,
you are not just the rain,
you are an old tree
in Bryant park
protecting our great love
protecting me in your shade;
and I know God has planted you
and I know that he is great,
but I am thankful for your falling leaves
casting beauty in my face,
calming me down with your grace-
-there is not a more beautiful place-

im having a good time
im listening in
reading your lines
and listening in.
im having a good time
going blind
staring hard at my computer light
smiling
laughing
enjoying life-

and you ask me
"you ever watch V.R ****?
it's something else man,
you need to try it sometime."

"no, i definitely wont do that"
was all i could say
because the fact is that
many will tell me
that **** makes a new way
a new spark
in their grey hearts
in need of extra blush-
but i see the pain
i know the truth
"but my life is my own, it doesn't affect you"
is all i hear from every single person-

so i'll keep pretending
that i don't care as much as i do
as much as the rage in my heart does
as much as the pain in my mind does
for there is no proper connection
there is only fantasy
and *** loses luster
when mixed with depravity-
desperate love
ruins patient kindness,
and poisons kisses
with licentious darkness-

there's still a boy
trying to fly
trying to dream-
in his mind
that he can fly-
and if he could try
he would first touch the ceiling fan
spinning on high
wobbling out of control
with loose screws that used to be tight-
then he'd make his way outside
and crash through the clouds
get a foaming cloud beard,
maybe drink the cloud dry.

wouldn't that be something-

wouldn't that be something if we could all just levitate above the ground
and maybe shoot into the heavens without ever coming down
and maybe we could get away from the day to day for just a few years
or maybe if we could fly, life's needs would disappear-
or at least the car payments
and at least the gas
maybe I'd own some shoes and for once they'd last-

but the truth is-
no matter how high you can fly, life will never drift away-
you'll still be 24, depressed, feeling meaningless, and dismayed;
that fence you couldn't quite squeeze through will only grow, it wont fade-
you'll just stare at the wall and wish for something else instead-
maybe a cloud blanket
or a bullet in your head.

there is a greying definition
of covering to protect-
the loosened tightening of fingers
contracting and outstretched.
one must take care to be gentle
with the laying on of hands
for the comfort turns to pain in time
with all the palm’s reprimands.
greyed between control and love
the words will stick and poke,
until the image stays full grasped-
what once was tender holding is now a choke.

grandma hoists her paralyzed son
out of bed
lifts his head
shakes in dread
(a grandson, now their kid)-
she takes her time
doesn’t whine
about how much pain it is
-
when they get to the church
she opens the door
struggles some more
because of the strength of her spouse
who is old as death
and out of breath,
moments from his heart giving out
-
so when the pastor preaches
she goes at it again
reaches out to heaven,
all but her husband can hear the sound-
this time with anger and rage
she pleads and she prays,
that the two coffins she built will fill by the end of the day
and her two burdens will be stuck in the ground.

taking a look in the mirror
you find that there is mostly you;
the walls became smaller yet superior-
once they’re out there’s no coming back through.
and you
wonder why
as the days go by
the people you once had
in your life,
by your side,
leave and they never come back,
never try,
never climb
over those walls
with those apology letters saying
I
am
sorry
will you
please
forgive
me
now-
they’re not sorry
(they’re not sorry)
they’re not sorry
(they’re not sorry)
im not sorry
I’m not sorry!
if you wanted us to stay,
then why did you try so hard to push us away;
if all you wanted was equality
then why you try so hard to make your voice
the only voice I could hear, could breathe, could see, could believe, could stomach, or could retrieve!

as your walls go up
and the blinds fall down
don’t peek outside
to see if we’re around,
because you said it,
you said we should leave
simply because
we had disagreed;
you’re always saying, that we never listen
and when we stop talking, you finally get all your words in
to call us the blind, the defective, and the useless,
but a friend can only stay so long and endure all your bruises!
so when you look back at now, when quite some time has past
remember my words to you, though unsympathetic, they will last:
you were the hypocrite, pleading for peace but sparking rage,
disowning everyone you knew, hiding away in your cage!
and when the pain and hurt from others finally went away
you crawled back out just in time to reassure us that you still hate
everything that disagrees with anything that you do,
hitting us with harmful words, severing connections right through-

your
opinions
have poisoned yourself
I know
it’s because
you’re going through hell
and
you
just
want
some
company-

sometimes
things don’t play out the way you want them to
but what’s up to you
is whether that makes it good or bad
- some don’t understand and won’t ever do
that the reaction and emotional transaction
is something you get to choose-
regardless of the feelings others had.

even all things
formed and hardened
subject themselves to change
and to be changed
for what is
cannot refuse the weathering-
deciding to stay the same
letting the same form remain.

yet they will try
to mask the craters
in their complexion-
some will die
before admitting
some roots have severed connections-
for none like to look back
and see that
what has past
is true;
for admitting all the past acts
or the rough patch
can mean some pain lasts
in their view-

but we are all bruised and cracked deep in our bones
with lasting acts that won’t leave us alone
we were made to break at some point in time
but that doesn’t mean that pain controls our lives-
and even when change leaves us in the dark
and we miss home so much with it’s warming heart,
there is a light shining it’s brilliant warmth
and if we just trust, I know that we can still have life in our storms.

we like to justify:
lie
create
or at least try
to make
or state
a reason why
we do
what we do
or why we chose that we don't
but the truth
we ignore
is that we don't know, and we won't-

you ask yourself
you trust yourself
and you go on your way

you believe your truth
you accept your proof
and you go on your way

you live life with max ease
you do as you please
and you go on your way

but you can't trust yourself
you can't trust anyone else
to give you the answers, and show you the way

so just know that you don't
that you always won't
or either muster the confidence to simply say

"i don't know what i'm doing"
"theres no way of knowing"
"i'm trying to make the best of my fate"

or

"i trust in the stars"
"i leave life up to chance"
"i believe there's a God still showing me grace"

all open their eyes to fear
seeing nothing but what can't be escaped-
even in a world they paint,
what they create
can't get them out of here-
so we
tell stories
make up lies
make our selves feel better
  maybe in time
  we will find
  something that casts this cage away
  -forever
but until then we
search for truth
but ignore what's waiting
down at the bottom of the stairs
  they say
  don't stare
  don't focus too hard
  or you will find that your fate
  isn't
   going
    anywhere-

if you wake up
empty stomach
tired and hungry
and pour coffee down into the empty hole,
it will slide right through
- such is life;
sometimes
racing myself to the bathroom
is a more pleasurable experience
than not visiting those marble floors at all
that day
that week
those three weeks-
it is by far
the more pleasurable experience
to feel the burn in my stomach
the churn
and groan
than to have nothing happen at all
-such is life;
it is an odd enlightenment
to be aware of the pleasure received
from the release of what we spend filling ourselves up with.
we fill ourselves
we stuff ourselves
and we eagerly await to get rid of it,
and we enjoy it,
at least I do,
for although such things are not what we discuss,
it is what we feel
it is who we are
-such is life

it's not the sound that you miss
or the view
or even the touch
or the lips
or the sound of the walking shoes
rushing forward in a stamping blitz
halted by the shadow's looming lightlessness

its not any of this

what you miss is knowing

knowing that you're not standing next to the wind
or particles drifting through your hands-
but knowing
that someone is there
and they have no plans of going-

do you ever want to take
everyone you love
stuff them in a box
push them out the door
somewhere far away
where they can’t be seen or heard
and you can finally find some time alone
lonely
free as a bird

there is no guarantee that we get to cash in
when we feel the rug pull
out from under our heels and we start to slip
we get what we pay for
we get what we bought
and the life we have is really all we have
until it's not.

just because I lay my bones out dry for everyone to see that I feel things more than they ever thought I could
doesn’t make me special
doesn’t make me unique
does make me something good
or make my words a grandiose speech-
it may show that I’m week
maybe humble
maybe showing that I stumble on my broken feet
but why on earth would you take advice
from someone who’s foundation is defeat.

the truth is that we’re all hopeless to some extent, relating to something sad, something as empty as we feel
we like to feel something that seems real
something real to us
something we can see
something that we can look and and see ourself reflecting back perfectly.
but when has taking your time to look in the mirror for an extra half hour
looking at your blemishes, your skin decaying, you imperfect features, the shame lying inside your eyes, the unshaven neck, and your unkempt hair
ever brought you to any new place
any new hope,
or is it still the same-
and that’s just how it goes
when the only thing you can look up to
is a reflection that you hate to see
hate to be
hate to remind yourself that that is you
hate to remind myself that that is me.

thank God that I have a foundation not built on myself
on my own personal hell
and that although sometimes there’s comfort in knowing your pain is felt by someone else
true comfort is found by someone who can overcome the pain
someone who can overcome the mundane day to day
the pimples
the ****
and all other things-
still helping me to not look at myself so much
but to place my hand in his and
walk away.

I roll out of my bed with my lips dry clamping to the side of my sheets
Like the sand clings to the side of a wet cheek and refuses to leave
Without first scratching your skin, unless you brush with care-
But then that just gets it everywhere
And all over bedroom floor
And all over the room
And the tub
And the bathtub mat
And somehow in the bed.

I rip my skin off of my lip because I have no more motivation to lift my head and turn my neck to try and see what this world has to offer me
Because
To be honest I’m tired of dragging myself out of an eternally cursed sleep of finally escaping what this life and my work and my toil had to bring,
I am ready to be rolled over, nailed down, lowered, covered, and then lulled to sleep, and thereby escape the day’s tolls that bring me crawling back into my bed
Dreading another day
Dragging my feet.

in the time that you see this i will be asleep in the bed all ******* in my thoughts like you said that i would and you always have been right that eventually i wouldnt stand in this fight and thats always been true thats always been you and you know what to do to make this all go through so just say those "nice" words to the back of my head sleeping soundly on top of my pillows of dread dreaming that the sounds like my heart would be
dead.

i dont want to hear it anymore i dont want to hear it anymore i dont want to hear it anymore i dont want to hear it anymore
i never wanted to hear it anymore
and thats why i blast the music until my ears bleed
to drown out the noises you keep sending raging after me
and i want to be free
see the world
see the free
and be me
but you keep chasing after the ends of my sentences begging to be apart of some world together
like this will last forever and that you have to fit yourself inside before the page runs out of lines to include us both in the same half a centimetre space
connected with no room to move
no room to breathe
no room to be free me or just simply be

so by the time that you see this hopefully i will be asleep and you will be asleep and you wont come to tell me your "nice" words again and wake me up to your screaming and we could all just go to sleep once without a fight of whos right and how youre right and new and true and how my blue is too much to live and breathe and
bloom.

not a soul in sight

will we be alright
here
under a lonely light

when the lamp goes cold
that’s all that i
fear

i just want to feel
something

i don’t want to be found
wanting

so as i climb my tower’s
walling

don’t pay attention to my lack
of care, i’m not falling-

i’m not
climbing down
if you can’t find me
don’t look around
-i have climbed my way
with no help from you-
i’m not
calming down
if you don’t like it
just ignore the sound
-I have found my way
with no help at all-



-at the foot
of your lonely tower
i will wait
just in case you tumble
i may not
have been there every hour
but i won’t leave
just in case you stumble-

gentle flowers under the sun
growing roots and growing up
brushing up against other stems
-feeling touch, feeling skin-
a soft brush on a petal
and it falls
right
off:
i never meant to hurt you
but i just didn’t think
to
stop.

i don’t want to be labeled by your names
i don’t want to be hurt for hurting again
i apologize for causing pain
but selfishness wants to never be treated the same!
i deserve the hate
i deserve your mistrust!
at least i hurt out of ignorance,
you hurt to make your hurt feel less than it does-

when all our
petals
fall to the
ground
will we
realize
the pain we’ve
given
to take back
all we’ve lost
has taken everything
that we have
and left us
paying the cost-
i know
i am the enemy
i know
that i have done you wrong
i learned my lesson,
took my shame,
but all your petals
at this rate
won’t last very long.

a phone rings to my displeasure
- another time spent
in your voice
in your precious respect:
the one demanded
for which i was reprimanded
and ****** for returning empty handed;

and i ignore your call
long enough for it to get lost again
but your name
lingers inside my brain
the image of your name
the only markings behind my closed eyes-
i dont want to see it
i dont want your name to be it
i dont want to read it
i dont want to open your voice message
i dont want to believe it
i dont want to think it
i dont want to dream it
i dont want to watch your name flash by
i dont ever want my path to cross between it;
fifty five years of seeing your name cross out mine
is enough for me to finally delete it.

-a father's hand reaching out,
means nothing once its reaching
has been to pull and tear, and rip apart;
the pain is the only lasting feeling.

it’s not the warm heart
that causes pollination  
from the honey bee

it’s just the static-
the spark between the partners-
rubbing off on them

both getting their way,
the bee and the new flower-
the wet dew glistens-

then they fly away,
maybe visiting someday-
moving on and out.

will they remember
the day they spent together-
i guess life moves on.

give me my way-
my deep down
my “prayed for” today
yesterday
every day,
the needs that never seem to find a way
to be met-
give me my way-
let my hands
grip firmly
to the waist line
squirming
and let me do what I do best
what I obsess
to posses
and undress-
give me my way!
because I have given way
long enough to have earned the right to say
that it’s my turn
my earned
my deserved
time and day,
so don’t delay
because I’ve waited a long time to have this moment
where I can be selfish and take
instead of give
and feel how living really is-

-what a mistake-

was it my fault-


take apart the past_ I wish it never passed.
I wish that the time flew by while we sat and laughed.
and maybe then I’d find the time to finally ask
what I could find that would make you relax-
instead I sit down on my bed at night
and wonder why I never did it right,
wondering why we’re still together,
wondering wether or not this will last forever-

was it my fault-


the words pouring from your lips
before the touch of our kiss
point out that it was my clenched fists
forcing faces to become clicked-
i
was
the
one
who
wanted
this-
those are the only words I remember-
the only words I can hear you say.
I thought you wanted all that I could pull together,
never knowing how far I would tear you away-

fill me up with your tainted smell
bring me to heaven, but not to hell-
when I get back, let me think about
the good times
the colors
the laugh lines
all others
around-

slip deep inside my mouth
don’t let the contents pour back out
until the world absorbs deep inside
my thick skin
my eye lids
my blue heart
pulling me back in
tight-

i will tell
all my friends
i will tell
all my friends
and when I tell
all my friends
i will fill them
with enlightenment-

i will fill them
with enlightenment

i will fill them
with enlightenment

i will fill them
with enlightenment

i will fill them
with enlightenment.

we believe (we believe)
because we see (because we see)
hidden things (things that we cannot dream)
that we are (we stand and be)
opened up
sobered up
empty cup
cut and stuffed
in the gut
open cut
bleeding true
bleeding through
seeing past
seeing why
seeing truth
seeing lies,
and we think
because we see
that we’ve seen
everything,
but what you’ve seen
was a lie
what you’ve felt
wasn’t right,
and the feelings
you connect
with the moon
and the sky
only fill
you with clouds
in a thickly
clouded mind,
so please know
that your truth
is just pretty
painted skies,
hidden valleys
in the shadows
waiting for
your demise,
so try to escape
from the ways
trapped inside,
before this
brand new high
leaves you lower than the lowest, dead in bed on your side!
and we watch as they clean up your body, and tell us to say goodbye!
say goodbye!
say goodbye!

finding meaning in the clouds is nothing more than paper-wise-
feelings in our chest telling us what we feel inside-

a stone will be hewn,
placed above the head-
written upon its cold stark view
the names, the dates, a lasting word said-
we will wonder
what will be placed above our dug out slot-
will there be words to say
will there be words or not-
but the only thing
upon my troubled mind
is whether or not
the earth has swallowed up your body-
soul and mind intact,
or has your spirit taken flight,
and i
watch the sky
and watch the clouds open to
to welcome you inside.

The mind
Is my
Worst feature-
My imagination
Turns me into
A new creature-

I will-
Foam at the mouth till I get what I want,
And weep to myself when I finally have it-
I will-
Disperse all irrelevant relevant details,
And give myself up to bad habits!
This drug of fantasy
Will bring me down with it’s dark tendencies!
And like Justin and Reece used to sing,
I am confusing my lust for these fallacies!

Images!

You cheat me till I’m bone dry!
Desiring to weep, but I can’t cry!
Wanting to give up, but I can’t die!
Wanting to move on, but I won’t try!
Wanting all that I can’t have!
Dreaming of decisions I could never take back!
Hoping for things that I could never ask!
And I
Push it on my wife like it’s her task!
To feed the demons of my dark soul!
To fill this void, this bottomless hole!
And when she can’t, I will grasp for control!
But I’m the one that needs to let go!
So I sit in misery of my thoughts!
And hope that the words I say can be forgot!
Images will cheat your eyes, your heart and all that you’ve got!
Until you’re at your lowest point, broken, distraught-

Separation-

Exclamation.

Exasperation-

and then silence-

for all the years
when you were speaking to me
have found the words

silent-

and as the feet
slide side by side,

the heartbeat
is deafly quiet-



a treasure is lost

a foundation is cracked

the stone i leaned upon has swayed-


my only wish,
if i could have it,
would be that you could’ve stayed-


that maybe grace and understanding could keep you
instead of sending you away.

i'll put my foot
in between the cracks
on the concrete slabs
and i will believe that i am
divided in half
never choosing my own path-
the foot will remain in the middle
between the sides
between the opposite ends and times
yet nothing is perfectly in between
the molecules unseen
lean to a side we don't believe
is what we really are
but we can deny the power of
choice-

we all believe
we are the in between
the new believers-
hiding everything
hoping that the secrets
wont find their seekers!
and the people we surround ourselves with!
are the people who will let us fall deeper!
we are afraid of the slightest criticism
and the feeling that we've been tricked by a deceiver!
so we ask those who follow our side
to turn around and grow blind eyes
so that we can keep hiding
we can keep on fighting
the internal battle for our lives!
-all alone-

and no one can show me the way
no one can show me the way back home-
for if i knew the way
i don't think i would go-
for i am afraid
i am afraid of what they'd know
and what they would say to my face
about the life that i now own-
for i don't want them to see
i don't want them to see this me
because i can't stand this part of my self
and the way that i drown in this sea-

and i'm all alone-
i'm alone in this place
because i was afraid to be real with those that love me-

take the open door
because when you look back
realize the broken path
you will fall through the depths
and slip into the deepening cracks-

when you look inside
you will see what you like to see
you will find what you came to seek!
and when you get what you want
you'll find that the door was closed for the past three weeks
to hide the stench of the bodies stacked
-the guts hidden behind the hopeful crusted lips
words spoken and never heard
forgotten before they ever stirred-

“a righteous man
picks up his cross,
gathers his loss,
and walks-
reaching for the heavens,
speaking to a passerby,
talking about the afterlife
and how good Jesus is-“

meanwhile-
another baby body is bent and broken
by a father’s “bravery” to believe in something bigger
than the breaths of his boy, his girl, his new born Bethlehem-
Because
Jesus called him.

-I find it hard to believe-
that God in his glorious grace
would give you a mission, to leave their sweet faces
and depart from this place
to carry a block of wood
to witness to others
while losing your children
your wife
your love
your spirit
your humanity-
i don’t think God has called you to anything-

You’re another pompous prophet
Professing his prophecies to impressionable people
To hide the fact that you’re facing much more than you fear to mention
And that you haven’t heard the voice of the lord or felt his love’s tension
And you carry this cross, but haven’t picked the one up in your eye; you are week and feeble.
You speak of goodness
But bring nothing but sorrow
You speak of love
Yet love to hate,
You think yourself a high priest,
But you are no servant.
Let the blood of a bitten tongue
Be the pain lasting longer
Than your false song
Slowly getting stronger.

“Everything under the sun is meaningless”  
says the teacher,
‘truly meaningless’



the hands that toil
to endless returns
will find out that the breaking
wasn’t worth the burn-
the days spent in agony
and months spent hoarding away
will be forgotten
on the last and final days.
there is one thing remembered,
one lasting effigy-
the words you cry out in judgment
facing death’s depravity!
for there are no assurances
that a man can find!
the teachers prophecy shall be remembered,
“Everything is meaningless” we leave nothing behind!