Take my hand and let me take you back to a time when
Time did not matter, when one second was replaceable with the next-
Easter Sunday, making mud pies in our little Purple dresses,
back to making junk into something fictional
And believing in everything make believe.
We climbed castles, discovered bigfoot, found our prince
All in a matter of seconds- and we never ran out of time.

Time- a matter of perception
Quick sand, sleep, death.
There are many things to slow down this barrier to living,
But nothing to make it go, to make it tangible.

If we were to place time on a scale it would measure into
A timeline of dinosaurs and hieroglyphics, of disasters and
The great discoveries of the ocean's depths- however, I am
Speaking of time as an emotional blip.

To measure time as we do our emotions takes away from
Our perception of that blip- of irretrievable time unaccounted for.
We must make time our foundation to understand it will always be there.
It is what you make of that time, how you allow that
Blip to affect you, that makes moments into concrete memories

They say that poems should include seasons,
Pictures, feelings, sensations; 'imagery'.
Whether it be a concoction, something,
Everything, anything, even nothing.
Whether it be things, memories, persons.

Meticulous pixels make up pictures,
Like when I fell, I had many sutures.
So accurate, captured and so painful.
Imagery of warmth, my heart beats blood red.

I've admired you for some time, oh my.
Your imagery of such indistinct hues!
Like abstact art, leaving me asking: 'Why?'
Gawking, in awe, you're igniting the fuse!
An imagery: 'Burning love in ashes.'

Hell, this day just begun and I'm already done.

I knew when I heard that familiar screech of the alarm,

The cold side of a warm blanket on an empty bed,

And the imprint where "she" had laid only hours before;

I knew then, that this day was already done.

I knew I still had to get up, "attack the day"

Or whatever the hell they say.

Brush my teeth and pretend I'm not the derelict from the night before

Pretend I hadn't done it again

Pretend to be the man I sold her to see.

The truth is my life feels like a snow globe

All the potential spinning round me

Still unable to grasp any of it, still stuck inside this cold, small world

Forced to pretend that what I'm looking for is inside this small world.

I'm lost, there's something so,

So dreadfully, inexplicably, abstact that I'm missing and I'm cavernous without it

Put the toothbrush down and just head back to bed

This day just begun and it's already done.

I'll say a word
I'll pen a thought
In the most abstact manner
About sharks in the ocean
Some hammerheads
Smelling blood
And no matter my intentions
You'll find your own meaning
And it will mean something to you

But I'll intone
I'll sing a song
In my plainest language
My purest intention
I love you
I always will
And I'll be alone
Because thats what makes you happy
Yet you'll find no meaning in that

Plants grow even in the desert
And I'll turn on the radio
And hear a song
We used to call our own

How can I forget?
Only by remembering that it was a song of sorrow
I'll forget
Because you want me too

And all my love is meaningless