you are utterly torn apart. your heartbeat seems to accelerate but time is trickling to a near complete standstill. are you still in existence? all around you, voices are getting louder; the soft whispers reverberate throughout your numbed, hollowed skull,  and occasional laughter crackles like thunder to your ears. you blink, and with the effort descends a paralysing paroxysm so excruciating you bite your lip, lost and alone.

the feeling overwhelms you. a definite feeling of loneliness, even though you are surrounded by people, by the crowd. a feeling of solitary despair, enveloping your entire being and folding its wings around you. and you shiver, the cold gleam in its eyes piercing right through you while you are at your most vulnerable.

what is happiness? you ponder the question in your subconscious. what is it really? is it a good thing, or is it something that crouches in the corner, always ready to pounce on you and hurl you into the fathomless depths? is it something you would want, something you would embrace, or something you would abandon?

you can feel the weight; the unmistakable pressure of an unidentified burden that is lodged deep in the crevices of your broken heart. your heart— it is a shattered mess blown into smithereens. you know that even if you were to find every shard left, you will never piece it back together, and even if you succeed, it won't be the same.

you are a wreck of sorrow, a maelstrom of uncertainty— abandoned and cast away. joy does not favor you, and hurt is too protective of you; it won't let you go. you are trapped, a definite prisoner within the limits of its palm. and maybe, you don't want to be set free. maybe, this is where you belong— in a world of darkness and misery, where you are tossed about by the storms of a merciless vortex.

the atmosphere is familiar to you, but you'd decided to give light a try. you'd opened your eyes to a possibility of joy— something you'd never had. you'd decided to try to be everything you are not. and in those moments, those transient, evanescent eternities, you thought you'd finally understood what "happiness" means. but you'd been wrong. you'd bitterly realized that you'd never been right about something and that hadn't been an exception. you attempt a laugh but it sounds like a choked sob.

the amaranthine disappointment is suddenly too oppressive for you— you can no longer drag the weight of the chains after a taste of your brief wings of freedom. the difference is too wide, a distance comparable even to the gap between temporariness and perpetuity.

the sky in your world has lost the bright vividness it had for the short stretch of time. time, you realize, is but an illusion. and you wonder, are you living in "time"? if time is an illusion, a fiction of someone's imagintation turned into reality, then where will you be, if not in "time"?

an endless gray drapes over the landscape of your world, condemning your entire universe into unending bleakness. of winters colder than Siberian nights and mornings darker than a void.

you leave footprints in the snow.

but you know that you are torn, broken beyond repair, jaded to the point of no return, and that you've gone further than the lines of belief that marked the boundaries of your once bright soul.

you will no longer believe, you will no longer trust. because you are the essence of sorrow itself, the epitome of despair and hopelessness.

you are what they call "life", and you finally know what "happiness" is.

happiness is a lie; a picturesque delusion of doom, of the dark unknown.

happiness is everything life is not, and it is your enemy.

The pen is mightier
Than the sword
But what to consider
The keyboard?

How many stanzas
Phrases
Words
Must I conflate
To imbue in you
My love?

Is there no panacea,
No way for me to convey
The hold on my soul?
My heart
My being~
Such dulcet thoughts!
Your eyes,
{My cynosure}

Pure felicity
So lovely
A million ships at the ready
The cue being
the sight of your smile.
Helen is such a fugacious
Pipe dream fixation
When compared to your gaze

Until then,
Try as I might,
The depth of my feelings
Remains the deep ocean
Only a ripple wavers
At your knees
The rest waiting
For the Golden Bird
Of language
To release it's curse
Mere English isn't sufficient.

Dabble, Drabble
Play with the rabble

Unafraid, Arrayed
With a naked blade

Fearless, Peerless
After all this time, careless

Sliver, Quiver
Running wild like a river

Cellar, Seller
Wildlands dweller

Rotten, Cotton
All but forgotten

Night, Wight
Bereft of Night

Dream, Gleam
Cold as a mountain stream

Seep, Weep
Time to creep

Breathe, Wreathe
All alone you seethe

So it's my birthday.
And all I want is to hear from you.
And to know that you're okay.
Maybe you hate me now.
Or forgot I ever existed.
But something about this day.
Has to remind you of me.
Right?

Is it strange for me to say
That with the passing of
Yet another year
I’m most certainly young but I feel
Old?

So much as occurred since passing
That simple little thirteen
Quite literally
Cancer, Sexuality, Grades
But also figuratively I suppose

Even in youth it seems
That I bear so many more scars and wrinkles
And so much more knowledge
Than my peers
It’s as if I’ll need a walker soon

My thoughts
Musings and views
They’re a train
A bullet train
And they’re driving
Steaming along
Steering straight only
To hit another train
That smashes it all to pieces
Everything I’d thought
I finally had figured out
Shattered quite plainly
Making me realize how
Foolish I was for thinking
I had even the one proper theory
On how the whole world works
How absurd

Burns like whiskey, Tastes like ash
How do you bury the lost and past?
Vaguely haunting gossamer dreams
Reality fraying at its seams.
When the sticky sweet face melts away
What cruel intentions are left to stay?

What do you see when you look into my eyes
All the sad truths, all the happy lies
Are those stormy clouds just a reflection
A mirror to disguise my unyielding affection

dimble dumble,
caught a, thimble thumble
of precious morning dew.

dimble dumble, took his thumble thimble,
full up to rimful.
on his nimble rambull
wooly stu,
careful not to lose,
a drippity drop
of the delicious dew.

they flimble, flambled,
up and overed,
down and undered,
till dimble dumble,
with his thimble thumble, filled to rimful,
on the wooly rambull... came to stumble.

his face a crumble,
as the rimful,
roamed and overflew,
the thimble thumble walls.
a dribble drabble did scribble scrabble,
down the rambulls hide.

dimble dumble
chewed his bottom lip
and cried.
"do not fret my little pet, look there is still enough inside"
wooly stu decried.
"i'll be more staid,as we ride our fortunes, soon will be made."

so,dimble dumble
and his rambull crew,
with thimble thumble recovered,
from the tumble.

on they skedoodledaddled. being careful to protect the remaining morning petal's dew.
after a while, time,
flew with dove like grace and dimble dumble,
with his dudes came
to the the very place, of the rimble romble rumble
and royal rapture rap parade

dimble dumble
and rambull stu on bended knee
and really humble
presented their
thimble thumble
not quiet full to rim still
but delicious and felitious morning dew
to the king awaiting
his purchase and perview.

before its spoiling,
it was boiling,
his kettle singing,
songs a ringing,
to the beauteous,
but not so bountious, morning dew.

dimble dumble
watched the
thimble thumble steam
and bubble blip away.
hands flipping flapping
nose jinkling wrinkling
as the fog blew,
his way boiling dew,
tea leaves darjeeling
with daphne blossoms
was the flavour of the day.

dimble dumble
with thimble thumble
empty now
and too, wooly stu
caught a peek of teacups platinum
holding royal blossom brew before the butler,
with a silly stutter,
sent them on their way,
with dimble dumble
all a fumble,
with a thimble thumble
of goldenboldens,
as his hard work's
reward that day.

And as I called out
Into the shadowed evening
It was your name
That leapt up off my lips
Ran out into the gloom
Rushing to find you there
And bring you safe to me

There isn’t a standardized, introductory text
Regarding relations with the opposite ***
As the title suggests I’m here to help
To give you the insight I’ve uncovered so far

Let’s start with the ******* the older guys told you in middle school
“The “yawn-and-stretch” technique is sure-fire and will never fail.
Don’t bother actually getting to know the girl.
Your first kiss is far more important.
Do not call someone until at least three days after you get their number.
You will seem desperate, and they will run away, literally.
Always treat the person you’re after like ****
They’ll see you as confident and superior and like you even more.”
If you’re someone that encourages young hearts
With this crap
Please do us all a favor
And go take a long walk off a short pier with cement shoes

Moving on, we see the root of bad romantics
We are taught, from birth, to take what we want
By any means necessary
But it seems the difference between earning and theft
Has become a bit blurred to the point of
Prince Charming forcing himself upon Sleeping Beauty
Burglarizing the contents of her personal space in order to find himself a princess
The Beast held Beauty like a cage to a canary
Unleashing her to the dribble drabble of tiny tea cups
Until she sought solace in Stockholm
My frustration with Walt Disney, I hope, is apparent

You are not the Knight in Shining Armor
she’s looking for
You are not her jailer, her savior, or her insatiable love-maker
unless she’s into that kind of thing
In a relationship, a man fills one of three roles:
1. Someone to make her life a little better in the time you’re together
2. Showing her joy after heartbreak, and that love springs eternal
3. The ******* that makes her appreciate the nice guys
And if you fit into that third category…*******.

Lastly, in order to help you truly be a man in your relationship,
I’ve got some words of wisdom
-Be like a blanket right out of the dryer
When you wrap your arms around her,
Let her get lost in the daydream
Warm. Soft. Safe.
-Don’t take anything you can’t give back.
Just because she gives you a piece of her heart
Doesn’t mean you can take the whole thing.
She might be made of golden opportunities,
But don’t go trying to melt them down to make a pocket watch
-Explore the space between you
Run your palms across
The rough spots and the smooth spots
Try to figure out why they’re there
-Gaze down into every crevice
And stargaze up from every hilltop
You have miles to traverse
But you know it will all be worth it
When all it takes to shoot lightning bolts up your spine
Is a smile in pitch-black room

Like I said, there is no textbook, guide or pamphlet
That will give you direct answers to your greatest questions
But here’s a compass to point you
In the vicinity of the area where you might find
The right ballpark of behavior

serendipity
approach quickly
serendipity
expect judiciously
serendipity
a windfall so salubriously
aimless
meander amiss
nonsensical bliss
stop, look, create a twist
proceed the trick so-kissed
and then split

here and there,
so unclear
tremble waver
ambiguate and ennervate
then invigorate
postulate and cultivate
innovate to a stumble
a bumble, a fumble
frustrate with a grumble
expectations crumble
emerge humble

continue
anew
hem and hew
at crafting mental brew
give the brain something to chew
most of all, do.

From the window she sees
A sponged together sky
And chalky clouds
And a trail of wisteria buds
Which dribble into the street
From the window she sees
The men who watch cricket
Scoffing at the TV
Above their takeaway opposite
And she sees the polystyrene cartons
That people leave in their gutter
From the window she sees
A drabble of changing children
A laugh, a scrabble, a sliver of a tear
A road that’s been scrubbed down grey
And little dust particles
That creep upon it and sing
And break and smile, relentless
From the window she sees
Hope
And prays she’s not outgrown it

i am here with the secrets that i keep
the things that i hide oh so deep
because a secret isn't a secret once it's told
and i dearly do have secrets i hold

You've got a lot of black hair on the top of your head
that drips down your neck
shining rivulets
makes pools in your collar bone
ready face ready eyes like
I'm looking straight at you Mr
You've got weird skin that you pick at with white teeth
a smile that spreads across your body like an infection
You say sorry with a downward glance
pausing a stare that presses into my lungs
A voice that sounds like the taste of a peach
lips that taste like the sound of turning pages
If anyone could taste them. Ha
Clothes wrinkle in lumps draped on your angled frame
awkward and embarrassed out of place they seem to try to slink off
They don't like you for the lacking length of you finger nails or the way

You sit in the doctors office

Askew           where the **** do I put my feet and my elbows?
hoping for something grim to come falling past
yellow teeth and purple line lips
parchment skin cracking a purse
(dribble drabble shibble shabble,
your face does something funny
phonetically
when it spews
truly inspira
ired bravo) my god be quiet
Mr dr sir
hoping for something To match the electricity in your head
Sit down for this Stella this is it is,
this could be it
I'm sorry
but
you know it's time to go
Cause they don't like you here not even love you
I don't think; I don't either and no one here
You don't either
And that's okay   you know   it's ok
It's time
It's okay

Stop talking to yourself
*****.

My poetry is thought unbridled.
It exists to exist and is simply nothing more.
I, the speaker rare, write thoughts when I dare,
before they, streaking by, are never to be reminisced.
The gods of my words strike as lightning, quick and strong,
leaving me stunned, thunderous resound within my mind,
but these titans of colossus thought are too strong to be snared and restrained
Then fate would have it, with grace they do appear but...
the sylphs are marred by the scars of these glyphs.
And so, I'm left with the mortal drabble,
the fragments of a various whole.
They exist as I exist and are simply nothing more.

Mindless drones gather together to defend their rights.
Fetus growing in a mother's womb, fighting for it's life.
Here I am laying in pools of my own ***** matter,
regurgitated words resting at my feet. Dribble Drabble.
"Yuck"
I know.
My eyes are open now to the world as a whole.
Like a newborn infant seeing the world in color for the first time.
Pity. Now he suffers the chance for the inevitable loss.
You? You gave me this.
I? I will not give gratitude to you, fowl creature, for something I hadn't the chance to refuse.
Now I see the trash meet the man made pools of pollution
The garbage piling, PILING,
The roads winding, WINDING,
THE LIGHTS BLINDING,
THE TURTLES DYING,
and your face binding.
Oh, I HAVE played my own hand in this.....
... I *****.
Never thought I'd wish so strongly to be blind..

"There are two kinds of people in this world. Cat lovers, and normal people."

From the syndicated  comic strip "Drabble", 2014

"There are two kinds of people in this world. Cat lovers, and normal people."

From the syndicated  comic strip "Drabble", 2014

Did We
Drivel or drabble,
Blither or blather,
Prattle or prittle,
Nitter or natter?
Which two don't
Match;
Which two don't
Belong?
Yes, we know
It's a choice,
Yes, we know
We'll be wrong.

My worthy adversaries across the dais would have you believe
That, having fashioned mankind in His own image
And, what’s more, sacrificed His own son
For the sole purpose of its collective salvation,
Our Maker would, in effect,
Simply shrug his shoulders and send it on its merry way.
Free to fall, those arguing the negative will tell you.
Ah, but there’s more than that: not only do they insist
That The Creator has for all intents and purposes abandoned us,
But has allowed an equally powerful and diametrically opposed force
To set up shop on his watch.  
I would ask them--what drabble of Scripture,
What logical premise would you cite to support such madness?

But surely, my learned opponents would purr,
(Oh, every bit as sly as devils themselves!)
You would not deny the existence of evil in this world.  
Morons! Can it somehow be possible
That you are completely ignorant of the work of Augustine?  
Tell me, after you finish your warm milk
And button up your snuggly jammies,
When you flick off the light switch, does the dark come out?
Or is your grasp of physics and philosophy equally inadequate?

I suppose, in a last, desperate attempt to buttress their arguments,
The supporters of the opposite position
Will contend my presence in this lecture hall
Is necessary and sufficient  for their argument to carry the day.
I categorically deny the supposition!
I do not exist, nor can I!  
Hang your forensic skills on that,
You bunch of ******* saintly *******.

For the first time in ages
I said I wanted to die
And I didn’t mean it;
I said it again and, still,
I didn’t mean it.

For the first time in ages,
I could look at my hands
And know that they are mine,
That they are attached
Physically, mentally,
To my own body;
I no longer stare, shakily,
In the mirror
Up to my drifted eyes or chapped lips,
Oh no,
Instead, I see such a lovely warmth,
Something tangible
So when I move my limbs
I know I am here, alive, truly.

For the first time in three miserable,
Lengthy, troublesome, god forsaken years,
I am regaining, RECLAIMING, my existence.
That’s right,
No more empty minded drabble
Or loose whispers begging for help,
Some lost fingertips coated in frigid sorrows,
No,
Never again,
I’ve grown so sick of being sick,
So tired of being tired,
So frustrated with being frustrated;
That I am taking myself back.
I accept her with open arms,
Ones I can finally feel,
And God, did I miss her.

written pages of meaningless drabble
insignificant metaphors and
twisted backstage tension
unknowingly expectant
hoping for acknowledgement for
whispered cries for help
fantasy mixed with two drops of reality
can you find what is real?
don't worry, neither can i
within fraying leather backed journals
contain tear-stained pages and scrawled words
worthless in their naivety
wallowing in their misery
the best way to love is
to spill your heart into relentless pages
and burn the book