To live in a place both bright and warm,
On which the art of the heart is reflected in form

But the heart contains shades of the twisted and absane,
From experiences of visceral desire and pain

Casting shadows betraying the walls of this bright place,
Misshapen against the radiant-true worlds face

Opening eyes of men towards their worldward sprawl,
Thus above there lies the heavens in monochromic fall,
Such colourful devastation, to open the hearts of all.

here, maybe
they are black
on white
just an outline
of what may be
but stars
are not silhouettes
not here,
not to me
they become 3 dimensional
with every breath
I take
tripping through
the Universe
not every Star will make
me want to breathe
another breath
tip toeing amongst
Poppy fields
I rest
breathing toxic waste
but wait..
the beauty of
your written words
makes me wait
I sit in a field
of unfettered pleasure
getting high
on monochromic doom
Until
you storm the room
and make me see
Shooting stars
treasured art
a part of the Galaxy
blessed you be
from the start
shooting across
my night sky
*its all I ask

Young and nothing to lose,
she is a monochromic innocence
fragmented muse
and delicate to show her inner self.

Blooms and garden of thorns
for you, i am a mirage in storm
the reflections you see through mirror
the silver light glowing through your face.

I am a bright side
with impecabilities
the light you have ever seen
after an infinite darkness.

I am a song you heard
in your dream
for you, i am a perfect distraction
in state of clarity.

For you, she could go worse
like an angel at her fall
hunted by fearless shadow
for you, she could be your muse.

technicolor psychedelic lost realities
kissing cats then and now stupid fantasties
hallucinating white and black invisible fairies
inspiration perspiration a little mushroom tea
falling listening monochromic shades or hues
mind bending red green jaded poets and ingenues

March 14, 2016

You wake up,
Every morning a repetition of the one before.
You get out of bed,
Every morning a repetition of the one before.

Every second,
Every minute,
Every hour,
Every day,
Every year,
It's all the same.
It's all one thing after another.

A monochromic picture-book of your life–
each photo looking the same.

That chemical imbalance killing all of the flowers in the vast garden that fills you.

What am I becoming?!
You are whittling into nothing..

Slowly,
Every second,
Every minute,
Every hour,
Every day,
Every year,
It's all falling apart.
You will be nothing soon.

You have convinced yourself that the demolition of one existence can be the cause of a new one.

You are ready to finally let go.

But, what you don't know is that your foundation is much stronger than a thought.
Oh yes, it is.
You will realize soon, though.

Someone,
Something,
Some place,
Will come along.
It will come along and plant a seed in your garden.
It will grow.

It will grow in your brain,
It will grow in in your heart,
It will grow all throughout your body,
It will spread all throughout you until you are a beautiful garden once again.

You will wake up each morning.
You will wake up filled with roses and lilys and tulips,
Your garden expanding each day.
Flowers of all different shapes.
And Sizes.
And Smells.

You are hopeful
and
You are thankful.

You are thankful for the sun,
You are thankful for the water,
You are thankful for the bees
Who gave you a chance.

If it wasn't for them, you wouldn't be the garden you are today.

Thank you for helping me grow.

She saw her world under her feet, crumbling
she allow anything to turn into dust,
she saw her lucky stars, crashing and falling,
her dreams are just daydreams
as her masquerade disintegrating.

She make her flowers bloom,
in a room with gloom,
she saw herself monochromic
on white wall
like a rorschach into her skin.

When her day is plain,
she feels so strange,
as if the tides subside,
it's not beautiful
without the sun's treacherous
shadow that carries the light of moon.

Her mind is a four-trick wheel
like a kaleidoscope spinning in her different shades.

She is the gift of catastrophe,
her secret keeps her real.
You wrap your hands around her,
this injustice won't be seen
but she'll appear as a morning star
if you stare.

You'll see at the end,
the sunlight penetrating her whole
and twilight gnawing the sky.

You'll see at the end,
she's another paradise and burning embers,
she's another midnight and another stranger.