Welcome to a day at the masquerade

Everyone wears a mask

Everyone knows it's not real but we are showing who we wish we were

Everyone has a permeant problem and this is a temporary cure

But we will put on mask and dawn an act pretend until it's late

Now come we have a reality to fabricate


Here comes Madame Olive who is dressed so beautifully
But later she will throw up feeling self-loathing's cruelty

And Mr James flirts with Lady Mary
But ever one know it's Sir Richard he  would rather it be

The King and Queen no longer seek each other for comfort
They find each other as appealing as dirt

Duchess Clover seems to enjoy the attention of many
But she really just wants to be noticed by Doc Henry

Doc Henry wants to be heard but doesn't want to speak
And gets rid of anyone who tries to get in too deep

Lord John feels he missed something good in life along the way
And Miss Catherine feels like no one will ever ask her to stay

But here at the Masquerade they can be who they want to be
And during this delusion we are all free

Who is I?
In the Now. I am of true boi essence.
A writer, a recluse, abandoned only of fate: Destiny ever alluring in the palm of my hand.
Limited only by my own inabilty to be present in only one consciousness.
I am split between reality strings.
A permeant spectre, caught betwixt parallel dimensions.
At times incoherrant, lost in esoteric translation.
I am physic(al) - I of breath + flesh, perception being my holster, corruption my armoury.
Intuitively, i am harmonious, sanctonious, welcoming of illuminations and the darker side of each unfettered moon.
Awareness sleeps by my side. Each waking minute guarded. of commonality.
I am enlightened.
I am bouyant.
mobile, fluid-like in kinesis.
Conventional existense being the foundation over which i fly.
Arms outstretched, willing risk to be my pull.
Enticing Love to be my drag.
balance, mediums, equilibrium.
Lifted high amidst winds roaring with possibility.
I am stark in naked complication, although often prone to cover up in cynical, self critical analysis.
I am given of self; being the taker a refreshing discourse to which i stray accordingly.

Of culture i am a liar.
By nature i tend towards honesty only straying when survivalistic path need tread.
I am of blood,
private yet optimistically open to scarring.
By custom i am trained, civil, content.
Of instinct; native raw tongue, i am rampant, rapid in force, compelled to grow then emerge.
Only.
To submerge
is to take full scope.
i am telescopic
in view of A/all else to which i drown my vision.
I am unsure if i am young,
Although certain that my passage is still being lit by the glow of its entrance, dark passageways luring with their shadows and cavernous corners.
I am liberal, random in speculatory silence. I am idle, often motivated by industrial desire.
Mechanical in process, structured of cerebreal architecture, yet somewhat discombobulated in particularity.
Sporadic be my strain, its think tank choking always on the weeds of sorrow.
Essentially i am nothing: yet overwhelmingly everything.
I was
I am
I will
therefore i
Exist
to i as
A/all and nothing.
As yesterday is to tommorrow, and visa versa, i am a window, a door, a channel:
as closed as i am open.
Dependant only on my own deliverence of influence and potential.
Driven by the promise of future and the demands of my past.
I am a vehicle in time, my presence, my motion, my journey
is I.

I stand before this shadow knowing all the lies, all the madness, and all the possibilities laying silently on the doorsteps waiting for me to wake. I am know longer a  stranger to this place of destruction, or beauty, possibly both. I embrace them. Clarity shines deep. So deep that in the process of seeing myself, I saw the coward corrupted by the once so beautiful blessing bestowed in this heart. A coward because I  do not want to hurt her. A liar because the truth is we can know longer be.
The moon hasn't been out in months babe. That crash left some permeant damage. That one when you turned off the lights just when I needed to see. Why I thought I could piece together so much broke glass I am yet to understand. What's clear though is this numbness has left my mind running to long, and this heart, well it wants to feel again. May the curtains come down with the lesson instilled in my soul to never taunt true love with a broken dream.

Little dolly on her horse,
     how she rocks back and forth,
chaos upon the others as she pulls strings
     through the room disruptions she brings.

A permeant stitch upon her face
      hiding the reality of mistrust in place,
of what she did to others feelings
      thinking of her own fun instead.

Little toys, patch work dolls
       afraid to lose a stitch or worse.
This nightmare on a wooden horse
       ruining the bedroom of toy and child.

She smiles with glee as the horse says nay
     but she doesn't listen to anyone today
forth and back she doesn't care of who is scared
     then what was not even a thought goes wrong.

But rocking and frolicking has its woes
     as poor little horsy snapped a rocker
and doll fell with quite a tumble
     Mummy came and saw the mess.

Poor little horsy got put in the trash,
      in the corner she does now stay.
As not forgiven for her wayward ways,
      and for rocker that got thrown away.

Remember that what we do has repercussions  
       be it toy or child, we must think first.
For if we are selfish and not thinking of others,
       then it will inevitably be us that is in trouble

you're not the author of this story anymore.
i threw away all of your pens and paper
so now if you want to continue to write
you’ll have to use your own blood to continue
to make our memories permeant.
***** your finger with a rose thorn
and let it gush out into a tea cup.
i hope it throbs because I still do.
swallow the knots in your throat
when you start to smear the crimson blood
onto papers because you know its not enough to
write how much you hate my guts.
You’ll have to keep pricking your finger until
it’s shriveled up like prune and it begins to ache deeper.
so you make deeper cuts in other places that you shouldn’t
and it keeps draining the blood from your body and it’s still not enough.
keep trying to convince everyone that i’m the reason
why your bleeding out cause I took away the the pens and paper.
but they don’t know my side of the story because I’m still writing it.
and when it’s all said and done at the end of the day,
your the one with blood still on your hands.
finger-paint the sadness since you can’t try to be a man.

you’ll finally get help and claim that your fine
but someone needs to convince me that i’m still alive.

Behold  the  edge,  that  one  can  see,
always  around me,  holding me in. I
for  ones wish  to  escape from this to
a  more  permeant,  real  space, to get
beyond  the edge.     So all may see if.
  Our government are right, or maybe
justthinkingoutsidethere more round
box.   Yet they, make us live in boxes.
  So join with me, you must now have
come to see shapes like boxes is   NO.
And  the  true  people  live  and work        O    U   T   SIDE   THEM!!!

I figured out my suicide plan doctor
You've been asking if I had one
And now I do
I want to swallow just enough pills
Not to much
Just enough to make the voices in my head finally go way
Then I will climb to the roof
with my note books
Every single thing I've ever written
And I will bring my best friend
*****
Yes doctor, I've told you that I have other friends, but ***** was here when no one else was
And I will write till the voices come back
I will write about every time I have tried to **** myself
I will write a letter to everyone who knows me
Even the janitor that found me skipping class my sophomore year
And the boys on the bus from middle school
Even the people who wont let my name soil their lips
Doc, I'm gonna write these letters because I need everyone to have a permeant personal good bye, something physical
I will fill up two note books with everything I write
And then I will write to whatever god there may be
And tell them I'm sorry that I had to end everything this way
You see doctor I've never believed in God, but if there is even a small chance he's real I don't want to leave on bad terms
I'm going to write down every coping skill I know and address it in a letter to my parents
Then once I can no longer write even my name
I will stand and dance in the light of the moon
Letting the soft glow dance on my skin
And I will ignore the chill of the night
I will dance till my knees shake
And then I will speak to the moon
Doc the moon is like *****, Its always been there
I will apologize to the moon
Reaching to hold it in my arms
Toes on the edge
I will fall reaching for the moon
And in the final moments I will rejoice in the cool wind nipping at my skin
I will bask in the soft shimmer of the stars
I will say I'm sorry as the soft grass makes contact with the back of my head
You see doctor I've figured out my suicide plan

I am an empty wasteland
Studded with stained remnants of coffee cups
Papers are strewn about, telling stories about people
Who will never exist.
They seem so much more real than I have ever been
Musky clothes line the floor sending unseen spores deep
Into the lining of my lungs
I am one with where I am
Food and pills surround every speckle of surface
A myriad of tye dye colors
How much happiness can they fit inside a pill?
books and posters leave plastered imprints on the walls
Anything to show that this isn’t all there is
To a life that was never worth it to you

I am a bleeding liver
Half guzzled liquor
Spilled into cracked cups creates scummy films
Rainbow reflections of light from vertical screens
How’s that for a pride display?
In the rainbow of puddles
A failed education fills a shelf
Reading is so far beyond
Me
A fan buzzes in my ear
An angry bee that pounds thousand ***** to keep me cool

I am a furnace
That burns paper ideologies
Nothing here is permeant
Real is just a concept
Gallons of water to satiate an always parched throat
Diluted blood fills these veins
A slow death from oxygen deprivation
With no belt around the neck

I am a fetid corpse
That can still move
Still think
Still spew methane
Use a screen to reach out
Talk to a thousand other blank eyed, slack jawed clones
What does it mean, these words on a white background
Are you the reaper?
The coroner?
I’m breathing
I’m sweating
I’m *******
I’m not living
Air fills these two sacks
Red sewage is pumped into grey hands
A jolt down the spine
Is all I am
What am I?
I am a medicated pig
I am an artist failed dream
I am a cloud, high and falling constantly down
I am a camera, only able to record, but never interpret
I am
I am

Still, I feel stuck-
I am in the woods with no way of knowing what direction to travel:
I have no feet to walk,
no hands to touch,
no brain to wonder,
no heart to feel.
I’m surrounded by emotions but I feel none.
So much pain and loss, so much joy to be sung,
but I just sit. Unable to stand up from this mud.
This slick trap I have fallen for too many times now!
The things I once had I now dream about.
But I am still afraid of these dreams,
because I wake up with the pain knowing that they were just that.
Just a blip.
An escape from reality but only for a moment,
maybe if I had a clip I could make them permeant.
Just a squeeze of a trigger, or a ledge slip

In the blanket they were permeant ever
frozen like the pearls of thought but ever
gracing towards the heavens stark reminders
of when juvenile buds were momentarily
flourishing then quenched to oblivion.

Silver birches' were cloaked in the winds of
pearl droplets, only there shadows were upon
the grains that courted on every squall of what
played beside their moments brushing on the rigidity.

They were reminisce of what had gained leverage on
this glare of white nothingness, but above the ocean
of pearl beads nothing grew but they were silent but
ever feverish in the momentum to grow forth.

I see the strange
beautiful, and delicate things
they are in every day life
the way branches sift and shutter
waving in harmony
how that man is smiling
when he talks to his students
the laugh lines around his mouth and eyes
turning up with his lips
the way the bags under that girls eyes
look permeant and set
the world is an orchestra
and I have only seen
a few measures

Elusive thoughts and dreams,
Permeant to the mind.
Merely phasing through the realities of my soul.
I loved the sickness of the mind,
A dark murky cloud of an unpredictable storm.
Pushing through the phases of that empty vastness,
Drowning in a swirling mix of confusion,
Spreading like a poison throughout the veins of a twisting,
Winding,
Painful injection upon the skin.
Living through the soreness of a long familiar ache,
Yearning for a peace that never quite settled.

i was angry
how did they not care for you
the innocent boy with blonde hair
blue eyes and
crooked teeth
listening to the worst stories my ears have ever heard
the new towns, new homes, new schools
living in fear
at such a young age
you never had a permeant place to call home
until you met me

I waded into ineradicable waters. Turbulent, permeant, I baptized in your sexuality. Your curves as symbolic as the cross.

Do the demons that hide behide my eyes 
sell out my soul before I open my mouth
Do the way my arms fall around my body
Indicate I am lonely
I am sad?

At what point in my pathetic life did I just become this bag of lopsided dough?
When do I become so vuenrable 
Willing to let anyone become a friend
Instead of protecting whats left of my fragile heart
Coffee stirers for bones
wine for blood
nothing for me

Why can't I just feel love
Why does love make me feel so guilty
Why is it everytime I think of love
You're the 1st person to come to mind
Why is it everytime I try to fill this void you left in my soul
It is so unfillable
I know you say you did this out of love
But if this is love, then I dont want to know the other words meanings
hate,
abandonment
Youre not good enough
youre not special

Why do you ask about my brothers and my parents
while i am the person talking to you
Do i not exist?
Do the demons that hide behind my eyes 
Tell you secrets behind my back?
Do you know I stay awake wondering
what life would have been like if we would have stayed together
When did I become so vulnerable 
ready to attch myself to the first thing with a heart beat
Why do I let myself feel such strong connections with temporary people
Or maybe its because I hope theyre permeant 
I guess more importantly why do I still blame you
I mean its been 23 years 23
I have gotten over some pretty rough breakups faster
I just can't wrap my head around this
Was I not special?
Did I not matter?
Or did I matter to much
You never ask about me mom
Maybe its because I dont have any deformities or disabilities
Because maybe if I did you would care about me too
I feel like you didnt care at all
I felt like your life's mistake
Maybe i dont have to tell you this
I dont know who I am
Wynona, Ashley, Sapphire or WAS
I was someone
Somone who was burned for love

For Love mother asked gently
For Fame little sister wanted to know
For Friendship dad guessed
For Money my husband scoffed
For Power friends concluded
For Revenge My bitter half gleefully asked
For the Touch of another an ex boyfriend whispered
For A Fix a con artist demanded
For An Escape my best friend inquired
For A Permeant Solution my head wondered
For One Last Yesterday the child in me screamed

No, no no, Just a huge slice of Ferrero Roche Cake made from chocolate mousse and hazelnut my stomach answered