There's a fire burning somewhere,
You can feel it too, right?
The heat is increasing out there
Beyond the horizon you or I can see.
Stand next to me, close your eyes,
And slowly. Breathe.
The smoke could choke us,
Only, most of the world, they don't notice.
Not like us, smelling scents so potent.
Everyone is arguing of nothing,
Reality is terrifying.

There's a break of waves in the ocean,
Excitedly, people bring their children floating.
"This calm is so great!"
Paying no attention to the earth being broken,
I feel asleep in a space that claims awoken,
Everyone is blissful in the nothing,
Reality is terrifying.

I'm dying cracking jokes,
I'm just like you,
The dire circumstances, I let go.
Defensively I laugh at demons I know.
But I know, the last thought I'll evoke
Will not be a playful poke.
I'll tunnel song myself back to a heartfelt note.
I'm laughing at the nothing.
I'm so scared of this nothing.
I know nothing is coming.
Reality. It's terrifying.

I have yet so much to be accountable for.
Paradoxes and juxtaposition's that hold me in consequences of my own.
Battles that I face within my own disregard.
Doubts, fears, consuming me. Changes that I want but changes that leave me in anticipation.
Impatience, stagnation, not know how to go foward.
It's you that I want, you the only person I have on my mind.
Obsessively not being able to detach myself from your energy.
Obsessive thoughts...
Dreams that leave me in agony.
Is it you that I am supposed to be with?
Or am I insane?
Corrupted by my own mental analyzations.
Thinking about every scenario like a lost cause.
I don't want you on my mind and I forcefully try to get rid of you.
But juxtaposed, maybe I secretly love fantasizing about you.
It brings me a sense of peace...
But creates more agony that I cannot escape from.
Like my legs are glued to the ground and I am waiting in deadly anticipation for nothing.
Even though waiting is not what I wanted to do in the first place.
Trying to move on from the thought of you, but the thoughts of you are so passionate and brings me a sinful joy only I can imagine.
Delusional, It is YOU that I want, only YOU.
But is it you that I am actually supposed to be with?
Contradicted by own addictions.
Addicted to contradictions.
Paradoxid thoughts, ups and downs that I myself cannot seem to fight down a tunnel of a rollercoaster loop.
Over-analyze and fantasize, stop my mind.

It drives me insane
#love #sin #dreams #fantasy #over #thinking

A secretive and charming mistress, I'm amused by the sudden introduction life has given me, this new found beauty grant granted me unfounded liberties.

Gleaming eyes and nocturnal love,
her smile, her stare, her hair, her style, she is sunbathing me with boundless possibilities.

My first induction from the heart was underwriting tremendous risk, but the alluding truth blocked my mental capabilities.

Sandwiched between previous grief and future wishes, the blissfulness moving forward within a spectre of this sentry invited her within all my facilities.

Once intertwined I felt shivers down my spine, a darkness found in a 100 year old haunted house, I'm alarmed to her mentally drowning disabilities.

I'm in love with a darkness consumed in misery, downed by trauma she wants to conduct all of her liabilities.

Bonded to consume all her pain I'm in too deep, what I found in the beginning is all I remember, so I suppress my gut and follow blindly to heal and repair all of these twisted impossibilities.

Leaving everything gained in fame I play her game, echo less calls from the outside world cannot come in, I'm in too deep, I'm here to heal the devil of all her insecurities.

I plead dear Agony, please listen to me, understand your no longer in captivity, I will fill all of your cavities, you just have to follow me, please.

Reminiscing previous lessons learned to lost souls circling addictions, remembering trials of false triumphs to careless positivists, she craves the devil be fed inside mirroring darkened amenities.

I'm still here, I'm trying my hardest and the lurking stalking talking in circles inside these ****** walls block any sense of reality, unsure how I'm now here surrounded by negativities.

The dead end circle tunnel syndrome drove me to insanity, blushed heart and scorned mind with a spirit lost in time, I'm gaining experience in the antagonizing and tormented infinities.

Looped with a helping hand smacked, I'm belated and feeling erased, all of my emotions are now uppercased,
soon this will all end, I pray this is my fate, but not a possibility.

There's only one hope to bring this cycle to an end, a new life by souls split indifference, this will end by fertility.

The calming soothing nurturing wonderful sensual belated to now be related and infatuated we created a new song in life, now the fog of war is gone, nothing is wrong because I'm gaining visibility.

Holding a newborn the puzzle fits, but to her it's a chance to forget, it's back of her mind just above the neck of the woods, the reptilian brain takes over, the disease brought back volatility.

The anger makes her spirit skip, I can't speak past the quiver in my lip, now the puzzle doesn't fit, strong willed all along I still won't quit, I let the darkness drench my spirit, I let the devil french kiss, but this new seed will remain in tranquility.

Now I'm shamefully alone with growing grace, to protect this hope just alive after being maced, extinct inside by broken dreams I carry this new bloom, realizing I'm now tasked with protection to her I reel into acceptability.

I could have not left hell sooner for I tried to give chase, chase of a ghost who brings hell, hell where I'm enslaved, enslaved by broken bonded chains, chains to the mind internally insane, insane I didn't see the truth, truth to let her go, go away with my helpless little child, child to now grow very strong, strong because I'll forever show her true responsibility.

When your feeling low
and up seems to steep to climb,
darkness seems to cover
and you feel your sinking in a hole

Remember there is always hope
light at the end of the tunnel,
Love that's in your heart
your force you have within you

Love in angels
they surround your heart,
they assist when called
all you have to do
is ask

Your connected to the divine
that power is love,
Your power for you
to love your world

An existentialist sat quietly outlooking the garden,
offset by the noise of a steady heartbeat
and the warmth of his skin.
He was dismayed by the smell of dirt
writhing with worms and pumpkin seeds below his porch,
so he kept distance from the steps for fear of collapsing;
letting them rot back into the soil.
He began resting his eyes against the midmorning breeze,
for his nights were spent awake, listening to lonely calls,
feeling their whispers reverberate in his fingertips,
unable to satisfy them with reason
so never sleeping out of fear of submission.
Only now under the prying sunlight
does he understands the need for light at both ends of the tunnel.
Letting the rock of the chair run lose momentum,
his thoughts run through a stream of finite silence.

Dancing
Along the wild mountain road,
the smell
of crisp lavender
fills the air

Birds chirp overhead,
guiding me home
Rays of sunshine peek
through a tunnel
of whispering green,
A warm breeze
from the lake wafts over me,
Freedom

[in this life another is you]

father paints an abstract jesus.  my sister bites at the shoulder strap of her bra.  my brothers

to keep from crumbling
are sharing
bread.  

-

I draw a violinist.  a dog

at the neck of its owner.

-

in our imaginings
gutted baseballs

became

the skulls of small animals
through which
the wind

called heads.

-

in heaven’s garage
they’ve yet
to make
a horn
that works.

the kids have gone two or three years now without being raised.

the match
unlit
by your tooth
is paradise.    

-

a refrigerator rocks in a junkyard.

either the door has jammed, or she

is pregnant.

-

a cement wall
scraped
in passing
by one
with a stick
is the love
we have
for father

-

depression is a dog whistle.  I miss dinner sounding it out.

-

(when a scar of thunder / outs itself / I am blue)

or bluish

(like a sock in a blue
coat’s
pocket)

-

it is cruel to hang anything above a baby’s crib

-

I can only guess
I was happy
in the womb
with how
my mother
looked

-

the bunk
above mine
I call
deathbed

is

my brother’s-

he has
his own
way
of thinking

showerhead
is spotlight

-

here is a test:  circle
the parts
of a circle

(a sameness)

in the parrots
we care for…

our suicides
fight
for position

-

in the apple
air
of hem
and haw
a pacing
uncle
blank
as a broom
regards
the *******
half
of a doorknob

or

two men
carry a ladder
past a cemetery

one thought
between them

-

this nonfiction
not
what you’d
imagined

-

mother an artifact of paranoia

-

paper
scissors
milk

-

blacktop
pools
at the neck

of a crow.

half eaten
children
limp
home.

an umbrella.  a bra.  a harp.

a street we call satan.  

-

water, make your fist.  hold your breath
in a single
fish.

-

delirious
when the lights
went out
mother
would pull cocoons
from the oven    
tell us
to stop
kicking

-

it was a very strong soap
she’d use

a soap that squealed
against

the skin

her heart  
a hiccup’s
echo

her eyesight the sound of a drill

her eyes
two holes
in a turtle’s
shell

her eyes for seeing

the food in her mouth

-

the sobbing ventriloquist was my idea.  mother and father they were taking turns moving shampoo through my hair as I hummed.  doom was a color.  a mare kneeling on a bed of maroon straw.  miles off, an ambulance driver entered a silent film and tried to buy a garage door opener.    

-

children from abusive studio apartments inherit warehouse jobs from problem immigrants.  a bruise of ***** darkens the front of your jeans.  I am mugged in your dream and mugged in mine and mugged by a woman in both.  for now, this field.  my gestural father holding a broom for what he calls the welcome mat

of exodus.  in memory alone I am alone.

-

under crow
and flat
on my back
in the loft
of my uncle’s
barn
my shadow
is still
she
who upright
confessed
so loudly
that her heart
flew
into a quiet
sky
as she
collapsed

-

on television
the world’s smallest ghost town.  on a shadow

socks match

-

no longer graveyards, I tend what is everywhere resting.  I crawl like a toothache, long with her death.  the voices move from head to mouth.  

a squirrel on fire.  an act of god.  

I don’t think seeing such things is enough to put

vague
& crow
into one bed.  she is asleep

or fingered
by a man
with seven.      

-

in a country store
a barefoot girl
walks on her heels-

long stride and baby.

the store’s owner
happily shelves
popcorn, gauze

     the thought of his father
doing nothing.

-

beating my clothes
with me
in them
mother
irons
a man
from the moon  

(who giggles in us poorly)

for love

-

if my father admits in his bed that some mice are alive when he bends
to the earth
a cornstalk
and lets
fly,

I have to find the mouse
that means
other mice.  

-

wish I could dream away the bad mornings spent cheating on her sadness        

-

illness, assault.

presence
a blank
petition

-

in the end my mother was mostly an ocean dipped into by lightning.  

a mother whose hands were broken by recent events.  events that evoke transcription.

-

assault:

maid
loses cart
to stairwell

-

illness:

a birthmark, a scar, and a tattoo

eating under
a blanket

~

[hospital young]

years back I met god in some nowhere town before I was born to teach symbolism. I know what room I’m in by the tv show my mother’s watching. dear ghost, I hope you like the parrot. from what word did letter come. existence mourns non. grieve on sight.

~

[untitled]

fog overtakes toad
& boys
are born.

ghost yoga. crucifixion.

train is a tunnel
train’s never
seen.

two dead crows- I’m shoeless again.

~

[food (xiii)]

while pacing the hallway of a floor that elevators skip, an amateur eulogist pictures an error-prone barber in a bath of milk who gave as a gift a rocking horse with a bad stomach to a child healing a cobweb for a starless bear.

~

[untitled]

after seeing the girl I have a crush on sign my friend’s arm cast, I spend the weekend jumping out of a tree, trying to land on my left, in the backyard of the last person who knew to hide the head of god. I break nothing but the blood from my nose could fill a football. vandalism starts in the face. it’s dark. I treat my mouth like a scratch.

~

[notes for insect]

I will never know a ghost story

god does not

I spiral down a slippery *****
Entwined as I descend
I’m drowning in a kaleidoscope
As My mind begins to blend

Swallowed as Im consumed
As I sync into the abyss
Left as hollow as a vacuum
Neither extinct yet nor exist

Falling down this  internal funnel
All life is drained from inside
Like crawling down an eternal tunnel
But no sight remains to guide

Condemned, I see a rope
I hold it tight but it’s just another chain
I see an end, is it hope
I see a light, it’s not, it’s a train

☒ Give to me the possession of my hormones back for full absorption
☒ as I'm keen on resuming the bony splinter means of bone resorption
☒ while admixed by neo-commixed protocols of bio-ecleptic sorption
☒ Let's stomp sun-burnt faces 'cause J. Edgar Hoover was the riddled
☒ manufacturer of Malcolm X from a ***** mulatto known by Little
☒ who scrounged while Jersey burned its cheap, girly skirts for a tittle
☒ Marilyn Monroe was like a door **** because everyone got a turn:
☒ spooks, gay wops, greasers & tunnel bums who were keen to learn,
☒ even day laborers, migrant fruit pickers & coal miners eager to earn
☒ as Marilyn's 'scribed tranquilizer regimen was of no mortal concern
☒ 'cause it was Norma Jean's lithium intake that no one could discern
☒ anymore than the Unabomber's gripes seen by Alexander Cockburn
☒ or the clinically-constipated pretentiousness of nut-job Bruce Dern
☒ who holds far less star appeal than a gator-****-covered swamp fern
☒ or a petit jury of unscrubbed, chitlin'-lovin' nitwits about to adjourn
☒ into the night life of ******, their ponces and mamas horridly stern
☒ who were evicted by the Empire Hotel Group of the Hotel Lucerne
☒ whereat a politico can parlay sick-leave *** with a volunteer intern,
☒ in a meeting room spread eagle on **** carpet near a V.F.W. lectern
☒ for a thrilling roll of tattooed *** wiggle, tanned hip swish & churn
☒ Thiomersal makes serums kick ***, so we'll long for what we yearn
☒ to eat doves, hawks, wrens, rooks, robins & the greater crested tern
☒ Merck adds the blood of rabbits to their notorious M.M.R. vaccine
☒ to proliferate superior mutant strains that filtrate foggy brains clean
☒ Patients are murdered in hospitals for their kidneys, lungs & organs
☒ Do not cry over spilt milk nor over the disarmed Aussies poor guns
☒ 'cause switched ships Titanic & Olympic were banker J.P. Morgan's
☒ The P.M. didn't expose insurance fraud for fear of losing war funds
☒ The power to tax involves the power to destroy is heavy and taxing
☒ as it wanes menstrually when it is not in the seventh house waxing,
☒ or naked in a river with water moccasins, gators & pirañas relaxing
☒ as redacted facsimiles of pentagonal papers have militarians faxing
☒ about whether Check 'n Go offers the best 3rd-party-check-cashing
☒ while our children are dulled by prescription tranquilizer dopamine
☒ they are concurrently spazzed by that genic stimulant amphetamine
☒ which was pharmaceutically pedalled by allopathists as benzedrine
☒ that's able to hyper-stimulate a brain faster than a ten-pound praline
☒ while sickening patients via rashes of neuro-transmitting histamine
☒ A superior knowledge must be properly applied to equate to power
☒ from a Jehovah's Witness Kingdom Hall or Pentecostal ivory tower
☒ below which poor people must be transfixed into a cowardly cower
☒ whilst stupefied by the oily patter of tele-prompted twit Matt Lauer
☒ who graduated from imbecile of the minute to retardate of the hour
☒ He got this way by substituting saw dust for desiccated wheat flour
☒ while denigrating Ike's warning against the militarists we empower
☒ I suspected that the stinking ****** I grew up with wasn't a brother
☒ till the program for adoptees: Look Dumb-***, I Ain't Your Mother!
☒ School-gun-free-zone laws force armed criminals to finally disarm
☒ in gun-free zones to protect our children from armed-criminal harm
☒ as no one need fear for in each school there's a regulation fire alarm
☒ plus in every home-room there's a martial-arts-trained school marm
☒ and if her tae kwon do fails she'll lure from him his gun with charm
☒ as she's a **** gal even though she was raised on a Wisconsin farm
☒ O Lord God have mercy to steer a misplaced/misdirected gratitude
☒ to a septicemic pit that'll sanitarily coax hyper-stimulated negritude
☒ what'll ablate pained receptors spun into a dextro-rotational attitude
☒ coursing towards 1 dizzy patter replenishing whomsoever'll delude
☒ the framed, gullible men & clothes-racked naturalists who sun ****
☒ 100% cocksure to stymie church with a girlified/glorified interlude
☒ before the bank of God files this in suit, the way it wants to be sued
☒ or epoxied, affixed, pasted, joined, stuck, adhered, taped and glued
☒ onto pages of doggerel verse that's shockingly & mockingly shrewd
☒ while an edibly-ripe tomato's rendered unpalatable as it was stewed
☒ for a *******-tight ***** forcefully torqued cracks tightly *******
☒ falling from the stitched mouths of dowagers bitten off half chewed
☒ From Hibernia to Albion, Scotsmen hang martyrs from an oak rood
☒ as pleated t'ings Scottish are sorely transfixed & rough-hewn crude
☒ where Wales' women decry a Holyheaded Welshman miner's mood
☒ that's digested like lamb lobscouse stew which's St. Helens #1 food
☒ pushing Brixton's Jamaican monkeys into a quasi-Rastafarian feud
☒ Out of the blue you rained on me saturating this prosthetic left knee
☒ I should've shot you in the neck before you pushed me out of a tree
☒ I can't cover my bald head unless somebody sells me a wig for free
☒ From a boat it's good to hurl & ***** 'cause it's fish food in the sea
☒ as rancid crap dumped overboard makes for delicious salt-water tea
☒ the type preferred by the vampiress Liz: Romanian quean of misery
☒ & ma to the wing-eared-imbecilic Chucky mate to mammy Cammy
☒ in full glory, in casual shift that is provocatively low-cut and flimsy
☒ Albanian maniac = Albaniac from under & off a Penn Central track
☒ Romanian maniac = Romaniac no matter the ooze of angled crack
☒ that will trump disease by scarfing red-peppered cole slaw cabbage
☒ so as to avert pelvic-girdle bruising plus sudden high-thigh damage
☒ Conventions banning torture are seen by State eugenicists as quaint
☒ because botulism makes not a crone seem no younger than she ain't
☒ In circles dark chronic emphysema is a darkly chronicled complaint
☒ soon as you thunk no violation too vile could make Liz queen faint
☒ on the decks of slaughter-ships finished in super polymerized paint
☒ **** no stick to monarchical petticoats while the shell rots of a saint
☒ where no sodium fluoridated water can pineal gland ******* & taint
☒ as no lardy laird shall see redress from Marxian Scotland's restraint
☒ Dominican man-eaters wolf almond brother & nephew sandwiches
☒ over the shrill hue & cry of black, barren, hog-shaped Indio *******
☒ whose godless zombie voodoo chants prohibit hiking furry britches
☒ even though hairy pants are the #1 thing that negresses know itches
☒ all students at Lee Harvey Oswald's C.I.A. college of patsy snitches
☒ where marksmen and sharp-shooters exhibit shaking-palsy twitches

Things could get very dark very quickly
But let's not call for a hearse just yet.

We're on a speeding freight train
Headed for the light at the end

Of a long and dark tunnel
Just keep your eyes on the prize.

We'll soon be blasting through
To the other side!

Waiting for a war could be the make up of you
Asking for the style of toasted chips chains and whips
be more you
Yet inside the tunnel of fun the banal seeking mug
is never a deference for seething inside is self forgiveness
The lights you thread states streaking faster
to satellite then to satiate the falling fist
Of all humanity's brutality the devils are well met
as you lay and decompose in sin
The messes made of ginned up country sentiment as if from dignity
Your predilection for face is only simpleton vanity
as always it's what you anchor between you and me
Here this now what now is a force as the flag up the gripping girders
Preened per pound and pasteurized by demi goddess hope here
queens who sing of flesh who're only as an entity that vows
Touch the answers for in the end the people you claim to protect
will dismiss call out and take
The last blade falls and with you all and your likeness adores accredits oh so cajoles

Desperations promises perpetual ingratiations poverties hells

I’m feeling the air on the thick of my tongue,
and it’s summertime -
it’s summertime, now, and I think it’s a Sunday,
so I’m going to smoke that Cuban cigar
in the quiet, against the sunlight.

I’m going to wait until the sun comes down,
and then the light is all mine to drink in;
not one, but millions of stars share the glory.
I’m blinking it in, like this will be forever,
and there’s something in me that wonders
why I’ve waited so long to live.
Why I always let the light filter
through stained glass,
and why I believed them when they told me
that staring directly at the sun
would blind me in forgiveness.

Why does forgiveness have to hurt?

I’m wondering if I can ever forgive myself
by kissing switchblades
and licking the flames from votive candles,
or if there must be an easier way
to do all of this.
But if I cling too much to what happiness could be,
then I’ll never know how to forgive myself
for not having it sooner;
they want me to live a good life,
but I am steeped in sin
and waiting to burn.

This - this thing -
is far too much about what they want.
Far too much against
Cuban cigars and Sunday mornings
in bed, and grabbing hold of life
with fists and hair and saying
“take this, all of you,
and roll with it.”

I’m paving my own narrative,
looking at barefoot beachfront walks
like altars, and I know -
I ate the fruit, and now I know,
that a long line of commercialism
will fool you into thinking
that the light at the end of the tunnel
means something.

Is there light at the end of the tunnel?
Can you find light within the darkness?
Open your eyes and open your heart
To the darkness around you
Only to find yourself in the center of the spotlight

Shine in the basement
She thought she caught a glimpse
A sprig of light, gentle sublime glow
The hallway was a greyscale tunnel
She didn’t know how to walk through
But the Midnight Orchid
Was in her hand

Clutched in a claw
More than money but it was dying
Slow, dried into beautiful, twisted paper
And she held it like a cross

When the hallway got darker, the petals
Dropped in a row behind her
When the shadows grasped
Every sound was thunder
And her eyes were white with terror
But the Midnight Orchid
Was in her hand

About half past 3 am
When the sounds got cloudy
Muffled by a violating silence that
descended from every direction
She moved like a wasp
From the circling doorway
And the Midnight Orchid
Was in her hand

Perhaps these didn’t didn’t transform
The way she saw herself
When she peered through curved glass
At the next “her” that would arrive

Through a dream that beckoned
And exploded her insides
Like infinite spirals of fire
The truth witnessed her
When light finally washed bare feet
And the stream of hallway petals
A moment gone
And a trillion moments come
The Midnight Orchid
Fell.

while the western world "demands" an interest in metaphysics, the other benzene-ring avenue opens up... oh... there's an orthography? that's ******* paranormal!

the demographic concern of
democracy...
     the law is only
         cocerned with object-
   subject
               interaction...
       and then you still get to
mow the lawn...
                ******* cosmo pike...
****** with an off-shoot
challenging a *mahican
            you gonna be
a ******* meat-head
headbanger
                    all of a sudden?!
          work the slourtherhouse?
good moo to you...
          petting animals
makes it hard to
suddenly wake up and say:
**** it, let's ****
us a cow...
       ever listen to a cow
being towed into
           a slaughterhouse?!
you learn to sniff and spy
and become abject
about ******* use...
        what the quran isn't
completed with is...
well... it is...
dictionary: quran...
and the thesaurus
             composed of hadith...
ever listen to a cow
being towed into
a slaughterhouse as a child?
         you can decipher
the "cipher" of the primitive
sound like you can
later evaluate friendships
in order to not make them...
             sure,
plato was gay,
   aristotle was autistic...
        and the common parlace
leads us into kant was
a bachelor...
     sartre had a public
funeral
               procession...
and the ***** region
adverse to ****** hair as
law of the jungle is: where?
  i have to stage dyslexia
being a phenomenon
of a language that does
not employ orthography...
       or a concern for
said practice...
                     you can
have metaphysics, sure,
you can learn all about that,
and the paranormal...
       but when it comes
to the benzene third direction
via the tunnel of ortho-?
   keep clapping...
    because this avenue is
closed off for you...
   you will never get
the grafitti orthography joke
of huj vs. chuj...
                well, you might:
if you interest me in
   the "grapheme" of
              siamese consonants
equivalent to a "rule"
                of: very little.
- a "concept" of a snake
makes more sense
with a lazy slightering S,
          or a king cobra Z?
prior to the motiff of X-ray...
there was "X-ray"...
                but i'll still call
that western metaphysics asks
why eastern physics also
employs orthography,
        with not meta- avenue available...
and when...
     the two polar factions
have to base their functionability
on what's para-,
                       hey, black gold of
arabia, the t-rex bites back...
                 it really does help
throwing ash into the Ganges
   hoping for the river to turn into
a stone, and morph
the ash back into a motivational
"excuse"...
                   what i shouldn't?
well... i certainly shouldn't
hold back urinating,
    with due imitation to
a pregnant woman,
         or if i had a tape-worm...
    feeding my bladder the pressure
to stand like a tree,
   beholding an apple-sized
bulging ***** in my body...
       or as i like to call it:
relaxing... while taking
a ****.

"Wake me, shake me, help me up from this dark hole i’ve wandered into.
Make me see sense in the fact that it's over, you’re gone.
Convince me this is wrong.
Promise me life has purpose even when you’ve been gone for so long.
Pray for me, tell god to give me a flashlight to take down this dark damp tunnel instead of damning myself while stumbling blind.
Push me up against a wall, kiss me and maybe then i'll come to my senses, because i’ve already lost my mind.
Look me in the eyes and tell the truth, tell me you don’t feel what I feel, even if it's a lie."

Hope is a good thing, you see
Hope is a good thing when life’s got you down on your knees
Sometimes it feels like nothing ever goes your way
You’re sequestered away in your prison cell,
Your own skull-encased hell
The one you created by clinging to your fear and misery
Fear that when a good thing comes along it might leave
But didn’t you know
The gate of your cell was never locked
You could’ve left whenever you wanted
So now, go
You’re free to roam
That cell was never your home
Though you grew accustomed to it
You are free
From your suffering
If you choose to be
It may take half a mile through that last stretch of darkness to feel free
But don’t lose sight in that tunnel
When you’re out
Feeling the unrestricted ground beneath your polished, free man’s shoes
You’ll experience the electric joy of freedom
Coursing through your hope deficient body
And then you’ll know
All that hanging on to fanciful hope through the years of despair
Was a good thing.

Flickering firelight
danced attendance on my thoughts
wandering through the shadows.
Half remembered memories slide around
not quite caught,
hovering in the shadows.

A tunnel of darkness beckons me
toward the great white plain.
A glaring light too bright to see
a place where there's no pain.
A soul might float forever there
among the silent peace,
with mind spread wide upon the air
relaxing there with ease.
But life has not yet done with me
and calls me back again
to be where I'm supposed to be
to feel again the pain.

Flickering firelight
dances attendance on my thoughts
wandering through the shadows.
Half remembered memories slide around
not quite caught
hovering in the shadows.