I write under some small delusion,

that you would want to see

me, bare my soul and that my soul

is full of colour and wonder;

that I could some how venerate your being

with Some spark of creativity

magnified  in personification to a whole new status of being.

And I wrap myself up in this warm delusion.

It helps me sleep at night,

I feel better about the world,

even a little less lonely,

at first...

Because then you're driven

by some constant compulsion

to draw out the emotions.

You plot and plan words

and the schematics of affectations.

The tiniest hopes spur you on,

through endless trials and drafts of possible perfection

not yet in words perfected.

You stretch your minds limits

you seek new boundaries of thought.

You while away hours forming possibilities

based on a line that becomes the hook.

You become the friend of empathy.

Seeking to somehow bring a voice to others pain.

All the while selfish and conceded

it is merely a means to an end.

The is no torture greater than this discipline of arts

with such limited tools to drive a wedge of emotion

through the eyes and drive to affect the mind

to cause a heart response that reaches the soul...

I please you.

This is my delusion

that sparks the wars of many wordss.

Fighting for the chance to venerate me.

For you the words did not come
they will never do you justice
the beauty my eyes see
have only wordless translations
<3

Folder: I'm Bigger Than Ben Hur!
One more misread line
One more antic to decline
Open up my poetry
To the masses and this
Is what I find:


No news is good news
My pain is amusement
I crack myself open
and pour out My truths
My words,
for me.


Will you turn them from me?
Humanity bares similarity
The themes are all the same
But each has its own Play
written by the same
I will be there in the
End waiting to find out
like the rest of us
When this drama ends.


Don't read yourself into my lines
Read your pain into my rhymes
These are
my words,
For me.


I will show you my pain
And hope from it
something you gain
when you see it
As it is
through my window frame.


Tirelessly I write
to end these
spirited convexations
Whispers of unheard
conversations
The aura around
your presence
May darken my own gold
But what ever I write
I labour alone.


These are
My Words
For me.

My consolation
For skipping through
the Madness of my
Spiritual frustrations.

Can you see me
The way I need you to see?
The way I really am?

With these, that are
my words.
For me.

my poetry lives through my tragedy.

my wonderful accomplishments a world of #fuckitupanywhichwayyoucanandwhenyoucantdontworrysomeoneelsewill
­
its a new word for my creative soul.

life is good and the poetry bad.

something everyone should aspire to.

not me.

i live in bittersweet notions

novel novels that live and breathe alternate realities

my realities, with just enough tilt to deny it convincingly well.

ive had the gamut of pains and ills

spared just a few that I still in some twisted way feel ungrateful for.

my hand crafting what my soul denies

my soul suffering my cruel intentions of self demise.

and all for what?

a revelrie in my  hidden thoughts?

an appreciation of my unique set circumstances?

a combination of wordss and thoughts, feelings and contexts peppered with an acute irony that defies psychological definition?

my words are my life,

my knee **** reaction to what i miss most;

the feeling of innocence,

of righteousness,

the world before the seduction of evil,

before the awareness of deception and cruelty.

the safety ive lost,

the horrid deeds done in the name of innocence

and the defiled love that stains my soul with its constant attacks of dark beauty

these are my tragedies

these are my wordss

what else is there,

but wait for applause?

Oh, you are life to me.
The one I  ever love.
Oh, I suffer and worry
over how to get and keep your love.
Oh, with the coin of my heart
and the coin of my soul
I seek to exchange for the coin of your love.
Such a small and insignificant thing to you
the whole world to me.
Oh, how I beg and throw myself at you feet
that there is yet just a small place
in your heart for me.
Oh, without you my life is over
and my race is run
and my sun sets forever.
into an eternal night and winter.
Oh, lovely exotic creature
from a faroff land
how the world knows not
all my love for you.
Oh, how this world would call me a fool
and heap ridicule upon ridicule
in its disdain of my love for you
as though I had comitted a great crime.
I do not care! I have stopped caring long ago.
Oh, if you take all this hope
all this hope of your love form me
then take a poison tipped blade
and plunge it deep into my heart.
Oh, how this would be more merciful by far
than the slow death
that I would die without your love.
Oh, your silence is more painful
than a thousand whips upon my flesh
when I beg you to say the words
the words I long to hear
"I love you."
those words!
Oh, how I live and die by them!
Oh, if you were to say those wordss
how the sound of your voice
would be sweeter then honey
and more lovely than the song birds
upon an early spring morning.
Oh, angel of eternal heavenly light
no tongue can tell
of the depth of my love for you!

The clouds I aspire to walk on dissipate with my aspirations of love
fear is temporary pain insignificant
the free fall astoundingly liberating
I fall cloud after cloud
slipped through a rainbow
and landed ******* the thump of reality
and while I was there the sky had fallen with me
and in the darkness a beacon of light pointed to hope
and I sat there watching the light waver and come closer
I saw a million starS clustered together picking up
the shattered specks of light torn down from the hosts of halos
and as I did nothing mesmerized the wave of lights in the beam
washed itself over me and instantly I was caught up in a new day
it had occurred to me that I had become the sun
the light of day opened up and cast out broken dreams and deception
and I saw the relief of freedom wash over the whole
and songs of joy played in my mind
and I knew in that instant I was love
but there were no words that could prove meaning
it was something one knows deep within
that forces with many aeons practice in dampening with the revolution of false truths
but the wordss won’t wont suffice
the light speaks my every conceived an inconceivable thought
without a word.

Left by my haunting lover
no ghost remains
no line or verse
in the body of love
will let the fingers of my mind traverse
The water lies stagnant
loving eyes have not returned
warm hearts have fled
I write to the wind instead
brokenness of disillusion
lays it’s grace upon my head
love has flown
locked and placed
the cage has been set
the unkind cut made
the bleed continues
im on my own
as my wordss die
with the one faithful constant
now faded to dark
and I lie within a lie
yearning for my lost art
inspite of my refusal
now inanimate
and begging for life

sawa gawa
tino sabi
its what you maybe
kimo say be
No not apricot
these wordss
if you're Endicott
that guy that guy
was knew once
for us ford us
im not insectual
wawa while
some guitar