Glass; It does not
Break.
You can fix
Broken things.
Glass; It
*Shatters

So far, it has been the most
difficult obstacle known to all forms of man
Not like the ones that take muscle
endurance or agility, but it requires
you to remove your skin by hand
and walk around just baron bones
Alone, fiddling anything to distract
away the constant doorbell screaming, or the bottomless
pit of hunger you're
dying to starve
but sometimes,
it screams too loud for your
meaningless distractions
and you find yourself re-igniting the
fire that your earlier days were so well
warmed with and so for some small
fraction of eternity, you are awarded
a beautiful golden trophy but we all know
that once earned can only be admired  
for yet another less fraction of eternity

It deafens me to hear
The song of birds
Ring out only to be
Stolen by ears that
Will never be able to replay
That Anthem

Ive always gone for walks
Mostly after sunset
But sometimes during
To forget what time
Was about to roll by or
To witness the flowers
And families and friendships
Live before me
Actually told me nothing good

I began around 6 the second
I saw the road behind my house
After winter made it clear
To see where the path led
In front of me, or behind the
Worlds biggest fence
Wouldn't stop me, still

At 6 they were entertaining
But now its just a challenge though
I'd me lying if I didn't say
The rain still makes me think
I can be six in puddles
Except that's blatantly false
Because I know Ive been
And also shouldn't always be
Smoking cigarettes like this
Is new to me

It's nice when two hands fold down sheets
to ruin what was just made
for everyone to see but only one to touch
the canvas with endless sides
allowing us to trace each other
until the outlines become permanent
on that wrinkled sheet of
an unwritten story

There were no name tags to save the spot
that was seldom departed from yours
though I would have liked to take in
the heat of your exhaustion one more time
or notice how you panted after you braided our
outlines into one connected tie, showing defeat by
allowing me to slip into a coma
while you grazed that beating drum
trying to slow it down to show me
what we had just drawn.

Neither were artists but both craved creation
even if it was just sculpting what we had
into a crumbling statue to tell people
we were okay with living in a space that had
nothing to offer

The vibrations in your throat  
when said calmly makes even glass pain.
Murders have been committed
under your instruction
and remorse is not a word
you've ever looked for.
Laughing, you can attract any being
who is having their last breath
to give it up so to not bare
your poorly planned attempt
as spreading false joy
and when people look at you
they see for a minute a boy,
but for an hour, a picture of embarrassment
you seem to always frame
in the most expensive rotting wood.
It is though you've slight idea how
rough your humor attempts are
or how fake are those who listen.
But at sunset, in a glow that blinds
you still sing so lovely

Is the man
That forces me now
To grow my roots in
His always promising
Landslide