This is the morning
No this
this is the morning
Where etherized upon a table I will finally sit up and be seen.
No, this is the morning.

Together milling loudly across park(ing lot)s
This! This is the morning!
Perhaps you've seen me undressed, perhaps you've seen me *******.
This is Morse Code these are hieroglyphs these are fingerprints on a frozen window pane. Meaning(fully equipped with the right place for a time) nothing to lose without first finding X.

This is the morning where to stay at home to garden and crow, hooked on the missing airplane lost in spices and exotic tea.

I can't breath,
Will I cry?
Not just yet.
Another puff remains.
Through it all,
Wisps of smoke.
Pouring outta my lungs,
As fresh air fights its way inside,
Do I dare to dance this hopeless trot?
I think rather not.

Why is the bus so bright inside?
Clearly exposing the man sitting at the back?
Making a hard left turn in front of me. Incandescent, I see a man finishing sun-flower seeds,
And looking through glass, and my rolled-up windows, my avoidant eyes make contact, then I realize...he is me. Traveling on a slow-soul-train to downtown or whatever it may be, eyes lock for a moment and I wish him freedom.

It's becoming a bit weary
Listening to 'uh...hum',
Forgettable moments I wish would go away,
I still love listening to the ever-increasing pauses though,
I still love her,
Listening to quiet breath,
Something in it for me I suspect.
I am not the same, I guess,
The excitededness doesn't extend across oceans,
What was boundless has become empty,
Or so it seems,
I miss her so,
Depression of promises left unrealized,
Meetings going un-met,
Kisses lost to forever.
Eyes that will never shine with mine.

I write what I see,
Because I am blind.
I write what I hear,
But I am deaf.
I write what I feel,
But paralyzed.
I write what I smell,
In my burnt nose.
I write what I taste,
The only sense left,
And thank the day,
Because it can be worse.

The mind is a septic tank.
Either, you let the filth sit there, stinking,
Or, you get yourself *****, cleaning.

This pain in my chest,
The feeling of disgust,
I have it all the time.
I cant sleep,
Paranoia the whole night,
I cant have friends,
Or a life.
Im too insane,
and too unworthy.
        j.b