We danced the night away.

Now,just a swirling of echoes
are in my head.

I thought I could hold on
maybe this time a little tighter.

You swam ashore from a place
I'd never known before.

I thought I was rescuing you, but
you were rescuing me.

Turn the light low. The contours
of your face will never leave my mind.

If I'd close my eyes then
you could never leave.

Holding through the tide.
Gasping for breath will never stop.

My lungs like my heart have
run out of time.

Drawn to the sea.
Wash out my eyes.
The ash can't be unseen.

Drown out the screams.
Burn away my ears.
The things I can't un-hear.

Whisper the destruction
of my mind once
again.

The debris of what could have
been.

Drawn to the sea.
Once more to find
faded dreams washed ashore.

Drown the hope.
Wash away.
Burn it all.

Silent screams still whisper for a chance to surface.

Reprise a role once forgotten.

How hard it is to remember lines.
Wiping the dust off and trying to
start acting again.

Don't force it.
They will spot a fake.

Become the character.
Remember the facade that you created.

How the others were so jealous as they looked
on as you waltzed through your performance
so effortlessly.

Those were the days.

Don't let them see you sweat.
Stop sweating.
It's the anxiety.
Shhhh...they might hear that heart of yours beating through your chest.

One more thing before you take the stage again.
Stop talking to yourself and live your life.

my insecurities secure me.

sleep evades into the dawn.

perhaps it was a dream that I was living,
even for a short while.

back when I never wanted to sleep.

sleep would of been to let the moment go.

a thing I never wanted to happen,
but here I lie awake.

drifting evermore into the abstract.

maybe the insomnia is a prison.

or perhaps my disillusions are my
only company.

The fires ravaged a town I once knew.

Ashes now are the solace of the dead.

There are no steps to trace anymore.
I can't find a single remnant of what
I once knew.

The silence is deafening. The charred remains.
The embers that died out long ago.

Where have I been?
How could no one have warned me?

My tracks how they fade
in once what I thought was snow.

Pathetic liars
cracking at the skin.

Ink drying up, but
nothing ever written down.

A calamity of words
never hearing the light of day.

Keep pressure on the wound
even if there is no blood
we wouldn't want an infection
now would we?

See it dissolves and has frothing
like feeling. A taste that never
really leaves.

Try to think of something else
to keep from retching. Twisting
,physically, your insides as it becomes
a metaphor of where you've found yourself

this time.

Why pull threads
when it's your hands that will get tangled?

The thought of undoing something
gave perhaps great pleasure.

I don't know. I found my resolve
to not worry, or maybe it's to not ask?

The woven piece now just tatters.
It was a nice thought once I suppose.

Ironically, what was once undone can be
put back together in a better way.

You just have to be able to start from
the beginning again. Can you see a
future from something that once was
intertwined before?

Peel back the skin.
Relinquish yourself.
You never knew anyway.

Quit holding back and trying
to tape the falling walls that were
built from lies and deceit all your life.

Scared of the scars that you might
receive from it all crashing down, but
have you seen yourself recently?

You still have your bones.
You still have your thoughts.
You still have a heart.

You reach for the hand of God.
Empty as the first time you stretched it out.

My gift to you is the emptiness that should
take hold and make you question.

I am the fog.

Painful are the needles of the night's darkness,
but if you can't see them will it matter?

Turn back around and upside down.
Wondering how you have gotten so lost.

I am the fog.

Phantom whispers of the past
are the only company you keep.

Don't speak aloud to them or
else the ghosts will think you are crazy.

I am the fog.

Take tiny steps hoping to find
some sort of edge for guidance.

After a while the steps turn
to ever growing strides.

I am the fog.

Don't stop running you say aloud.

That's when the silence finally grips you.

I am the fog.

In a box
Under a bed
Within a room
Down the hall
Upstairs
In a house (that was left abandoned years ago, weathered and worn)
On a cul-de-sac
Off of a forgotten road
Near an unknown town
With just one bar (Where I sit)
In a depressed state

There's a letter addressed to you stamped under several more letters
In a box.

Come
Around the bend.
Pull back and release.

I lost control
The road doesn't know my
Path just as much as I didn't care.

Why should I open my eyes.
They were never shut
In the first place?

This time.
This time.
There won't be a next time.
It has to be this time.

Giving up
Giving in
What does it matter
How you say it?

Turn
Around away from the bend.
Hold on don't let go
Just yet.

When there was a breath in the body
A want to stand up and yell to the world.

Choices left never chosen.
They become ancient regrets.

Run them from your mind so they will
Only come out at the wrong time.

Still, yell it at the world when no one is listening,
but maybe for a fleeting chance

You. yourself. finally,
Listened.

Written in an unknown script
you understand it was done in blood.

Bleeding onto the page a sacrifice is made
in secret trust.

Begone with the notions that everything
was normal once that first word or picture
was viewed with your eyes.

Stripped bare like the knife that extracted
the first ink to be born on the page.
Severed lust.

The inscription now hung so high
in your mind of disillusion.

The strange fingers that you wondered
about grasping the blade to write are now
your own as you add your own ink
to this book of forgotten impulses.

What you want is the same as I.

Imagine walking down the street.

You give my hand a small squeeze
just to let me know you are holding
My hand.

I squeeze back
just to let you know I'm holding
Yours.

I don't let go, but stop walking
so I can pull
make you spin like a piroutte
and then pull you close to me.

I kiss you and as I pull back
to let you know
You kiss me back harder.

Medication

When there's only poison.

A vain attempt. A hero now forgotten.
Tragedy within another tragedy.

That's at least the story that was told to me.

In a darkened corner.
or perhaps it was a dream.

Either way still cough it up to a loss.

If it's not the ether then it will be the gin.

open you eyes
OPEN
YOUR
EYES
Can't breathe. It's fine. It's not a right. It's a privilege.
We fall down.
WE
ALL
FALL
Don't want to feel. Anything. Anymore.
Don't say that. Don't mean that. Believe that.
open your eyes.
do not fall.
stop. breathe. feel.
It starts again. This time. I will look/listen/breathe/feel
It's not what I need to do be alive.
It's what I want.

The many streets I've walked
the days that have passed
I never wanted to change my shoes.

Each step was like a small trophy
although the pavement would
steal a little bit of my soul.

Maybe I was bitter towards this fact,
but really it was giving my soul
character.

As the shoes grew weaker
the more misshapen I had become
in the best possible way.

One day it started to rain.
My shoes did nothing to protect me.
I resented them.

As I got home and took them off
to toss them in the corner of my room.
I held onto the tattered laces.

Tracing the weaved pattern I made
when I first laced them.
Remembering what I could of what they've seen.

A slight catharsis came over me.
I gently put them side by side
and slid them under my bed instead.

Tomorrow a new pair of shoes
with new laces
to start a new journey,

but never forget the tattered laces of past shoes.

As if time stood still
You sat there waiting wondering
slipping spinning
sinking
yet again.

Almost like your mind
turns against you.
Doesn't let you see how
much time is really passing.
Everything is in slow motion.

The trick is everything is still
happening. You've just closed
your eyes to hard to see it. Open
them again and see how much has
changed.

It will pass you by
in a feint whisper.

Not again.

How many times can I pull the wires from the wall?

The circuits. I never thought they could bleed.

But the corrosion that seeps reminds me that yes, yes they very much can stain everything it touches.

Why? Were wires crossed? Was there just tape there to keep it dry and together? Who knows what spark was caused, but it was ignored.

The smell of melted plastic and burning cables fills my head. It's a foul stench, but I can't move. Even if I could I'd still smell the smoldering remains.

Mainly, because I still have the wires ripped from the wall still in my hand like a wilted bouquet of flowers.

How many secrets does the ocean have?
Maybe just as many as the mountains.

It's funny how such a vast difference
can share such similarities as one another.

Because things change overtime doesn't
mean there wasn't a past.

Only a fool could think they could
change the ever unchanging.

To watch it go by why thinking
of how to change what went wrong.

Look to the mountain and it's friend the ocean.
From bottom to top there are many things we
cannot change as the vastness continues to grow
much as our questions.

Looking in
Finding out
Why these wild weeds grow
So tall in a vast plane of consciousness.

Travel through the thick ones first.
It builds character, so when you come
To a thin one that disguises itself
You already know how to not fall apart.

Never think that you are above them when
The smallest one can bring you to its level
Within a heartbeat.

Open all of your eyes.
Be ever aware.
These weeds can entangle you quick
And without you knowing.

The nights of not understanding.
Never let it happen like that again.
Quick flashes can really sober you up
,But don't think too hard or you will
Get
Lost.

Look out.
Find within.