Holy water into wine. Beer from barley.
Walking on the roof of a brewery,
Contemplating how Jimmy Fallon's
Finger never really seems to heal.

Combine harvester headlights dance
On the living room walls
As I lean back on my white IKEA
Sofa, tracing long hairs and

Fingerprints of lovers gone,
Wondering why I chose such a
Revealing colour.
Suppose the transparency matches

That of my soul's lining.
Holy water into wine.
Fields of gold now liquid painkillers
Slurring the voices in my head that

Pick fights with my heart over
Insignificant issues.
I lip synch to the music of my
Neglected talents and the memories

Of inspiration attached.
Bullets like knuckles rapping, rapping
At my empty chamber
Door.

Every finger I ever broke
Was from typing or
Punching
Walls.

Sometimes I put on the mask of
Poet, and pretend to be writing  
For as long as it takes to fool
The empty pages.

There's times I feel I'm going insane,
things that shouldn't affect me, do.
They bubble and boil within,
until I feel them at the brim,
ready to burst out into the air,
into the ears of those around.

When my madness consumes and spreads,
its path is full of concealed destruction.
I scramble back and try to mend the fractures,
shards that resist to fit back to together the way they once did.

And so I seek blind ears,
Ears which listen but do not speak,
Ears which listen but do not judge,
Ears which hear me but do not see me,
Blind ears.

"She left me.
She's gone.
I'm lonely."
                      (Move on).
"She dumped me.
I'm blue.
How could she?"
                       (Poor you...).
"It's painful."
                       (Yeah, So...?)
"I'm hurting.
I'm low,
heartbroken...."
                       (Life's tough....)
"There's no hope."
                       ( ENOUGH!!!)