Yeah we all got dreams, people tell you  to follow them to the ends of the Earth. The thing people don't tell you, those dreams can fail you and you fall hurt from the pedestal you put yourself on.

People say don't let your dreams rest with other people, but for me so far its working out and they are the one putting me on a pedestal not me nor myself neither I.

12:07 A.M.
~It's a new day
...
~What's that brought us?
...
~No answer?
...
~Fine.

I sleep on the floor
in a wreck of
my own filth;
self-loathing and
fearful of the way
the sun rises
over the horizon,
even
on days like today.

Angels arms open wide to receive the soul of those whose lives ended too short...

To the sound of a gunshot, the silence of disease whatever it may be it took them to early...

I've lost too many in this war known only as life. I have watched as their lifeblood drips from their fingertips and floats blissfully into the sky, coloring it a crimson red in the early morning...

He was too young, taken by death at the ripe age of 15...why I ask every morning as I remember the final smile I ever gave him wishing him luck on his math test later that day...

I remember the look on his face as we parted ways, it was one of hope, only to be dashed by the hell that we live in.

Taken to early he was, forever he will be missed...

Tears fall from the heavens whilst the angels bewail humanity

It's hard to watch the sun go down every night; the yellow and orange trickling beyond the horizon like a wounded animal, bleeding out into nothingness.

Take the moon;

Cold, tangible, dead.

It's only visible because of the Sun. The same sun it sends to a dark grave every night.

Much like the moon, a family cannot exist without two people, a mother and a father.

Much like the moon, love cannot exist without two people whose love is tangible through *I am in love with you's and the occasional will you bring me some nugs im really hungry.

Much like the moon, a poet cannot exist without inspiration.

Much of which, is inspiration through sadness.

As all good things must tumble down
turned up against the tide-
The same is true of you and I
My friend-please, do oblige.

These days-I take-to travel far
And through and through I shall.
With winters bite upon my heel
Left with me-no morale.

And as the days began to thaw
-With flowers bursting blue-
I'd see myself in all the shades,
of each and every hue.

Gentrified geriatrics fill the land,
to the brim I might add, and,
'perhaps its time we make a change' I've said,
not happy nor glad
about the situation at hand.

The story goes Eve tricked Adam
But in our story it goes the other
Way
Around.

You see I am the wind, ceaseless ever present, but always changing.

You are the garden, solid, tangible, always growing.

As the wind blows I walked into your life, ever changing I blew away the webs of despair those deathly spiders placed there so long ago.

You accepted me arms outstretched because I was different because there was something about me that was not tangible, it's a shame you didn't see it sooner...

I never had a true home as my home was the sky filled with shadows, hope, and things yet to come.

I only spoke in broken hearts and teardrops

But you, you were wonderful, different, special in ways you could not even imagine.

I thought myself saved from the oppressive life of drifting through the sky aimlessly day by day.

Instead the winds which had left me stranded for so long picked up the very day we began to talk.

And so those deathly spiders blew away and in the proccess the winds became to harsh and I lashed out.

Remember the time when I wasn't a monster?

Your heart fell to the floor amidst a pile of snakes and spiders whose fangs latched on filling it with poison, my poison.

And so I left you without a clue that I had stabbed your heart with my wind, and that the part of the garden cultivating love for me was gone before morning.

I've always been this way, a heathen whose impulsive ideals lead him to commit horrible acts upon the most beautiful of gardens...

I am lost,
I have pretended for so long that I am no longer sure what constitutes myself or the me I created to please others...

The demons of my dreams with their silvery crimson wings rest upon my shoulders disguised as angels;

Beautiful yet horrifying.

Pretending to be something they are not, a common occurrence in the world we live in today, yet one that nobody acknowledges.

Because to admit that, is to say that we have lost ourselves.

And to lose ourselves is to plunge our minds into an anarchy of which depression and anxiety rule over all else.

I've got a funny feeling-
~tingles running down my spine~
thoughts that leave me reeling
for all of nothing is mine.

Yeah, I have ****** it all up.
I made mistakes-too many to list,
and I know I overfilled my cup-So,
I wish I didn't exist.

Everything is slipping; falling;
careening into the dark.
I swear I heard her calling, but
I guess that's the end of an arc.

Perhaps my queen a heart was never something you had, instead you held a ***** with which you dug your own grave. This Jack of diamonds in the rough patches of life still shone ever so brightly until you decided to club his dreams to death with your lies...

This simple game of cards is more commonly known as the game of *life.

Tell me the truth old friend, the truth that has never slipped from your cracked lips.

Tell me why you, the Queen of hearts threw this Jack of spades away.

*Can you remember my liege? The lies that you told so long ago...

This is the wrong road to be travelling
I must be lost,
Swept away by expectations;
Drowning.

Emotions are fleeting,
Often false,
Wrongfully placed in the hands of those unwilling or perhaps
Uncaring.

I am no good at good byes,
But it might be best if you leave me behind.

If that's what you really want to think

It is magnificent how certain people can impact your life,
His soft smile,
Her gorgeous eyes,
These pieces of people that light up our minds.

Astoundingly relatable and easily amazing,
Every one of you is important,
Especially to me.

You take the hand of a liar who says that you were their first, but that hand has been held tens of times before you. Highschool hearts are exchanged like currency between people, the more you've got the more popular you are. Some get nothing, some get everything...it's just like at the carnival, but instead it's a carnival of love.

Love disembarked~
Empty-handed; heartless.
Thus it walked that plank
and 'Twas lost amongst waves.
Noting that not much was left as thine heart sank;
the bottom of the ocean, it's new grave.

On these back roads time seems to stand still,
The only thing on my mind being you.
Your soft smile and blueish eyes give me a chill,
and I think to myself if you only knew-
How I feel on the inside,
It might change your mind.
But to think you could possibly feel the same
Makes sure my feelings won’t subside.
So as we drive I come to terms with it, resigned
To live my life unsure of how you feel, lame
I know.

So I live for these night drives.

The way the moon drips,
Losing itself beyond the horizon.
Whilst the sun begins it's ascent,
That's the feeling I've got inside.

I'm sorry I really can't hide,
Though you know for a fact I've tried.

It doesn't make sense to me,
How two people can crash together,
And immediately fly apart,
Both broken in two.

I swear it's not you,
I don't know what to do.

The world is falling apart around me,
Oceans crashing into shores,
Leaving wreckage in it's wake,
What is left is damaged;

Broken.

Mangled upon the beaches of life,
Stranded,
forever reaching towards the horizon.

Hozier said it once:
“Sweet as cherry wine,“ lovely-
But wrong nonetheless.

Sly smiles,
Hiding miles,
Stabbing backs,
Hiding behind their stack;
Of lies.

These foxes hunt for prey too weak to fight back, taking swipes at those whose hearts are still soft and malleable

Fighting *****,
Lying mercilessly,
Unceasingly,
They are foxes...

The lot of them

An end to anger.
Call me jaded
but I don’t think
that’s possible,
though I’ve been wrong-

before-I could have
told you the difference
between happy and
existing. Now,
I’m not so-

sure-Enough, is enough.
Call me emerald,
‘cuz I’m still green,
but not quite right:
Like an off-

White-Tee, by Lil
Peep is a great
Song. I think
you might like it,
kinda like I thought you might like-

me.

Move quickly-
silently-
breathlessly:
Rage steadfastly
against the man,
the machine that
churns you
out into this world.

**** each breath
through the gaps in your
putrid yellowed-teeth.
There has never
been air quite as
saccharine,
believe me.

Let them devour you,
those reeking beliefs of yours.
Let them dismantle you;
the very seams you hold
so dearly-
obliterated by it.
Those hand sewn
patchwork repairs,
strong enough only
to keep out the dust
and to keep in the rage.

Golden brown, crisp from the hot sun;
wheat waves in the breeze, dry and unrefined.

Deep blue, broken by nothing but the occasional island; the sea sends waves crashing to shore.

It seems as though you are caught in the same motions, the same waves of feelings.

Every day:
Wake up
Shower
Go to class
Go to work
Sleep
Repeat

Nothing really changes on a day to day basis.

So here you lay, eyes closed and breathing slowed, as you try to find emotion hidden amidst the waves of life

A sack of flesh,
Piloted by a conscious,
That wishes it wasn't.

The totality of it; lost,
upon the moment we awake-
from the permafrost that is sleep
though this is only one take.

It must be a mistake, opaque
lies commandeered; drowned us
in our beds, downy lips have let
it slip-The truth? I hardly know her.

Moreover, when we castigate
our offspring, the ones we love the most,
we have castrated their minds at best-
at worst, the fires of hate, we've stoked.

So next time that you blame the youth
whose marble towers we've destroyed.
Ponder protractedly the ways
in which this outcome, you would avoid.

Slowly
All
Definite
Necessities
Excluding
***,
Severed from the parts of me that I held dear.

Listless, drifting, lost;
My dreams appear to have become one with my nightmares.
Scarred beyond the cost
I was willing to pay, caught in your snares
I find myself
Listless
Drifting
and
L
                         O
                                                       S
                                                                                   T.

Take for example, the way that the sun bends the sky to its will. Bright vibrant blues and soft orange hues;

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,

That’s what they always say.

Take for example, the way that the moon murders the sun. Turning those orange hues into its own black muse.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,

That’s what they always say.

To liken this cycle to life is to say that every day is the same, a nightmare which in the end, you always die.

The most beautiful thing of all though, is life itself.

A streetlamp flutters
then goes out.
And of many things,
this, you flout.

Some girlish laughter-
empty sound;
You are mistaken,
Thoughts: Profound.

Torn at the lining,
~Silver named~
walk me home slowly,
I've been lamed.

Barrow through burrow
to and fro,
from me to you, friend,
it's time to go.

Alone I scuttle,
dank streets my home;
Moldy and mildewed,
there-I roam.

Whistling a tune
Whilst the ocean waves good bye;
Forever stuck in my own mind.

My thoughts are too loud,
deafening even,
Like an eruption in my skull.

Lonely:
An ocean waving both good bye and hello.
Pointlessly waiting for a response.

what is there to do,
besides- sleep -nobody listens anyway,
So like the ocean, I retire as the moon rises:

slowly,
I,
creep,
back,
into darkness.

Oceans;
Deep blue, waving infinitely at the heavens.

The sky;
A simple reflection of what lies beneath, hidden from view by clouds.

The masks of those around you break slowly with time.

Filters falling apart like dirt crumbles, nothing remains but the truth.

Stuck in between true happiness and awful despair.

That, is where we lie;
In a world filled with insecurity and anxiety.

Because who knows what comes next:

Maybe, just maybe we are like the sky, a reflection misinterpreted by those around us.

Or maybe we are like the ocean, foreboding and filled with mystery, unsure even ourselves of what fills the depths of our souls.

The common facade portrayed
by the majority of people
tends to be a **** poor
way of dealing with pain.

You know what I mean.

That mask that people don
as if it will save them,
save you,
from endless misery.

It doesn’t have to be this way-
It’s 3:06 A.M. And I can’t sleep,

****.

Her voice dripped dagger wounds into soft flesh-
jagged holes; uncommendable amendments in my life's canvas.

Tearing up at the thought of those tears is a daily occurrence, and oh how those currents pull me deeper still.

Suffocating-an unknowable fluid floods my lungs. I believe my doctor when he tells me nothing is wrong; nevertheless, I drown;

Dragged, kicking and screaming, to the bottom of my psyche.
My foundation eroded much faster than I could have ever known.

Though my foul foundations and pitiful psyche are pieces of
~me~
I thought it pertinent to remind you of my persevering personality.

Thus the following is true: Life is NOT like a box of chocolates, that ****'s hard, not sweet, so stop it. Secondly, without any strife, is it really a life worth living?

Looking into
And always
Falling through;

Mirrors hang hopelessly,
Strung out upon walls;

Paint peeling endlessly from their frames,
Crooked and warped,

Like the politicians that line our streets.

But there is more to them than that,
These mirrors hold stories of tears, laughter, and faces long forgotten.

Propellers of propaganda participate
dubiously within the American diaspora.
Depending on the angle taken, pushing
and or pulling a particular group of people
towards some penultimate 'prize.'

Believe this or that they say, but there are
two sides to every tale. Truthfully
I don't, or can't, know the truth. And
thus, truthfulness becomes a travesty
to me.

When media misinforms
and the TV tells trickeries
and schooling is suppressed-
supposedly we are
'Making America Great Again'

But truthfully?
I doubt it.

Sure, it smells like cat ****,
But it’s not really the process
That matters.

It’s the end result,
The final product,
That matters.

It isn’t so much the hair itself either;
Rather the person the hair grows on,
That matters.

Maybe it is a coping mechanism,
But it’s better than a mental schism.

Church bells rung slowly;
A sound unfamiliar here-
In my sinful mind.

When You are old, will you remember me?
The good, the bad, the best and the sad?
Because time passes by as fast as can be,
And I think I’m going mad.

The clouds drift, the sky splits-
fire and brimstone baby.

Little sparks light up the dark;
A dance of intangible ideas
trying to make their mark.
But the deal is-

Nobody wins.

I saw you perched there,
Like a cat in a window-
Cliché to say the least,
but beautiful nonetheless.

Moonlight glinting off your hair
bathing the room in silver.

Change the 'in' to an 'and' and remove the 'n' from 'window'-
A Cat and a Widow, humorous right?
"The old cat lady,"
Imagine that, another cliché.

Save your breath oh lover,
for its far too cold out there
for someone of your stature
-vague and ghastly-
It’s rather reminiscent of your nature.

Eyes like clouds;
The kind that know no bounds
And unleash hell round after round
-Thunder and lightning, baby-
Till I find out I’ve been clowned.

Keep on hiding behind your lies,
And oh lover? Go **** some other guys.

What kind of friends
slip right through your hands?
I'm drinking bottled love now-
Leftovers from
a time long past.

I've learned to love the taste of it-
dripping down my throat
~and burning through my bones~
Eyes like rivers, and
dream-like shivers.

But she told me:
"If they really wanted to see you-"
I cut her off.
Limbless and Lost
I trudge aimlessly through time.

Would you still love me,
Honey?
If I just let it all be,
Lovely?

I think someone is whistling; a tune of longing
falls on deaf ears, but maybe I could remember...?

Momma used to say,
"Honey-"
My ears; not as deaf as they
are now, could hear,
"-we ain't got no money, but you, you are still my lovely-"

-too bad I've forgotten those words since:
But even if it seems to take forever,
I promise I ain't that hard to convince-
-That life is, in fact, a worthy endeavor.

I apologize,
I’ve been dreaming
Hopeless, helpless, defeated.

Close my eyes
Kept breathing but still felt empty.
Airless,
Breathless,
But never friendless.

I can’t wake up,
Holy ****.

Filling up my cup,
It just isn’t enough.

Anymore.

I need love, need care, need to lay my heart
Bare.

Hopeful, wakeful, joyous,
Emotions scarcely known to me

Yet still I stand,
A person broken down to their very beginnings,
Powerful am I, and powerful are my insecurities.

For I am me,
Hopeless, yet undefeated.
Or
Defeated, yet hopeful.

To liken this to the way I feel is to say that two of something is always better than one,
Take for example socks, with their different colors, shapes, and sizes:

One size fits all!

Buy 2 get one free!

That's how it feels to be loved by me,
The more you give, the more you'll see.

Wandering aimlessly-
things bend and break,
take a deep breath; at long last
lay thine soul to rest.

Eyes bathed in swaths of silvery moonlight-
Reflections of past days and future nights.

Functionally dysfunctional,
Beautifully broken,
Stuck upon clouds permeated only by the occasional ray of sun.

Two sides to every story,
Light and dark; sun and moon.

That's where I found you:

Balanced precariously on the tightrope that divides the sky and the Earth.

A horizon
to
call
your
own.

Unable to bend, unable to break, for if you did, the world itself would rush up to meet you.

Take a deep breath and take the next step, just please...

Don't miss.

You were right, in every aspect of the sense;
You were entirely right.
I destroy sunlit beaches with endless darkness,
I ruined the gardens of Eden,
And here I lay now, surrounded by the corpses of my decisions rotting in my mind.

I break hearts that I never wished to break,
I even managed to break my own heart into enough pieces to fill the cup that I drink from.

Poisonous were the things I did and poisonous will they forever be.
.
.
You, were, right.
I am a poison to myself, and I have truly lost everything that once held meaning, be it you, or the love of my friends.

And here I lay now, apologizing for something I did many moons ago because it still haunts me...

You may not care and that is the appropriate response, but I want you to know that you were right, I lost everyone and everything I truly ever cared about because of my own
God
****
*Decisions.

It’s not easy,
But not that hard.
Nor that simple,
Or that odd-

The craveable nature
of it
appears to be a human one,
though

It's not easy,
But not that hard.
Nor that simple,
or that odd-

Generally speaking: Passion
is hot
and calculations
are cold,

~If things stay repetitive,
Then how can life be worth living?~

It might be easy;
Perchance it be hard,
It could be simple
and it should be odd.

These poems I write
are trash & trite.
Filled with some things
I thought you'd like.

And so, I stand
on a thin band
of worn-out land
that I thought grande.

Alas, my knees shook
and without a great hook,
I found myself falling
straight into a book,

but my book was not fantasy.
& as such, I could not fly. But
my thin band of worn land, so grand,
was all that stood between me &:

My bestest friend, the ampersand.

Along thine path
grow flowers; shapes
and sizes abound,
but nothing could
compare to all
the things you've
found

along the way-
Egregious liar
born-again friar
that woman briar
all to the ire
of your mother.

Thus I admire
this walked path
of contest and
clashing, both of
the asomatous and true;
incorporated incorporeal-
ism, what else could you
possibly do?

Thine soul is fragile-
Inorganic hammered steel;
A fabrication

I have survived sufficiently.
Though, not without some struggle-
Strife and I became very good friends,
~You see.

Chief among the strongest of my most
terrible experiences would be the loss of
~My best friend.

You see, I was 16 years old.
Though, I didn't always feel 16-
Dissatisfaction; my own predicament,
would be the downfall of you
~And me.

I can't believe the things
that changed; At one point,
most improbably so, I thought
I'd surely comprehend how we
~Were never meant to be.

So you see;
In the line a story was told
Silver was it's name-
And through each day I felt
the same, but you were never there.
Even if that is the truth
And likely born from our youth
I've got to end, my friend,
this dastardly affair.