When Everything Disappears Altogether

"I swear"
Still curious
"No doubt at all"
Do what is expected of you
"Uuuh, yes"
No, tell the truth
"More or less"
Be cautious
"I didn't think I had the time"
Still, don't lie
"No, I knew"

Guilty But No Conscience

I'm wondering what your motive is.
I'm wondering how it feels to be so destructive.
How it feels to be you.
What do you do with your lonely days,
guilded with hypocrisy?
You're struggling to be in my life
by attempting to limit it.
When you dash your mirrored lips with claret
you stumble upon your eyes.
And in those dull, gray holes
I hope you see regret.
And as your lungs fill with stolen air,
I know you'll never be content
with this catastrophe.
[But, sadly, solely because your skeleton is blame's outline]

Comfortless Comforter

Silence drapped itself heavily over us.
Her last words still ringing.
The air echoed into nothingness and
pushed forcefully onto our faces . . .
It wasn't an ellipsis.
It wasn't full of tension.
It was --
She was trying to say something else
but my mind was still two seconds in
the past.
She couldn't cover up a lie with noise.
I wouldn't let her.
The blanket of silence coated us once more and she looked at me with
shaking
glassy
eyes.
Abruptly, she apologized and left.
Leaving the air hollow,
settling with doubt.

Segment from a not-so-love letter (A note to your obsession)

I find it silly that you think so highly of your romantic status in my life. I find it hard tp believe that it's okay for you and I to let you pretend like that. Why do we? It's an enevitable pain of revelation. I think, maybe it's for comic relief or, more realistically, avoidance due to desired attention. You appreciate me - and I appreciate that. Thank you. I owe you that. Thank you for helping me find - or in the very least steal - who I am. You have helped me get a foot out of this muck. Thank you for pulling my leg out without even realizing it. I am the unexpected twist on clichés. I am the phone you need totalk into. I am the inspiration for this chapter of your life. The one that you think actually means something. Well, I'm glad you think so. You, with your protruding gums. Those hideous envelopes for teeth. You, my friend, don't have enough letters for it to make any sense. Work on that. Until then ....

Where do We go From here?

Tell your trust you were used.
Never worship with whispers.
We were soaking in the moon,
holding our tongues
and voices
Our vice devoid of reason.
When shall your throat escape the
glistening linger of temptation?

The music of tears sounds like ...

The music of Tears sounds like glass shattering
They jump off your cheeks in uneven rhythms,
swarm your face.
blur your vison.
Gradually, they crecendo,
Releasing a streaming symphony that
is accompained by piano pleas:
Why did she have to die ?

Examining The Impact Of Rising Friendship (Come on. Look at them)

He was a --
She was an --
I am --
It's so easy, I just --
Good Question . . .
I Never Asked.
A GROWING BODY OF Most Valuable CONFUSION,
that clears the pain and pressure which also inhibits you from
Getting Beyond the splendor of the CROWD.
Navigating through your life.
TAKE ROOT.
Hey You, Focus.
create...
Change. Easy to Easy to Easy to to go.
What are you giving up to keep your Reasons to Love?
I can't imagine.
Loved by Dangerous Addiction,
Throw away everything you know about What Wholeness Tastes Like.
The Challenge =
Should you stay or
Should you go?

Your True Colors are Muted Hues.

The Change: Dramatic.
What It Took: taking on HATE.
The Change: Hard.
What It Took: one chance to impress.
The Change: Being Side by Side Again!
What It Took: Reaching.

[Disclaimer: Individual may vary. (yes, it's that easy.)]

Regret

On a one-way road . . . . .
Still looking for the U-turn . . . . .
Unfortunately.

Tailoring Trends

Picture a warm velvet sky,
Feverishly squirming to wake a universe- but never getting close.

Worry about peace,
Slowly streaming in a vast stiff world- but never quite making it.

Picture a warm velvet sky,
Slowly streaming in a vast stiff world- but never quite making it.

Worry about peace,
Feverishly squirming to wake a universe- but never getting close.

Time for change:
not a repeat, a rendition, or a refresh of the rhythm.

Seven Ways Of Looking At Snow

It cascades down from a gray abyss in icy haste.
The snow rejects you; you are frozen, numb, and abandoned.

Its remains are sporadically dispersed in hardened chunks.
The snow creates an unknown, transparent layer of hazard.

It pushes you into the recess of a cave with solid gusts.
The snow flies in excess, causing sight to be impossible and entrapment inevitable.

It glistens shyly in the morning and the moonlight.
The snow brightly sleeps on the still landscape.

It lays in heavy slabs of languish, forcing you to be the first to budge in this argument.
The snow imposes itself onto your infinite list of chores.

It dances just out of your reach and teases you with tickles on your face.
The snow adds wonder to your day and frees your inner-child, regardless of age.

It swoops down to sweep the atmosphere in its entirety and then dissipates to a dusting.
The snow is unpredictable and I appreciate the flux.

Midnight Trembles, Twilight Mimicks

Eyes slowly scan the soft suede sky.
The stars wink from their cranberry-colored canvas.
All is still,
except the snow that continues to decend downwards
as your thoughts rise hihger.
Higher, up to where the future tells its secrets.
Higher, where no one can tell you differently.

Anxious

Sweat pierces your skin in stinging, icy prickles.
Your face flushes crimson as your fingers fumble on your desk.
Running exhausting laps, your mind falters in what it needs to preform.

These are the symptoms of a nervous student.

a blue notebook

Motionless on a bookshelf is a blue notebook,
its pages contain recorded memories of a novel in progress.
It rememebers the writer's ideas in a time when no one else would listen.

Locked in the bottom of a young girl's drawer is a blue notebook,
each line yearning to speak of the secrets kept that never should have been.
It tells of her life journey with silent stillness and slight bias.

Balancing near the edge of a desk is a blue notebook,
heavy with the text of a professor's latest lecture.
Its only desire is to teach its well-prepared insight to eager ears.

Flung on the floor is a blue notebook,
holding nothing but blue horizontal lines and pink vertical stripes
measured neatly on a stark white page.
Its empty leaves call out for attention to fill these spaces.
It imagines you thoughfully tapping your pen on the page,
Planning.....

Surrender Crisis: this agreement, the alternative

Now it's the "silence and invisibility" of crisis,
whose irresponsibility now threatens,
assuring customers.

For now,
the essentials of the crisis have now adopted
this combination of courage and decisiveness.
It hasn't been our own.

The injection of further deterioration
embraced some,
unveiling a denied presence.
The concerns released this secret
and opaque associations.

A Night Sopping With Sunken Shadows

Sliding into another ashy alley,
Shifting with the shadows,
Rain splattered over his tears.
“HALT!”
Never.
He fled, leaving her pale with a word, pulling on chapped lips: “Aspetti.”
But
he would not
could not.
As he twisted to see the looming pawns of persecution advance behind her,
he hit heavy arms sewn with Swastikas.

Cutting Intentions

“I just have a couple questions,” whispered the shy breeze that opened the door.

“What is it?” I shuddered from the door’s icy breath.

Sunken, glassy eyes looked at me. About to speak - only hindered breaths escaping - she out-stretched her forearm to expose a shaking secret.

Crimson scars on slit porcelain.

“I didn’t mean to.”

I Can Only Hear My Emotion

“Love is like . . . those orange circus candies.”

“The peanuts?”

“Yeah.”

In unison we allowed our assumptions to access our minds.

Those vibrant sponges of sweetness.

“……How?”

He threw me an appalled glance. Then his hands, frantically, began talking.

“They’re . . . empty calories that . . . get stale over time and . . .”

Alas,

I was deafly in love.

Stress' Day Off Is A Burden

Strolling along the dirt path
in a park,
Gazing lazily at every tree
every squirrel,
Stress is trying to occupy his mind with emptiness.
He desperately flees obligation.

He can't.
Stress can't.

There is no time to spend leisurely.
There is too much to complete.
Stress' mind screams as he stumbles with heavy, chained feet.

A Full Time Job

Still awake from the night, Jealousy never seems to sleep.
She tried again to go to bed, only to lie restless in the dewy hours.
Jealousy,
frustrated,
quickly floods the computer.
She
scans and gossips and criticizes.
She
is
insecure.
Jealousy tries again to go to bed.
Alone.

Hatred Is An Empty Closet

Hatred is an empty closet.
It hungers for hangers
with more than shadows resting on their backs.
Open or concealed, hatred traps its self within its own walls.
Draped in insecurity
while whipping those near enough to nip.
The walls isolate hate yet breed it simultaneously.

Misunderstanding has led to the move.
The residents left the house,
causing the closet to fill with resentment.
It wasn't because of the closet-
but hatred never looks that far behind
before thinking ahead.

Lust Is An Ocean's Wave That Laps At Your Conscience

Lust is an ocean's wave
which wavers
and savers
the shore.
In luscious velvet,
liquid mirror,
Swelling, nagging, rising, and collapsing.
Slowly blending as it glides across the sand.
Instantly soaking all it caresses.
Constantly foaming new messes
of sopping
tangled
salt, seaweed, and shell.

At This Point

I'm trying to escape the thrashings of your split.
I honestly can't deal with it.
Plus an awakening
that's shaking
the sickness inside of me.

--

I have layed it all on the line.
Too bad I'm about to flat-line.
I'm tired of tight-roping.
Jokes on you.

--

The past soils the present.
I want it to stop.
The present is turning to past.
And I stopped wanting it.