bare
exposed
alone

carving space
in my head to escape

i try to move my legs
but i can't
think of how

the space in my head
fills up with water

i try to think
of a way out
but my head is drowning me
in its panic

my skin is white in the light
of the window

usually so beautiful
but not tonight

because

not a thought
gets to be heard

and the yard is cold
and the lamp is yellow
and my eyes are crying

please
leave me
to drown
in my closure.

we managed
to let all of our love
fly out the window
like a caged bird
free from its boundaries

but now
the cage is empty
the house is still
all is lonely

and i
dont feel
the same
anymore

written and scraped

i stared at the wall
between us
one thing after another
written
and scraped
into the surface of the moon
reflected back into the oceans depth
was the beauty...
it made no sense
no sense at all-
how we could be so tall
and see so little.
blurring my own eyes,
with my own tears.
the silence
at the end of the tunnel.
a jaded stop.
you thought you'd find her
but found yourself
alive
but barely
breathing through a straw
eyes red
reflecting the sky above
the ocean moving beneath it
scrambling your faces into glassy fragments
moon crumbled
the silent tides
the purity
of nothingness
nothing left
but your faces falling
into the depth
7 days
7 days
7 days
until they surface again
7 days until they call for help
7 days until they've given up
and we can no longer help them
see what they've done

the long walk

I was never quite broken
but I too, know how to pick the pieces up
some days the pieces are all teeth,
pulled from the mouths of children
other times they are flowers being picked by a fist,
a book, searching in itself

I have carved shelves out of my heart
to try and bring an order to things.
all it did was make space

some days I walk nine paces
turn and fall ten
walk nine paces turn and fall
I die every single time

the whistle of the train train is a hospital
it is ebbs with the sounds of dying and fixing
it turns every wheel inside of me
into a fire
turns every wheel into splinters

my belly is filled with cedar wood
there is sawdust still on the floor
I have been sweeping it up for so many days of my life
but each day I sweep up a little bit more
one day my floor will be clean

I clench my hands into fists in case I run into myself
I have something I want to give them

I won’t know what it will be until they are standing before me

I have taken the bones out of my body
and carved temples from them
look under my nails
there is nothing but dirt
I do not know what means
but some hours are spent
doing nothing but staring at the tips of my fingers

hold a mirror up to what I once was
you would see only guitar strings,
shimmering in the light

how I shone

For years we have been told that we do not belong, 
that we should shift out without complaint while others 
are shifted in to take our place. When the peculiarities of 
community and place are swept away by the tides of capital,
all that’s left is a globalised shopping culture, in which we engage 
with glazed passivity. Man was born free, and he is everywhere in chainstores.

the chance to see one last sunrise

the chance to see one last sunrise:

he stood, silent
burning,
burning,
burning,
waiting,
waiting, for his lover
where was she?
why wasn't she here yet?
he was on fire
clouded vision
last chance
to see
one last sunrise
before his vision
blurred
forever

s.a.d

nothing decorated, sealed, covered

nothing revolted, concealed, hid in the corner

eyes naked to the world

being wiped for the first time

awake

cooed by shades of yellow and orange 

distant from the blinds

in the house
and

far from what was left in the closet

to rot
for so long

W.E.

one more tear
and the wind will rip us away

one more year
and there will be nothing left to say

one more tide
and well lose our confidence in the sea

one more gone
and there won't be any WE.

A bird flies by

A dark room

A quiet breath

A silent spring

A cautious turn

A streak of light

A wandered trail

A worried pet

A pearly gate

A nimble light

A passing car

A broken heart

A blackened eye

A leather bag

A moon shaped pool

A darkened screen

A dancing sky

A bird flies by

dead heads, floating in a sea of limbs

once we really get movin thats when they will chatter
chatter chatter chatter
day night
about nothingness
about every cooperate  nothing piece of forgettable garbage
like the ones surrounding our graves,
stuck in a swamp of pervious minds letting in crazed, lunatic mind scrubbing garbage from the tele- screen
along with cancerous goods baked to celebrate victory against the tumors themselves.
carnivorous teeth lash at the sight of a rotting body part, disregardful of the twitching eyes, and cooperate hull of lies
freedom is slavery
religion is selfishness
communication is a lie
yet if you want to be heard you must work with
the system,

end of hollow words

i don't want to write you
because my hands hurt quite a bit
from writing you before

you say things
you don't mean
and mean things
you don't say

you are nothing but
hands typing hollow words
into an empty space

carving my head
into nothing you mean

i overlook across each sentence
to the next
trying to grasp
that you might care

but permanence is temporary
in the ease of an email

collecting dust

we should of been two photos
torn right out of a modern magazine,

but we felt like old 1950s 
portraits collecting dust. 
and
when you talked to others
it felt like you were snapping 
fresh iphone pictures you would delete 
the next morning. 

i liked that we were different 

i still think about that sometimes (solstice's prompt)

my dad had too many books
about happiness in his closet.

i didn't understand.

if he wanted
to be happy,
he should of read books
that made him happy.
(he really liked love stories)

but instead,
he read books about happiness.
because he thought
they would make him happy.

i still think about that sometimes...

12:01 AM

say your last word
burn your last match
smoke the last cigarette

the clock reads 12:01
and ive been awake a lifetime

my eyes are tired
the room is red
i look at my hands
and notice their tread

i allow my love
to finally
die

my blue bucket of gold

my blue buckets of gold
too full to get water
anywhere it needs it,

taking more than it gives,
but more than it realizes

living its entire life,
quivering at the feeling

that there is a barn out back
cold and uninviting, 
occupied by us
waiting,
for the sun to come out
bathing,
the world in its light
changing.

if we are being honest...

when you go...

the truth is...

A final word.

i feel like a lost cloud that can't find its owner

i never had one.

thanks nelson, for helping me realize i was never tied down

Listen

Even in all these hours to burn
I still find time to singe my feelings down to two single thoughts:
The first comes to me before I sleep
It comes saying all I need is your moonlit face,
even when I have the entire moonlit world.
The second comes with the sun,
to remind myself how stupid moonlit nights are anyways.

Day and Night

Never fighting but always turning between
happy and sad,
light and dark,

At night my feelings lead me to the destruction of me without you
but the day reminds me I'm worth so much that I don't question myself so anymore

I am full of the sun when it sets
but I still can't find enough holes to poke to let you in,
just my eyes,
but my eyes are enough to see you covered in the moonlit curtains below

You are not yin and yang.
You are on the boarder of both at the same time,
a perfectly balanced child on a balance beam
a perfectly drawn line
resting on the curtain of silence

You immerse yourself in your life
like the orange clouds into the sky
I want to be like you.
I want a shorter life
but more to give,
but instead I see you every day like dark to light.
there you are waving,
waving at me,
I wish I was always filled with rays of you but instead
night and day conflict like the villain and hero in the movies
and there you are to watch
silently taking in what is a film played out in peices
that you will never understand
but it makes perfect sense to me
because its what is going through my head
now i just need a director who knows how to get me to you

but no matter how hard i try there is no stopping the time that leaves your eyes
every day I pass you in the hall
and every night in my mind before i go to bed.
there is so much to learn about the stars in me
and the milky orange in you
somehow i know they are connected

I just have yet to figure out why.