the promise of a crayon

every day i watch children jump too fast into their opponents shoes.
i watch their hands craft little flowers into crowns 
as their hearts get crafted into bricks.
decorated with dirt, they vow to never leave their mothers side.

i watch the buzz of their minds become as useless
as the holes in their ears. 
i watch the cracks in their minds grow as big
as the broken glasses they hold. 

each one waiting to be filled.

and i sure wish it would rain
. 
because the dryness is rubbing them bare.

i watch them apologize for a paper airplane gone wrong, 
each one left out in the rain, 
but real apologies won't exist in their minds.
each promise to 
fix 
repair
enable
create
will bite the inside of my cheek
where my best ideas get flushed down the the bottom of my stomach. 

this generation is gone
and the best of them won't measure up,

just like me. 

The Quiet Nights

sometimes I forget how quiet the nights can be

the rain feels like bullets
against my porcelain skin
and the tick in my head just isn't going away

I think of you on these lonely nights

the very best shaded lips and honey hair the earth has to offer.

you remind me of a world I once knew
filled with cold hands wrapped gently around your lovers waist
a place I could never forget,
for it saved me.

the clouds continue to drip
as the milky orange sun dissolves into the sky

I pull my hair back
and sip my cup

what if you were as real as my cup was right now.
as I sip it, it can alway be refilled.
but is there always an refill for love?
my cup just sits.

I can hear the rain getting closer,
disrupting my train of thought.

I wonder what you are feeling right now.
as I use your worn down spirit to keep me warm.
how terrifying it would be
to know I could live without you.

the rain has now turned into bombs.
exploding against my glass window.

I want to scream at it
but my voice is completely gone.

and your picture in my head disappeared with it.


I curse the rain, for it has taken you once more.


Sometimes I forget, how hostile nights can be.

Shipwreck

a shipwrecked man 

sits across the room, 

turning things inside out with his gaze, 

stops staring at the wall

to inspect his drink.

darkness meets darkness

and through it he can see a splinter of hope,

the same kind of hope

that got him into this mess.

not free nor prison free

his mother gave him death

near brink- 

he drinks till he is full.

squeezing his veins shut. 

-i dont think you understand the loneliness that comes with being free

Now Our Lives are no Surprises

i can feel your desperation so deeply
that it no longer takes words

and i can sense your trembling fingers
as you try to tie the fabrics of time

but your so quick to look away
when you see something you dont understand

you are a borrowed vessel
and you have yet to give yourself away

and you have so much love left inside you
but not a clue who to give it to

you think that i will come running back
but i can run into my own %^*%$ arms

has your heart become a nuisance?

WAR HAS CEASED FOR A MOMENT MORE

the mountains are finally silent.
mind and body at rest

MY HATS ARE FINALLY GONE

how sick i was being someone
i am not

i was a poet one minute and a freak the next
i was a believer
a see'er
a do'er
and now I'm all licked up in life
and i see no more shadows on the walls.

it isn't something i can explain
i can't explain my journey because it can't be written
its certainly isn't something i can remember

but the feeling hasn't gone away
of relief
of grace
of peace

and I'm madly in love
with the feeling of relief.

and during the rare moments of dreams
i feel pain
but it never ceases to bother me

and i believe you can do this too
with time.

give it time.

lets see what you think

perpetually, i am a typewriter. anxiously new.
so i wrote something for you. because this is isnt about me:



The steadiness of life is slowly killing us all
like a poison,
thirsty for a pair of lungs
or a creeping fog
that gently licks our toes

and the black sins of earth
rely on the failure of words
and you have not the slightest notion of what to say

and the compass that use to lead you
is forgetting to sway

sometimes I sit
alone under the stars
and I think of the galaxies in your heart
and how you will never get to explore them

because when you walk
it follows slowly behind you
creeping up your calves
into your final breaths

and you will keep walking
until the end of time
and time is a terrible thing
when you feel like a compass that points nowhere

and I have failed because I lead you to the blackness of your own heart.
and where there are no words at all
you stand there alone
wishing you could pin point the very moment
you lost your way

but direction is an illusion
when you are spiraling down
like a smiling infant
into the unfamiliar world

and every time I try to save you
the darkness changes shape
into indescribable gestures only a soul could manifest

so all that is left
is what was left in the beginning:

the dark stillness of fog
that will soon
come for us all