Striking the light
With a force to bail the seas;
A mentality built to burn,
with the season’s cyclic turn.

A hammer on ice,
Frigid metal burning snow.
Snapping of tension,
The southern winds blow.

Feeling the waves
Fleeing beachside,
Reaching oceanbound.
With feet planted in the ground,
But you’re nowhere to be found
My heart leapt forward
To save that which had drowned
Yet it was too late
You came to comfort,
My worldly hate.

It’s good to write of those
Who left you broken.

But I find it fulfilling
To write of those
Who still have yet to leave.
Maybe it’s my message
That they’ll receive.

Leave me for the worms,
Run, or let me run.
I don’t care what you do.
I’ll only hurt you
By being here,
So you should just hurt me,
And save yourself
From a corrupt heart.

I just want to cry,
I want to spit my tears upon my pillow,
and cry in my silence for the remainder
of my raven eve.

Why can't I cry?
Where is the salty mix
running down my cheeks?
Why do I feel the tears well up
even though they don't release?

My mask is broken.
the fissure ran its course,
and split my face right open.

Dec.27.2019

Why do I hold myself back
from what I want to do?

"To hide the overpowering disappointment.
You don't want to forever hurt yourself,
so you stay silently discreet; lay low."

But why don't I want to hear them speak?

"Again, to save your no-good cowardly ***.
You are quite the physical *******,
a lover of being cut, bruised, and bludgeoned,
but you suffer from being mentally skullfucked.
Aren't you supposed to me smart?
Maybe, just maybe, if you had confidence,
you wouldn't be talking to me;
the one person who wants you dead.
you refrain from everything,
yet you always seek counsel with me."

Because you're the only one I truly trust...

"Go **** yourself, just talk to someone else."

Driving by
These skeleton trees,
All I can really do
Is think and internalize.

As the souls
Surrounding my own
Glisten with vacation feels,
Their voices resound
In a wildly uneven,
Yet ecstatic chorus.

I listen to the awful choir,
But fail to gather my voice.
I can only sit and internalize
The soul that my love denies.

I want to steel this crumbling heart,
But she keeps me from doing so.
Now my heart takes the main part,
Instead of steeling, it lets itself grow.

People always say
That mistakes are okay.
But what consolation
Have we made in preparation
For when mistakes become a blight
That decimates our planet’s light.

And I’m still working.
Each drop of sweat towards a goal,
One too far from my hands.
It’ll take a hundred years,
Or ten-thousand more.
I’m just the system’s... dog.

The mime drowsily stumbles,
Now awakened from his dream.
All that’s left is the silky memory
Of his imagination’s devious scheme.

The silver sunset awaits his arrival,
So he gallops onwards into nightfall.

Gentle white outlines,
Glittering in the gaze.

A hanging breath
Coating the air
Like a newborn’s blanket.

A frosted world,
Sweet,
Sour,
And all that lies between.

Maybe it’s not
A needle and thread,
But a voice.
One which carries words
On waves above a crowd.

Like dancing lights
And fluttering sprites;
Multiplying together
And dividing apart.

They rend the veil of night,
Creating a short-lived spectacle
Before these stars take flight.

Silence.

Cold wind
Shaking shackles
In its violent breeze.

Voices chat
Of odds and ends,
Have their arguments
And make amends.

Silence once more
Not a voice heard
Over this uproar
Of silence galore.

Tripping in the doorway,
Falling through the frame.
The beyond now lies before me,
Without heart, soul, or name.

Time, time is a valuable thing;
We never see our seconds sliced
By an archangel’s bladed wing

Shifting your soft stance
Discharging feint after feint
You’ve got me real beat.

As I lay in this old bed,
I think fondly of
The fruits of my love,
As well as hers,
Which need a bit of time
To ripen out of sourness,
And into a world of sweet.

With each strike of the hammer
Embers launch themselves out
From the source of such a clamor,
Seeking a space to seed doubt.

The seeds are forever sown,
But the farmers are soon neutralized
They never get to see their work grown,
They only started getting them unionized.

But each earthbound cooling spark
Is just a part of the movement’s progression.
The real movement is each hammer mark,
Created from each act of oppression.

As the weapon of war is finished,
An army rises, and an empire is diminished.

Why have all my choices
No matter how good they are,
Always hurt someone in the end.

As slightly rusting walls collapse,
A pressure beyond worlds moves south.


Shards of dirt,
Shooting towards the ground;
Grains of rebar,
Dropping like bullets.
And flakes of snow,
Spiraling in their conceited madness.

Yet the sun still rises.
Cold frost against warm air;
A flickering blue behind the shadows,
And an unsullied white
When lying within the sunlight.

If I disappeared
Would you give a ******* ****?
Stop the ******* farce.

All the sighing ashes disappear,
Worries drowned out in my own fear.
An endless void lies inside their mind.
Any more defiance and I’ll go blind.

Leave me to be
For a lifetime now lost,
We all lived our wasted lives,
Until the cat’s path is crossed.

One of my best friends, and the third friend I ever made is finally getting a replacement kidney. It’s hard to express in words just how happy I am for him. He’s been a lifelong friend for me and I’ve had to live through the decline of it’s functionality. All I can do, is hope that tomorrow’s operation goes smoothly.

Swim on the river
Wade through the spiral
View the simmering color
As the surf turns visceral.

Bleed out the river
Wade through the deeds
View the glimmering color
As the red leaves the reeds

When time unveils it’s trickery,
The moon will show it’s hidden face.
We are all under the countless stars,
All are in the worldly compass of greed.

The spectrum brings
Colors and light
Shrouding those blessed
With fathomable delight.

Time passes as it will
And eventually the spectrum
Will have had it’s fill.

The colors will soon
Turn their back,
And my spectrum
Will fade to black

Nov.28.2019

A brilliant arrangement of colors...
Well only one color.

A plethora of a single shade,
A void of only that color.

Dragged through the void,
Many years of pain.
But on the other side,
Lie a rainbow.

Oh so beautiful,
Oh so colorful.

A pillow of color,
To rest my weary head upon.
A therapeutic spectrum,
To help me stand strong again.

The mind can go colorblind too.

As you drift away
Like a long-forgotten shirt;
Growing yellow on the clothesline,
I stand,
Immobilized and Immortalized
Within the reaper’s ace of spades.

What does “okay” even mean?
Out of all the information I can glean,
It is just a way of saying fine.
But it cannot be fine,
Because fine is the exact opposite.

Whenever I hear ok,
Things usually are not perfectly fine,
And whenever I say ok,
Again, things are not perfectly fine.
Things are usually pieces of ****
that make me cry, in misery or in loathing.

But does that mean blind comfort,
“That’s ok” “it’s ok”
Is just venomous words hidden in a
Pastry-like consolation?

And why, am I ok while writing this poem?

If I could start again,
I’d move a trillion miles away.

Drain the toxin from my veins,
Train myself day by day.

If I could start again,
I would keep myself
I would find a way.

Trailing out what’s left inside;
Leaving a path.

Lurching into the fray
Letting come what may.

I don’t know what’s left
Inside of me;
Bloodless, emotionless.

What keeps me running
Away from my problems?

One foot after the other,
Climbing up,
Higher and higher.
Until I fall into the sea
Of my own shame.

How long can I tread—
Acting live everything’s all right—
Before I drown?

Insensible schisms
Within the chasms
Of a fractured mind.

Spiraling spectral light
Reflecting off the broken pieces,
which lie scattered,
Hovering in an everlasting stasis.

Eternal connection lies in myth,
And such fragments I view with mirth.
A broken mind calls my name,
After following the void of my birth.

I need to write;
To sully heavenly paper
with our beautiful words.

But with each stroke of our pen,
The ideas exit our mind;
Flying like a fallen leaf,
****** away by the river’s rapids.

Over smoke and grit,
Floating into nothingness,
Ashes fly their heated cycle.

An end lying in wait,
Through the endless detours
That construct a draft
Of our human life.

Outside the world,
Detached from these echos of ours
A set of golden eyes,
Which glint in the sun’s stunning strikes,
And glimmer in the moon’s luminescent lasers,
Watch over the lively realm
And protect the tipping balance,
Which tilts with each grain
That the hourglass will drain.

But I, standing inside this world,
Wonder if those eyes
Are the ones I should trust.

Watch as we rise
And gain this sky
As the worldly prize.

Beyond these coals
Lies the resolution.
Strengthen your feet
Or grow your wings.
It’s time to fly,
Not to die.

Liquid emotion;
pervading us all.
Lying prevalent
Within our darkest minds,
Sits our coup d'etat;
Ready to overthrow
At the flick of a hair.

The tick of time,
The weight of a scale;
Inconsequential losses
Remaining inside
The tumultuous plane
Of organic existence.

*******,
I ******* **** at
Naming things.
From pets to poetry,
None escape my
Horrible naming spree.

I still remember,
The days of old;
My days of young.
I just got a new pup,
He was cute and small,
But he needed a name.
And so I shouted out,
With little to no shame:
“Evil Trash Can the name!”
This was quite large a hurtle
For my parents to say yes to,
So I then suggested “Turtle.”
After all, his collar had
Turtles designed upon it.
The names were getting
Uglier by the minute,
Much worse than a hog.
So I went simple and direct:
“Dog”
My parents were
Laughing at this point,
My dad dropped his
Nice trucker hat,
And I tried once more...
“Cat...”

This story is not a lie,
I cannot name things,
No matter how hard I try.
My names are horrific,
So I apologize for any
Naming problems
You have with MY
Poetry.

Simmering through the walls
Shimmering above my head
Shrouding the room
In a cloak of light.
I live inside
This world so bright.

I’m but a human husk
Fill me with your emotions,
And watch me fail your expectations.

And I hate myself for it.

A film of dust delicately cakes
The oaken shelf,
Reflecting a soft filtered ray
Onto the dim ceiling.

Deep olive curtains
Dye the slightly stale air
To a sluggishly pine-like hue
That resides ever so prominent
On the ambiguous rays’ edges.

The silent air sleeps
And with its vexing stillness,
The slight tinge of a curse
Resonates through
These mahogany walls,
And even down
Those sharply shadowed halls.

Lines marking a shimmering border,
Silence marks the void between.
Life and death are all that stand
In the way of a world pristine.

The labelmaker does not discriminate,
The labelmaker creates the groundwork for it.

If life gives you lemons,
Why would you make lemonade?
They taste perfectly fine
On their own.
Maybe a spoonful of sugar
Might help the sour feelings
Rinse from your mind though.

Softly in
Swiftly out.
Control each expansion
Of these quivering lungs.

Fire’s spreading through my mind,
Life has turned me oh so blind,
If this world could be less kind...
I would be dead, free of this bind.

Looking at an untouched daisy,
I can feel my mind grow hazy.
My limbs are growing ever so lazy
And I’m falling in again. I must be crazy.

To love,
Is to live with pain each day,
The pain of mistakes
and misconceptions
Will litter your beating mind,
Burning your head at the thought
Of their beauty.

To live and love them
Is to let go of it daily.
All the pain and suffering,
Regrets and remorse,
Let go of it.
Otherwise you’ll end up
With rosy cuts in your arm
And venomous thoughts,
That cloud your delicately
lovestruck mind.

Live to love,
And love to live.
Let go of what you love,
But never let go of your life.

Within these wistful wonders,
A wave made to shatter the ledge.

Upon the edge I watch it crumble,
The wonders of time reduced to rubble.

Who ever knew
That happiness could
Wear someone out
As much as it does.

My emotions
Have grown drowsy,
And my head’s
A bit too feathery.