I can't say that I've made the best decisions
There is constant dividing
a crippling devision
Atmospheric focal point
of a five foot incision
Viewing seconds in awareness
of foreboding circumcision
An optical submission
Leaving every thought and opinion    cleanly risen
In a prison
Of supervision
Burning the cuts on my fingers
Squeezing lemons of ambition

Lack of Pain = Lack of Poetry
And that hurts.

I spied a person my emotions told me I had lost
but it was the lifestyle I would miss
when I dug deep down and mined the truth
face to face with my better self
who sure could grieve, and why not
but things move on and when truth sets you free
there is no room for melancholy where joy lives on.

Competitively dysfunctional

In lightheartedness and aloof

Teeter tottering

Puddings in the proof

I'm stuffed
Belly all a swell

Nothings best
Nothings left
But to bid you well

It's good to have limitations
Not expectations
Except sometimes it's good to expect no limitations

Grieving grief
As most of us are apt to do
Startling reflections
Seen in a whole new view
Stifling malaise
Giving up obscenity
For glowing window blaze
The night can't get much darker
Until comes a brighter phase
Grieving grief
Like a moon starved sage

If I made it through the night
Believing you weren't my own
Would your blood be effervescent
With oddities?
Would they raise ideas,
Possibilities of possibilities?
Would boundlessness ensue?
Would you be barefoot of
Illogical unrarities?
I would fall in line
But I have to have insanely absolute certainty.