Break me down.
Tear me apart.
Tired of being..
A wall..
Made of concrete
with reinforced steel.
I want to be a green hill
and an old Oak
Where people sit,
read, think and feel.
Where I can see the sunrise
and the ascend of the night.
Where I can welcome you
in my world
and shield you with my branches
and leaves
from the cold rain
in the midst of a starfilled sky.
Where resolve is strengthened or refound.
Where selves are again centered
and doubts dissolved in morning mists.

Ink flows through my veins
sharpen blades on my wrist
bleeding on paper
swallowing my pain
through the clenching of my fist
slicing through tendons
feeling dismembered
like I'm expelled from a group
coming up is December
a time spent together
yet I'll probably sit with my Solitude
me and him in my room
with paper and knife
cutting myself to see
what my blood will write
Innards embody a scribe
parts of me die
either given away
or taken from me
my blood is here for you to read
honost and open
no flow of deceit
and not a trace of defeat.

Into
a body
 of water
  we fall
                                                            ­                                      Much
                                                            ­                                   b i g g e r
                                                                ­                               than our
                                                             ­                                      own
                                        We
                                      fall in
                                   all shapes
                                    and sizes                        And
                                ­       carry                         with us
      The                                                     ­   ideas that are
    fused                                                    ­    together and
  make up                                                        what we
   are on a                                                           grand­
    scheme                          Of                          ­  
                                        things,
              ­                      we splatter
                                     and splash
                                      spreading
                                          what                                                  We
                                                              ­                                     carry
                                                           ­                                    to become
                   One                                    ­                                    within
              the bigger                                                           ­          body
          that we make                             Up
               what we                               were a
                  part                               of all along,
                                                          ­  we are
                                                             dro­ps
                              We
                           fall for                                                            An­
                        eternity it                                                        feels
 ­                      until finally                                                  we're at
                         the place                                                  we call home
                                                            ­                              in our ocean
                                                           ­                                   at peace
__________________­
             To become one within what we've been a part of all along

You can stay there sticking your **** through a gloryhole, but that doesn't guarantee someone will ever stop by to **** on it.

Their thoughts are filled with religion,
conscience drifting in nothingness
hearts hollow
and souls devoted to existenceless.

Cut deep inside my heart and you'll expose my loved ones true selves.

5am, I sit alone my mind feeling so bright
is it early morning or the middle of the night.
The wind still howls winters tune
and trees are dancing in the dale.
I yearn for sun and summers warmth
but all I get is cold and hail.

So comeback Mr Sunshine please
to keep me warm and give me ease.
The winters blues do not please,
just make me shiver, cough and sneeze.

The days start dark and keep me hidden
as if to say that it's forbidden,
to laugh and sing and have the fun
I get from walking in the sun.

So comeback Mr Sunshine please
to keep me warm and give me ease.
The winters blues do not please,
just make me shiver, cough and sneeze.

I long to see the flowers smile,
the shadows form on my sundial.
The smell of grass that's freshly mown,
the shoots from seeds so freshly sown.

So comeback Mr Sunshine please
to keep me warm and give me ease.
The winters blues do not please,
just make me shiver, cough and sneeze.

Smiling children everywhere
running around without a care.
Winter woollens stashed away
and let's forget those rainy days.

So comeback Mr Sunshine please
to keep me warm and give me ease.
The winters blues do not please,
just make me shiver, cough and sneeze.

Take away this winters cold
it only makes me feel old.
Bring the sun and bring the light
and take away this awful night.

So comeback Mr Sunshine please
to keep me warm and give me ease.
The winters blues do not please,
just make me shiver, cough and sneeze.

Early morning sun please shine,
and as I sit with glass of wine.
I'll try to not let my mind splinter
and forget all about the winter.

So comeback Mr Sunshine please
to keep me warm and give me ease.
The winters blues do not please,
just make me shiver, cough and sneeze.

So comeback Mr Sunshine please
and take away this cold disease.
Once again to see you glow
and throw your warmth through my window.

Today was the first time I put on makeup in six days,
flinching as I anticipated the usual sting of misplaced liner.
I have to look good, though. After all,
how else do I make up for nearly a week of anesthesia?
There's nothing else i can do.

I lie on my back on dulled blue flannel
whispering a Hail Mary, one of many this week
and think of all the pointless, trivial things we shared.
You used to tell me that I was always brushing my teeth, and I smiled each time,
laughing through mouthfuls of blood and self-preservation.
How was your week? What's the weather like there? Are you thrilled for tomorrow? Do you remember what it felt like to fall asleep hearing me on the other side of the line?

I wanted to draw today, but notes on my clipboard were everywhere,
surrounding a graphite picture of Lisbeth Salander like a halo.
Notes to you, of course, all of them.
You used to say you liked my lips,
covering your own mouth
so I couldn't see your beautiful, dripping, two toned words.

My to-do list is filled with broken promises and shards of glass, but I swear,
I'll get around to it all some day.

sometimes
being outdoors just hurts
more than the dull ache of a morning with no aspirin
and more than the reflection of the shattered glass under my feet
sometimes
I evolve to cope
(but not often)
from neon paint reminiscent of a traffic stop, streaked across bark
to *** and la croix in trembling hands
sometimes
I wonder how your musician is doing
do you love him like you love frayed brushes and marilyn monroe?
sometimes
I say this is the root of it all.
perhaps my therapist would differ.

Your art, like yourself
Is better than you think