We sleep walking ..
Road to the hell..
We sleep loving..
Road to the happiness..
We dream..
For next summer..
For blue sky..
For sun..
For Yellow..
Life is just dream.
Short..
Soft..
Bright ..
Just a moment of love..
Just a second of kiss..
Just a fracture of dream..
Life..
Just one..

Lairs twist life so it's tasty to the lazy
Powerful to the weak and crazy

Brilliant and seductive to the
ignorant youth
But even in pain, there is beauty in the truth

Even a tiny bit of deceit is dishonorable
For only cowards lie selfishly without preamble

As lies only strengthen a liar's defects
A liar's character, mind, & spirit gains no positive affects

The abuser of the truth paints with disappearing colors
Valuing the canvass at worthless dollars

For once the veil of the facade is lifted
Honesty, integrity and trust can never be re-gifted.

Unhappy are the takers
Or why else be fakers?

But to devastate the essence of the believer
Measures the cruelty of the deceiver

Inner peace with self deception
Is the doing of one's own soul's destruction

However if truth be told
When lies gradually unfold,

Is it better to be the believer
Or the deceiver?

impervious to experts
untouched by suffering immigrants and workers
heaping vile insults onto all opponents
remarkably ruthless in praising himself
at every inappropriate occasion

a man only in love with his own self
of whom many hope
he'd soon follow
the story of Narcissus
to its classical end

Her presence
is like
old wooden steps
that risk
a split
and break
or a wet spot
where I will slip
and take
a terrible
emotional
tumble.

I am humble
as I bumble
through this
boring existence
and I like
not being bothered
by her idiotic
insistence
in pursuing
abusive
men.

But when she calls,
I let her back in,
leave just enough
of an opening
to feel the sting
of her hurting
combined
with my broken heart.

I know where to start
by blanketing my heart
with harder steel
against the way
she makes me feel,
but I do not know
where going that cold
will lead me to,
and I really don’t
want to
find out.

I thought that I had cried enough
But I was sadly wrong.
Full thirty years was way too short
To cure the injuries I caused.

A tear can only heal so much.
It takes a torrent to begin
To wash away the kind of hurt
That flares up on a random day.

It takes the peaceful weeks between
To make the pain more sharply felt
When it comes back, tied to a word,
A song or photograph.

It takes an education
To learn how to make a smile
Across a face that’s etched in sorrow
And convince the world it’s real.

It takes a will to lift the load
And carry it another day,
When there is nothing but more days
And tears that need to fall ahead.

I thought that I had cried enough
But I was so mistaken.
There is no sign that says you’re done
And you are free to go now.
ljm

Each word is a sandpaper syllable,
    And ever breath Is a knife sharpened.



                     Between both all are cleaved,
                                and each part is divided



and consumed when spoken.


                      we will never heal when both
                    


  are motioned upon us at once.


                                       We are cut

endlessly between ourselves and
                           only time can heal us.