Polished golden ivy glimmers and shines light on the travelers eyes. What's to be expected of something that was once believed to be unattainable?

Fragile voices crack - birds sing in the distance - dead flowers slumping somewhere in a vase have long withered after the water has evaporated and the love that left them there has gone forever.

Painted pictures - canvas torn - dusty guitar with broken strings - old newspapers piled by the door and holes in the wall from fits thrown with sobbing tears.

Thoughts gathered through sad and scattered memories - I found your old journal in a box today.

Beloved,

Touched and melting cerebellum switched-
on-lever breastplate activated
senselessly on sight

Be my lover

Along the path of life blood
where day lilies grow and water fowl move slowly with their young ones in tow

Meet me in the willows
where the noise of day ends
where our hearts become one
where silence makes sense

I follow you my teacher - my love

Leaping from the wet diaper at my feet
I follow you because
I'm enslaved to the rhythm your heart beats

My world is too dark, with you I see light
You've brought my heart meaning and
saved me from night

And --

though I glow shadows,
stitching wounds that won't mend
You are the only one I want to be with
from now until.......

                            --- ---
                                              For Audrey

Death of the Ego and Id

Space vacant. So alone. Deep blue sky; floating clouds.
Dark black sky; wandering stars.

The men who lay dying wont see this.  

Hear my thoughts. If anything, I can offer these to you.

One forgotten. In just this case. She spent her life alone. Once had dreams of sharing her existence and leaving something for the world to recognize. Eventually she took her life to create space for others.

He was a simple lonely child and on his final day; his father drown him in a rain barrel before jumping off a bridge with his mother and sister.

Time disappears in the pitch black of a musty basement. Malnourishment, fatigue, and resource deprivation have drained a broken body of salty tears.

Is the pain worse when the end is in sight?
Time to experience the sharp knife.

How many lives have vanished throughout history?
Who will remember us in 100 years?

My wings are healing now.
It's been a long sad time for brittle dinosaur bones. I can barely recall the names that ran me through with deceit and malice. I'm feeling content to be average, or something else altogether - more of an outlier really.

It's okay.

I'm okay today.

But, wet eyes and sore throat from wailing until now-all the words have been written in the texts - literally written underneath the separated layer of paper glued to hide the backside of the material that makes up the underside of both front and back covers.

(The message has also been made in stamp form and has added a nice contrast in colors. Even beyond the red and blue alternative options commonly available.)

In the time of need when you question whether feeling okay is ever a possibility again the gods send messages, within questions, and messages. The infinite possibility of resulting answers are enough to keep you busy...

Enough to distract you from all that pain.

The gods have a sense of humor. Our experience gives them new material for open mic night.

-----------------------------
Making order of a ****** mass, recovered testicles and shards of bone are filtered through trembling hands alongside the unseen vacancy standing silently - waiting blank and patient. A doctor's notes blown about by force, scatter and lift through the air peacefully moved by music and pain. The air is not thick, it is dry and light. You must suffer to get here but no one believes here is a place to be.

Just ask your neighbor or your bosses friends. These ones have gotten lost within the lies that split the darkness from truth to be hung up in a viewing room for loose bottles of beer with friends Sunday afternoon trying to drown the silent tapping of panic. They won't believe you because what you describe harkens to ghosts and legend.

Be very aware.

We are normal, but I guess the stars don't suppose with a consciousness as thin as ours that they are supposed to be anything else but what they seem to be. In my mind is not our universe but it is mine within that which we share simultaneously - some points are marked out by now, then, and who knows when.

I want to be confident within this mystery and walk amidst the rest with a strong sense of myself or at least secure enough to walk strongly fragmented with acceptance.

I invite you all.

Not you though.

The one inside you.

The one without a body.

Remind me that our experience is not limited to these skin and bones.

As of late, I feel my heart race and my knees shake. I don't remember a nervousness lasting this long.
Am I noticed smiling as much as I'm noticed when I am not?

Still a slave to distraction. I push life aside for petty acts, moments, searching, browsing the Internet.

I can share this part of myself and remain intact.  By the time you see this I will be showing up somewhere unprepared, late, and sweaty.

I will take the thought of you reading these words and remember this moment as I open the door...

My face pierces the day greater than the beams through my dusty drapes that melt endlessly against the wind.

Neighbors are mowing again - or off elsewhere working.

I see the older lady next door leaving her house. She has a broken down old man who comes out to drive occasionally.

But she walks.

She's got nice **** and I can smell alcohol on her breath at all hours of the day.

I can tell she was the type who gets loud at the party when most other girls had gone home.

I know the type - the type who's presence motivated me to drink more and think less.

Now, I'm just a sad sack peeking out my drapes at the other sad sacks peeking out their windows at me.

Last night in bed
I imagined your face
In front of
a setting sun

Surrounded by
The amber sky
Your smile was radiant

I tried separating
The pain in my heart
From the gratitude I feel
for witnessing your existence

I mourn the loss of another unproductive day while drifting off to sleep every night.

I wake up in the morning and grieve for the past few hours of sleep that have ended.

Woefully **** and shower in contempt to the work that diverts whatever shred of energy I have to figure the path of shortcuts I must take to appear worthy of the hourly wage I use to pay my mortgage.  

More days than not, I will find a ghost task to steal away from work to nap heartily between reruns of Star Trek and bowls of cereal - the tomb where my legacy is laid to rest.

The hours seem glorious while I'm distracted from expectations and responsibility. If only I could carry on this way with no interruption.

Regret and shame settles heavily when the expectations and responsibility commence.

Medicine only takes the edge off. I'm in the same line. I read the same magazine covers to avert eye contact with the old folks who wait days or weeks trying to get insurance verification.

So this is what it's like to be a grown up. Late bills, missed appointments, and a disappointed spouse. It's the worlds longest suicide.

My life is mismanaged
Try to catch up, think fast
Too slow.

I’m so far behind
I just caught a whiff of your ****
Two years late.

You smile, blink your eyes
And turn away
From the rumination

It’s hard to start something new.
It’s even harder
when your past breathes harder
Than your present.

By force and energy, changes are made and maintained.

Years go by and I contradict what I know with my actions.

My change purse is light. My value - though never high - continuously sinks lower and lower.

I wanna go with the flow but the flow just won't take me along.

I'm a grown man thrashing within shallow waters. I've tried to cauterize my wounds from my body but my pants are weighed down with **** from the past like a baby with diapers.

I don't want to make living this life all about myself.  
Too late!

Everything and nothing mean everything and nothing at all.

I need a friend to get high with.  

I need a friend to cry with when crying is all I can do.

Skip the kind gestures and polite itchy ego scratching.
"How's it going?"
"Good, how about you?"
"No complaints here?"
The truth is too heavy and time consuming to hear. It might be something like:
"How's it going?"
"******, but its still early. Usually the day ***** less as it progresses."
"Decent, but the jury's still out. No what I'm sayin'. I reach a positive peak of enjoyment during the last hour of work. By the time work ends I begin the descent to a feeling of unfounded dread."
Who wants to hear that **** though?
I do.

My heart breaks
A little more
Each time
I hear you
Crying.

Out loud and alone
My breath makes
The only noise
My sunken heart
Allows.

I want to know my value.

You say,
"It's up to you"
And

I truly appreciate
My freedom
But

My freedom
has become
A prison
Of uncertainty
And self neglect.

So sad;

To know
You'll be gone
Before I find the time
To understand
How much more
I could have tried
To be part of
Your life.

I don't see a
Future
Without

The continued struggle
To convince myself
That my time here
Is somewhat significant

Although
Everything I do
and everything
I am
Will be forgotten.

I sent you
A text

And immediately
Imagined

The screen Of.
Your phone in.

The reflection of
your bright
beautiful eyes.

There is nothing poetic about sitting in a dark locker room and crying at work.

There is no redemption in laying on your couch all weekend and watching forensic files.

There is nothing pretty about this place - where suffering means nothing.

forgot your face.
But the tears don't stop. I left
them in the mountains somewhere
over Williamsport when I passed through.

There were even more
trailing through the streets,
Floorboards, walls, parks, monuments, and
hotels of Washington D.C.

Don't mind me because I Am
pushy or aloof - oh, I forgot.

You really don't give a ****.

Reach farther,
She isn't totally repulsed
by your bald sweaty head
and Sensitive blotchy skin.

May as well hide my face
and starve this desire

You deserve more than my
infantile objectification
I've coveted your beauty,
packed your image away
within this place in my mind.

I'm not the type to let my blood
Drip on others, in fact
I pay special mind to ensure
The poison stays inside.

When you ignore me
it hurts and I lose footing.

You asked to come with me
to get coffee
Of course you can - always.

I'm too ashamed to tell you
how I feel
And how hearing your voice
fills me with excitement and
Anticipation.

Cheers to you
and the longing
In my heart

I breathe your breath
From the darkness
To the light.

I'm sunk in solitude
But for a picture
That has curled and creased
Underneath the junk in the drawer

Life's little mystery
The path and who's aligned
Meet me elsewhere
Think of me
From out there
Looking solemnly
Toward what's in
And outside of
My Pinhole Universe

I’m old but still new. Captured you outside a photo. Never so soft. Hardened by fear and anguish. You wanted to be left alone. So now i am. Can’t catch a break. This is what i have. So far fine. So far gone. Meet me later if you dare. I’m so lost. Find my way. Day so dark the clouds cry tears. Shattered here. Broken heart. Work alone can’t find my part. Empty threats left behind some imagery. You found a home. Left me none. Broke your promise. It’s like you’ve won. My time will come. For death or reckoning. Plucked my wings. Smashed my records. Not so nice. Eternal cave like bristling with mayhem and vanity. Rolled up sleeves. Lower morals. Fiendish flames flicker faint. No more stories. Nothing here. Empty ego. Broken springs.

Ghost faction
Batten down the hatches
Four leaves turn green at different degrees
She never loved you
She never will
Turn me on
I’ve been off
Nothing so lapsed
As the life i live daily
Met my fate
Eternal hate
Morbid drippings of a forecast less whimsy
I can’t i can’t
It seems to be over now
Always been under
Before forlorn
Siamese request
Amble drapery left shadows cast
Out back forefront
**** thoughts overgrown
Cheap threat within the palm
Leaflet drawn upon
I’ll use the napkins
Profound misplacement word cued
Up
Left alone
Haunted home

I’m often quiet because i have nothing to say

When i do speak, it’s nothing interesting

I have nothing to do
Nowhere to be
Nobody wants me

Nobody checks in
“Hey, how’s it going”

Guess people have caught on
I’m just no one

Even this writing
Is done in vain

Don’t call me later.
I’d rather you texted