Things can only be off track for so long before you train yourself.
Where are we going?
That keeps coming up in small doses.
What potion am I concocting in my head?
There are other ingredients as well
but they aren't base notes.
Accents actually improve my senses,
and since when do I create my own specific brand of tears?
They're scented almost like a perfume that smells
not a **** thing like the beach.
You know what they say,
"Life's a beach."
In a small way it's accurate.
Living and oceans.
Life and seas.
I see life.
I make waves,
and function as the tides
always pulling away or pushing towards.
Towards or away
towards or away
towardsoraway
make up your mind,
are we coming or going?
Should we ask the moon while we dip our toes in the water?
Wading for an answer while he first addresses the stars.

It's a start.

You blink your blind eyes in my direction,
my moving mouth is momentarily muted,
someone off in the distance can hear
nearly as clear as if their ear were right here
between us two.
Aware of our wordless shouting affair
carrying body language through the air,
assured of virtues demons once whispered
into each soul upon ones arrival.
Surviving key instincts to whimper and run
when you were too young to notice the snakes forked tongue.
But still you can hear nearly as clear
as if your ear where right here
beside the serpents softness.
Only to discover scales covering
and spreading along the parts of your body
which still remain hidden beneath the cloak you where made to wear
by the maiden whom named you the name you were called
by the same demon who created
what you
intrinsically
are
inside of
your very
darknesssssssssss
it hissed
and kissed you goodnight.
You awoke here.
Right here.
And nothing is nearly so very clear here.

This collection's so chaotic.
Oddities, all of us.
We ought to be audibly
deliberate more often,
rather than offensive.
Ostentatious all the time,
hard as nails,
hammering me down.
***** you, tool.
Driving around like you own the town,
but the car your only possession.
Possessed by the poison and gasoline fumes.
Light up another ****
but the air thick with vapors
threatens to blow you sky high.
Maybe next time around the block
try to be the good guy.

Awaiting first whispers of winter,
wanting to know the winner
who won with a splinter,
a thorn in the side.
Hardly noticed the leaves fall
or you leave.
You left, right?
Flaked on plans made,
snowflakes made
higher than when the trees shed
but on the same path.
Routes like a spiral,
Roots like a spiral.
Viral downward motions,
contagious and cold.
Dorothy told Alice
they weren't in Wonderland anymore
because that ruby tapping
woke them up.
Haunting grins lingering.
"What, Toto?"
We did.
It's all done.
Around again doth winter come.
Never spoke we of the sun.

You yearn for yawns all day long,
Sleeping sprawled across the lawn
while sun glows on your cheeks
and winds sprinkle seeds.
Sticking, getting stuck
in your dark hair.
White little wishes
dotted here and there,
spaced out equally as a
constellation that could blow away
at any second, no hesitation.
Guessed the pearls you hide
smiled wide like stars too,
But beautiful
from skies and oceans,
like your eyes.
Salty and blue,
please dont cry.
When the sun sets,
Get ready, go.
Dark gaps also
like your hair and teeth
lead to tomorrows rise.
See the sea, we saw the sky.
Sighed while sleeping
side by side.

I am left with this impression of deception,
stamped upon my own misconception.
I miscalculated when I walked out the door,
how many nails from my coffin were sticking out of the floor.
I tripped on them as I made my way across the porch,
and then had to run from your pitchfork and torch.
I see it now when I look in the mirror,
this monster looking back couldn't be any clearer.
But even Frankenstein was just scared and alone,
so let thee without sin cast the first stone.

Right now "sorry" is too loaded a word,
to be even slightly properly heard.
I don't need forgiveness I just want some slack.
I want to stitch up the knife wound I left in your back,
but it sure does make sense that you don't trust me with sutures.
I only hope you can again in the future.

I never did mean to turn into a liar,
or set my own pair of pants on fire,
but no matter how hard I want to put it out
there is no water during a drought.
I walked across bridges in these same burning pants.
Of course they collapsed, they stood no chance.
I've exiled myself to an island of fire,
and as I look around I think...I deserve to die here.

Betraying your trust hurts worse to me
than a burn of the worst degree.
I just wish I knew what to do to fix it,
but this isn't something I can patch up with a tool kit.