The audacity is staggering,
Enraged ego makes me laugh.
Why do you think it is yours,
When common fantasy I craft?

I write for me, myself, and I,
And often, for another.
But I too write for audience,
To give them chills and shudders.

I pull emotion from my heart,
And feeling from my past.
Sometimes I will write in truth,
But stories are told in final draft.

I love to mess with the mind,
Confuse and frustrate readers.
I don't want you to know the meaning,
And I don't want you to know me either.

Leave the ego and assumption behind,
I rhyme for for art and applause.
It hones my skills for further use,
Sharpening poetic claws.

Even this is not what you think,
If you know me you'll understand.
This is a cryptic verse,
From the beginning planned.

So read on with a grain of salt,
Be wary as you go.
Many of my works are true,
But which you'll never know.

green tea with honey
eggs accompanied by whole grain toast
Bukowski placed to the upper left of me
Mozart chirps a melody
that rings desperacy and hopefulness
it's been two days since I've been able
to stomach more than a glass of water
and the barely eaten food I've prepared
knaws and twists at my stomach
the front door is swung open
and has been since 6:15 a.m.
so that the freshly birthed fall breeze
plays pins and needles
over my bare skin
I pretend not to notice
try to continue reading
hope not to believe that the only thing
I can feel anymore
is the cold

I'm surrounded by a sea of people
As far as the eye can see
All flowing in the same direction
And just floating along, is me

I've been wading in this water
Letting it carry me any way
Not caring about which direction
And never having any say

After wading all this time though
My legs started growing tired
So finally it was time to choose
Which direction I desired

But the problem with floating along
Was that I never became aware
I wasn't really a part of the waves
I was just sort of...there

What I wanted didn't matter
The waves still moved as one
Whether I moved with or against them
Didn't matter in the long run

Then I thought I better get out
And give myself some time to think
But I couldn't see the shore anymore
And with that, I started to sink

Now I'm surrounded by a sea of people
As far as the eye can see
All still flowing in the same direction
But drowning in it, is me

what does one do
when the universal dew no longer
contains galaxies? your skin does not smell
of silence and the freshness
of the sunrise has baked away
all that is eternal- and yet, tomorrow
will rise again, pulsing the endless heartbeat of
loading, loading, loading, in this vast connectivity of life
and death
and never quite there?
what does one do
when death grabs you by the hair and drags you out the door
and you are confused with the awareness
that you are not self aware
but your soul claimed the knowledge that one day, soon,
it will die, and all things live and progress
and end- people are things as well- we are scared that
the last thing that's left in the world is not true-
we shall pass, you shall pass, the grass regrows
but it too ends- and now, it is not the same- for we know
the grass has only the appearance of eternity,
and the sun dies each night, and your grandmother
will one day not be here, and neither will you,
your soul shines bright but all matches burn out
cannot live through the lives of those it ignites-
even your children are not a lasting legacy of you
they are only a legacy of themselves- their time will end too.
so, what does one do?

When all you see are shadows
the source of light is right behind you.

she opens herself to the horizon
holding desire heavily in her breath
so crushing and withheld
the quiet rush of blood
bleaching his embrace
words withdraw in their matrix
only the form of his lips in her smile
and his walk in her feet
and making love so light
when the truth is androgyne

Is it wrong to be preoccupied with thoughts of bleeding out
Is it wrong to hope every night when you go to sleep,
This will finally be the time you don't wake up
Is it wrong when these thoughts become the closest thing to happiness you can feel

People say those who commit suicide are selfish
But it is far more selfish to force someone in so much pain
To continue this seemingly empty existence

There are few things worth living for in this world
And an overwhelming sea of darkness dragging us under

Sure we could grasp for things to hold onto
To drown a little slower
But in the end what is the point

Is there anything that could make those few extra moments worth it

The lonely path I have known,
No comfort sought,
No compassion,
Scorned pity.
O'er the darkened hill,
Patches of darker blood,
To this pen they are drawn,
My heart controls my hand,
Absence of mind.
The draining bond.
Great mountains remember me,
I wound around you for miles,
After where the sycamore grows,
I sat down right there and stretched my bones.
Listening to the wind, lo the whispering flows.
I'm still searching for myself,
I lost I on the morn of darkest day,
Worries about the morrow.
Searching for something to strangle the sorrows,
That something for myself,
To chase away the shadows
                                                   -**Firefly