pesky pestering dreams
dumb and disturbing
they all seem

a menace, meaningless
macabre delusions
deceitful in conclusion

"You lack a vision for your life,"
"You are drowning in your own ambitions,"
"Do you genuinely believe you will succeed?"
"I cannot see you going that far in this journey,"

"Is this truly your purpose?"

Careful of your words, for I may cast you
As an antagonist in one of my countless stories,
Being a narrative, the WHOLE world shall see –
For I am a Writer!

Sometime I see,
Drift of serene shadows.
Sometimes walls float,
Amidst empty gallows.

Hard to feel
The taste of veal,
Hard to sense,
What feelings miss,
On Lee.

Not what I see,
Not shared reality.
All could be
What’s not in me.

I walk a shallow,
Its fallow hums.
Howls rise empty,
Fell the blue tree.

Cherry without taste,
A dream’s faint state.
What lies in my realm
Lacks any helm.

A lonely road I walk,
To Salk an open goad.
I must see
My illusions, gee.

It’s lacking,
No meaning.
What fallacy must play,
On killing today.

I want to feel the day
from inside the end —
dreams, lips, god —
they are the past,
folded into light.

Memories sound so
different through
your ears,
like distant rivers
we once named hope.

The moon caressed
your cheek,
and I was once there,
a shadow caught
between breath and becoming.

Time unraveled
its silver thread,
tying our names
to the hush of stars.

We spoke in the language
of undone things,
our voices trembling
at the edge of always.

And in that stillness,
where all endings sing,
I felt the day
begin again
inside you.

Oh the stars and moonlight
The stunning shine
But that shine is not enough to get you out of my mind
Morning walks
While we just talk
Nights on the grass
While we wish for time to not pass
Stuck in our own world
Were it's just us
The sun rises
And I too arise
Look to my right
And you are not in my sight
For you, my darling
Only live in my dreams

It is queer
The way that eyes blink out from the walls
yet still whilst I water them so
there screams are the loudest calls

It is queer
the way that the water flows up
Even when the bed is dry and the fish flop into the valley beside thee pond
despite being filled with wine, I can catch them in my late evening cup

it is queer
That this poem shall reach you
For where I reside cannot possibly be described
for the dank dark feald is oh so dry, I don't know how anything grew

it is queer
the concept of time
for in this place one may notice things
things that used to be fine

why, one fact that I truly find to be queer
is the state of thyn mind whilest you sleep
everything is turned on its head
and everything has landed in a heap

Why is it said that in thyns dreams
Thee must always be happy and gay
that there will be nothing said of demons
that it shall consist of unicorns and fae

And truly I say, that a common man's opinion on dreams
opinions that weren't even written in your year
can be seen by many and not called queer
that now it is called a song of the heart
and that is something that thee should forever hold dear

If you ask me now what I want, I will think of a big house full of kids,
whose laughter fills it.
A dog running in the garden.
A partner by my side,
whom I love so much it hurts,
whom I will protect with all my power,
for what it's worth,
and who will love me just as much—
maybe a little less,
because I want to give them
more than everything,
more than I receive.

Maybe it’s selfish,
or maybe it’s even masochistic,
but I want them to feel
that they are the most loved person in the universe,
because they deserve it.

But what I will say is that I want a small apartment,
filled with books—
which I have read and not,
and maybe some I never will.

A corner with my guitars,
that I still can't properly play,
but they sit there,
waiting for the day.

A dog who sleeps
on the other side of my bed,
whom I love more than anything,
with whom I go for long walks
until both our legs hurt.
And then we return home
to our crammed and cramped apartment—
but still so empty.

Where I will cook
my dinner for one,
with a couple of extra pieces,
which I will give to my dog,
even if I’m not supposed to.

Where I will sit in the kitchen
late at night,
sipping coffee
because I can’t sleep,
but can’t do anything either,
so I think it’ll help.

I will look through the window,
breathing in the cold air,
and I will dream
of a big house, kids, the love of my life.

But I will keep coming back
to the same conclusion:
that I don’t deserve a big house,
because I can’t even keep clean
my small apartment.

That I shouldn't have children,
because I can’t give them what they deserve.
Because I will ***** them up, like everything else.

And I don’t deserve a loving partner,
because I don’t deserve love at all.

So I will sit there,
waiting for the nights and days to pass by.
And then I will die—
alone.

I could just hang in Dreamworld forever,
Abandon my duties:
Nothing has to matter in this heaven,
Lest we poison it and bring about hell.

My fragile mind rides dreamboats through dreamlakes,
And I pray it doesn’t:
Break,
Dreams are my safe haven which keeps me well.

See, unlike the real world, we can rest here,
Lie our hearts flat in line:
Pulsing,
Like a drowning drone that drains life on high.

And we’re walking on air year after year,
And no-one seems to mind:
Together,
We stand on skies; a silent choir of sighs.

‘Xcept I feel like I’m rising against time,
As in my mood’s rising:
So quickly that,
It feels as if I’m not truly growing.

All I could ever want, now within reach,
A job I love, to keep:
New love, a fam’ly,
All my million dollar desires I reap.

But as the clock counts and calls out seven,
I’m cast away from heaven:
And away from me does all my leaven
Vanish. Oh God, what a brute-full second.

God, just let me go back for a second.