Shattered illusions.
Shattered hopes.
Shattered dreams.

A house with no structure
built from the remains of ruin.

A powerful soul
in a trembling body.

A house meant to fall.
A house that realized
it’s not a house at all -
just the memory of shelter
pretending to hold.

It asks,
"Then what am I?"

But no one answers.

And so,
what’s left
sinks into the soil,
quietly turning
back into earth.

I stayed up again
Forgot how to dream
My hands don’t feel like they’re part of me
Staring through the ceiling cracks
Waiting for the sky to fall back

I move like someone else’s thought
Half-formed and already lost
My shadow doesn’t line up right
It slips behind
Avoids the light

Why does it hurt to know I’m real
If I’m just dust behind the wheel
And when I’m gone I’ll lose my face
No time, no light, no empty space
I’ll be blank earth, I’ll be blank earth

The air is thick, my bliss erased
I blink and the room forgets my face
The walls pull back, erase the trace
Of everything that knew my face

No heaven waiting
No light inside
Just silence stacked a mile high
And all the noise
I made in life
Will vanish in a single night

Why does it hurt to know I’m real
If I’m just dust behind the wheel
And when I’m gone
I’ll lose my face
No time, no light, no empty space
I’ll be blank earth, I’ll be blank earth

I won’t know I ever was
No fear, no love, no pulse, no buzz
And If I scream, who’s left to hear?
The echo dies…. Then disappears

Yet to be spoken? No!
For him shall not speaketh.
Such pity to listen, but seeth and feel!
Dost thou feel him?

Surround o dark!
Surround o light!
Surround o flowers!
Surround o decay!
For him and her,
Shall affordation bless ye!

Oh! What such shallness!
Praise! Afirm! Adore!
Yet shall thou not akneel?
Accursed!

Embody o flower, dear.
I shall not speak o' truth!
Embody o carpel, dear.
Speaketh no sound, dear!

Lo and behold!
Shall none exist and inexist.
Lo and behold!
None flowers shall wither nor bloom!
Strip one, dear.

Dear, no speaketh o' truth!
For I shall not and I care for thee!
Thou shalt be confused.
I shall not give thou my reflection!
Yet shall I give lessons.

Silence!  
His body shall be still!
Shall none soul be his!
Yet, seeth! For him:
A man who maketh thee wonder.
Such carves!

Descent, unto the lands,
Surround o' paths, nor greenscapes.
Descent, unto the lands,
Surround, o honor!
Yet some shall jest about thee?
For them a pity!

Some shall crumble,
For thee, thee shall die o' honor!
So as to be lost,
The sun doth not want thee.
Yet shall us find thee:
Be told eyes' conqueror!
Or shall thee be our jest?

Some shall appraise thee,
What a shallness for our kindled eye!
It's carved, carved each by our hands!
"Our blood shall be thine!" Sacrifice!
"Our man shall be thine!" Sacrifice!
"Our treasure shall be thine!" Praise!
"Such intricate lines, o carver!" Praise!
For thee shall giveth not a jest! Praise!

Now wouldst thou wonder?
Skies do makest thou wonder.
Lands do makest thou adore.
Art thou carving o birds o' skies?
Or:
Art thou to lo and carve his' again?

For us shall gather around,
For us shall be ashade,
For us shall amend ourselves,
For us shall toughen ourselves.

O continents!
Under his dangling roots,
Shall they be ashoring others!

O humans!
Shall none do apart!
Unite! Shall us amind:
We, exist, from the first human!

How pity, we are amongst the ants!
Indeed shall one of you end another.
How pity, we are amongst the animals!
If each line doth matter,
Why then thou shalt mar it?
Replace, each for a carmine of us.
Replace, each priced for our mourns.
One wrote a grey firmament,
What a carve!

For some,
How blooming! Praise o pigeons!
None shall sail each of us!
One, doth matter.
Shall thon carve awhite o' pigeons!
What a shallness amendment for us!

Roots shall toughen,
For us shall be changed,
Roots shall be watered,
Shall us be nourished by o' wisdom.

lately i have been yearning for
all that is old and to help with
that i wear my thrifted sweater
it has no tags and
has been worn (by someone)
down (by someone)
maybe it has been
taken off (by a lover) i
think about how maybe it was
softer then i think about careers
i could never have
now i think about radio stations
that could ever
be convenient i think
about writing for
movies for poetry magazines
now to work for my own
enjoyment i think about not being
reliant on something that does
everything and nothing
for the earth to keep spinning
cycling around the sun
is all it has to
do i think about my
red sweater softer on
someone else who
was an artist and did not
feel so threatened?