He thinks he knows me
Like a book he reads.

But God, must I feel
For the metaphors,
The magic, the depth
And the world between the lines
Left unseen...


-- Eleanor

I cannot read between the lines
You own them,
For they are not mine
To twist and turn and compromise
So tell me, do you think it's wise
To make me read between the lines?

Lines,


red ink flow down his arms.
Depress the pain,
for the death of his brother,
had not simply cursed Cain.
Smiled when they call him deranged
An affidavit of sadness to rage.

Lines,


cut so deep, structured so fine.
It's a pain of a pure sort of nature,
A pure kind.
It's this way, or he goes away.
For good this time.

Lines,


pastel skin so sharp,
the colour red colours and warps.
Church bells toll for a funeral.
For one must accept the pain
to return and become sane.

Or they deny the lines.
Let it be for just one more moment.
Just own it.
The anger, the rage, the pain, the sorrow.
Soon, there won't be any feelings left to borrow.

If you only knew
The power I had
Over you

ADDICTION

If you hear
The verses
Wrap soft
Around your head

POET

Just in case
Someone hasn't
Told you
I'm taken

PURSUIT...

INTENTTION

To take half
Of what you've given me
And more from
What I'm making

KICK HABBIT

Do not feel defeat
Fear defeat
Look at it
Stab it
And say, "Here want some?"

Loose Change

Just another
Pent up broken game
Of why brothers
Can't play
White folks way

Wait we over
That trip
Or was we
Yeah anyway!

Just playin, lol
Y'all have a great day!

Two lines, visible on your right arm;
I kiss them every time I see you.

Not much else can be said about
two little lines, but I need to say more.

Two tiny lines that'll scar and fade away
leaving only a memory of why you

ripped open your arm because you felt
completely and utterly alone

because your own brother couldn't
do anything.

or say anything.
or stop you.

Even when he saw you create
those two bleeding lines.

I'm supposed to wake up like flowers
and grow like vines
I fall asleep with eye-showers
and walk along blurry lines
I'm expected to stand tall like trees
and sprout wings and be free.
But silly old me
Doesn't understand being free.

we have been taught
to color inside the lines
since we were little kids,

so explain to me how do we
continue to stay inside the lines
when life is everything but that.

no wonder we always
find ourselves
close to the edge,

but never really willing to cross
because we fear what would happen
if we did what they told us not to.
-*CPM