Lord
In the name of your son
I pray more than I can bear
I pray not wealth, nor health
But my prayer, so humble so solemn
My heart cries for this
And at the gates of mine own heart
my prayer pulverizes my needs

It is a blessing, a tremendous privilege
If only I would sleep hungry
and my name dragged--
along the streets of the monsters
and if termites nibbled by flesh like beasts
and the remains lit up for the streets of Rome

My heart beckons.
I cry so deeply in my heart
I bleed from the inside-out
and every meat and bone trembles
I need would trade Silver and Gold
I would trade the finest of robes, purple and pristine
and seek this want
burning want

For the world is a pagan temple
and the remnants of joy are defiled
and the beauty of mankind is robbed
Until it is a mass of rotten flesh
and the glory of men is a corpse

Lord,
I want more than currency can offer
I know not of what I want, none does
I want glory shore-to-shore
I want honor shore-to-shore
I want refuge shore-to-shore
I want to fight dragons
I want to walk on giants
I want to slaughter princes of darkness
I want to pound none's chest as I watch them cry
but to look and you, the battler
the victor

Lord,
I open my eyes before the mirror
and I see what you are
beauty
Then I close them
and see more beauty
I see them sinking in their horizons
Heights never scaled
Depths never sounded
Broader than broad
Deeper than Deep
Limits where words fail--
and understanding fractures

Lord,
I want righteousness
I want to stand by Him in the morning
and sleep in his arms in the night
I want to talk like He does
to walk like He walks
to have deeds so rich with Him

I want, I want, I want
a tinker clothed in purity
a beggar having assurance
clothed in the morning
His son! His Son!
getting my warm from scriptura
Until I see Him in His Glory

Searched on every summit for lost elusive cures,
And for the alchemy.to make me feel I was pure.
I've violently torn through all that I am,
Begging every deity I’ve known for their hand.

There is no guidance.

What if healing doesn't surface, Cries muffled under sand.
A doctrine for the hopeful who will never understand.
My wounds still hold the daggers, unremoved.
What if pain protects the heart because it'll never be renewed?

There is no feeling.

Singing broken hymns inspires a hymn of praise.
Unspoken laws, maybe I'm an example being made.
I’m never broken; I can only wish to break with time.
I remain a quantum sonnet stripped of any rhyme.

There is no harmony.

Maybe there is grace that lives within a wilted plea.
In knowing, I’m exactly who I knew I’d always be.
A life pulling chains tethered to a hopeless mind.
What’s left within a soul, to see its purpose held divine.

There's nothing to believe.

Without residue of ash, from embers glow,
Haunted by the echoes, that have turned hearts to stone.
Our cold sweat of empathy for fellow misbegotten.
Stitched into the nerves of a body that is rotting.

There's nothing to see.

I cannot find belief in me for false restoration.
No longer a seeking of a hollowed-out salvation.
I walk with aching fractures to a rapture born in rust.
A fate I feel deep in my core, that all is made of dust.

There's no eternity.

What’s the meaning to the riddles I weave?
Is there truth in what remains, or is truth in what will leave?
As I stand, a withered body without a single plea.
I am all I ever was, all I know I'll ever be.

There's nothing to be.

I have no guidence.

Searched on every summit
for some lost elusive cure,
and for the alchemy to make
me feel like I was pure.

Violently, I've torn through
the marrow of all I am,
begging every single deity
I've known for their hand.

I have no peace.

Maybe healing will never surface,
Maybe muffled by the sand.
A doctrine for the hopeful,
Who will never understand.

Wounds have always held
Daggers that were never removed.
What if pain protects the heart
Because it never is renewed?

I have no harmony.

Singing broken hymns can birth
another's hymn of praise.
Unspoken cosmic laws that state
Examples must be made.

I am never truly broken,
I can wish to be in time,
But I remain a quantum sonnet,
That is void of any rhyme.

I have no exit.

Maybe there is grace that lives
Within my wilted plea.
In knowing, I'm exactly
Who I knew I'd always be.

In a life of pulling chains,
Tethered to a hopeless mind.
What is left within a soul,
To see a purpose that's divine,

Without the residue of ash
From embers charring bone?
Without emotions echoes,
That have turned it into stone.

The cold sweat of empathy
For the fellow misbegotten.
Or wihout the twitching nerves
Of a body that is rotten.

I have no dreams.

I cannot find belief in me
For false restoration.
No longer a beggar for
A hollowed-out salvation.

I walk with aching fractures
To a rapture born in rust.
A fate I feel deep in my core,
That all is made of dust.

I have no reasons.

What's the purpose
For this riddle I weave?
Is there truth in what remains,
Or is truth in what will leave?

As I stand, a withered body,
weeping now without a plea.
I am all I ever was,
All I've known I'd ever be.

I have no future.
​

I’m myself
When I’m with me

oh. you actually reached out.
had me for a second there.
thought this friends fallout
will be the last time i swear-

the last time that i will get hooked
the last time that i will get addicted.
but my mind's fluked.
chasing after attention to be excited-

but all i got?
was extra tears and snot.

Saw the bean pole and its roots
arguing outdoor with two oppressors
bean pole treated unfavourably
its on foreign soil doused in free milk
but reminded
its just another border crosser
from a rubber dinghy from Calias

Saw the bean pole housed
in nursery and greenhouse to propagate
now rooted anew its given nutrients
but it must do as ordered
for no matter what
its just another border crosser
from a rubber dinghy from Calias

Saw bean pole growing tendrils
leaves unfold green to catch sunshine
but now a puppet amongst others
who bend and shape at will
bean pole see that plant next to you
its taking your nutrients away
go block its sun
do as we say or else
just remember you're just another crosser
from a rubber dinghy from Calias

Bean pole will grow and bear fruits
on foreign soil there's milk and honey
but for as long as the sun shines
the chains and barbs will hold
bean pole is just a stick
carrying tendrils to grow the beans
eaten by those of the land
who to them will always be  
just another border crosser
from a rubber dinghy from Calias