with or without me/
the world will keep change remarkably/
the leaves will sprout and grow into trees gracefully/
And some ******* will later saw it off to build new offices for future graduates that care about the environment when it’s too late/
it’s the pain and joy that bring me closer to life/
it’s experience that separates hope from the all knowing/
you’ll love again/
I’ll sit in my dreadful misery for that time being/
there’s indignity in my temperament/
only you can see through the masks I portray for the mindful and mindless/
the conceptions they throw at me to identify my mannerisms just make me laugh/
Because everything is on purpose/
Played out before I lay it out/
Understand the roles before I play the part/
There’s “freedom” for artists in this world
Inside the heart of imagination that never stops beating/

It calls for me.

It laps against my bare feet
barer than the dead bodies.

It is an actual mirage
A true illusion
A real lie.

It calls for me.

It whispers in my ear
And this time it’s not the wind
Not the screams not the cries.

But it’s the whispers
Of a kiss on the neck
Of a finger on the small of your back.

It calls for me.

It reaches up to my
Legs of age and death
Of loss and grief.

This time it’s not a bullet
Grazing past my calves
It’s the blood trickling down.

I long for it.

It calls me.

I fall into it.

It calls me.

Bare and broken.

It calls me.

It calls me.

It calls-