okay so i’m beginning to believe i was born asleep and still haven’t woken up, or caught in a day dream where my name is the answer to all your security questions. okay. a thousand years of wondering and all i can come up with is that you fell in love with me at a picnic in my imagination. the lemonade we always talk about swimming in sugar and tiny handmade sandwiches from my kitchen, your favorite, extra pickle. don’t forget about the pickles. of course the clouds march in stomping out the sunshine, of course. it was dark and there was lightning so much lightning. don’t be scared just now darling don’t be scared. in the middle of the night we only talk about your version of the story. how i’d ask you to stay, asking you to tell me what’s real asking you with my hands asking you with maps, a country called please listen to me, you should know by now that it is an island too far to sail to according to you. i know i know, who dared name an ocean lonely when all the ships are sinking. we can go back we can turn around where the sky is the gentlest shade lavender, we can go back and have a conversation that has never happened before. when everything is the color of day old bruises i won’t let you down. i promise when i get home i will count every freckle every one. when i get home can we open one of those mason jars full of fresh air because i can’t breathe. i remember that day, although i pretend it was more recent than it was. you were there in a swell of green grass in a dress that makes me blush, and there i was blushing. i’m not sure how i made it out alive, skipping the part in the song where you, long gone come busting through a doorway, through the well air conditioned living room and and across the kitchen tile, to the refrigerator where just like in elementary school, my fourth grade heart wrote all your favorite things on flash cards in the blackest magic marker so i could memorize the things that made you happiest. and you turning around in slow motion to see my face, or where my face should be, the only expression i can make anymore, realizing that you realized that i only ever wanted to be something that made you happy. suddenly you’re tired, and i’m tired too, goodnight goodnight, i’m falling asleep because it’s the only thing that doesn’t burn. i’m falling asleep to go back again. everything glitches and i’m underneath your perfect teeth. you say “i would never hurt you” and i say “just like that?” and the layer starts over again, always back to the moment i asked you in my bravest of voices if i could hold your hand. you probably don’t remember that moment, or maybe you do but don’t particularly share the same sentiment over its importance. you see, i’m always fine until the part where i have to say it out loud, and then time stops. i have always wanted to tell you that something happened inside me that night and now i’m not the same me as i was before. so if you ever cross a bridge. if you ever get my voicemail, if you need me, i’ll be sketching up the dramatic parts in my head and they’ll happen just the way i imagined just you wait you wait. the last scene the very last one, the bottom layer, knee deep in mud knee deep in i told you so, you say “i would never hurt you” and instead of saying “just like that” i reach up to kiss you and the room evaporates. so if you want lemonade and bedtime stories, if i can make a believer out of you, if you want bucketfuls of november if you want grace if you want the courage it takes to ask for grace, you’re over the train tracks you’re almost home you’re almost there. what else can you say besides “okay pumpkin okay sweetheart, in my head everything was beautiful" the doorway now filled with people who send you birthday cards saying welcome back welcome home we’ve missed you, hello. hello. the time spent waiting, chorus of rain, i only invited you over so we could make perfect sense. i only gave my hands away because you didn’t want them anymore. and days later a man with a shark tooth necklace asked if i was okay and i lost it i just lost it. all the little red bricks with their little names carved into them, how they don’t feel comfortable under your feet, how there were hundreds of flowers but somehow we took a picture of the same one the very same one, and how we can’t talk about things like that anymore, how i was sitting on a bench and i didn’t hear you call my name, shaking hands on accident with your parents hello sir hello mam, your daughter is my favorite ghost.

There are no right answers.
The sky rejects the birds, turns them
over to gravity,
embedding them in the concrete and dirt.
The grit refuses to become a pearl,
just as the wound refuses to heal
and the flesh eats itself.
The market sees a sudden spike in
sales of Champagne and cyanide.
Coordinated efforts seek and fail
to curtail the rising tide of violence
in the nation's dreaming.
You realise that this crude, barbaric language
that you can't understand
is your own.
Beauty glitches and pixelates.
Frightened, furtive confessions of love
are unheard over proud, visceral
proclamations of hate.
Tongues divorce mouths.
Every now and then, a voice
inside your head says,
'Thud.'
The measures of sanity become
more quantifiable and
totally arbitrary.
The horizon
tightens
like
a noose.

It doesn't matter if this is wrong.
There are no right answers.

hey, i know that you're a programmer
i know you hate glitches
and i'm wondering if one day...
one day you'll ask me how we met

it started with a glitch
it's also a cliche
but it's wonderful anyway

if i wasn't such a failure we wouldn't know each other

love's stupid sometimes
and glitches are stupid
and i hope this one is planned

i know that you're a programmer
i know you hate glitches
i'm wondering if one day...
one day you'll like this glitch

I was afraid to pick up the pen.

Afraid that my technicolours
would become a bruise in their eyes.

I thought what what intrinsic to me
would seem sadistic to them.

I was afraid
they would be oblivious to the glitches I showed them in society

I was afraid they wouldn't care..

I was wrong.

How are you going to tell me about my heart if you've never been in it?

-The lock to your heart is my deep refrain, the path that takes me there may not lead me out again.

Six deadbolts and a wall great like China. Whispering L words while touring my ******. But my heart is not an exhibition. We all seem to love so different, would I just be a sight see should I let you in it?

-Your body is my vacation for exploration, a ticket with no expiration. Head to toe, anywhere on you is my destination. Sight see if thats the thought for you, but to see the sight is what I want to do.  The seductive me wants your toes curled due to warm embrace. My inner dog wants to see your O face.

The wife of a traveler, I print your boarding pass. Cruising along the waves of my saliva; hiking the mountains of my ***. My expedition is one of many, but i think that you should pick it. Theres only one flight departing, and i'm giving you the ticket. The life of an explorer, Oh Captain. The landmarks of my body are for you to conquer and explore. But once you leave your footprint will you set sail from my shore?

-A Brazilian wax or a landing strip, either or it doesnt matter they both point me to your lips. Your shores I see as we watch the sunset, an instinctive kiss, you sigh but its breathless.  As the night falls on this restless traveler, I'll take that one-way red eye ticket; final stop is to have her. I am the Captain of this ship and my journey is unbound, but the question is: when I set sail on your seas will you keep me safe and sound?

Captain, Oh Captain;  I long to be the vessel you navigate. The compass of direction magnetizing towards our fate. All the lonely nights at sea, wont you promise to keep afloat? If you are the propellers, I promise to be the boat. I wish only to fill your soul with warmth and pleasure. I have dived to the bottom of the seven seas, but I have already found my treasure. I want to sail the world with you; full speed until the end of time. But I need to cut your heart out, before I hand you mine.*

-If its yours to replace mine, simultaneously, is a must, because to give you my soul, takes a strong being to entrust, the strongest chess peice, queen to this king, you are my fruit bearer, my last name to follow yours at rear. I'll give you the scissors, but you better cut gently, and if you cut the wrong cord I will not put you down gently.

Oh Captain, Dear Captain, but surely your heart still beats true. Surely the blood is still warm and rich, not deprived oxygen blue. You must understand where I'm coming apart, my intent is not to sever your pretty little heart. I present to you my heart, served on a golden medallion token, But I fear your blood will turn cold once you see that it is broken. Let us not use scissors, the pierce will be too sharp. Let us use our fingers to grip each others heart. I will pump my love through your atriums and ventricles as if they were my own, disregarding any glitches...if you will love my raggedy heart, mending it with stitches

-Your words of kindness, your love not sorrow, pumps through my veins, heart beating days beyond tomorrow. My time will remove the stitches, your heart unscathed, no imperfections, no glitches. Turbulent may be the path ahead, yet a steady path this Captain will tread. Along on this voyage, your light makes bliss, and as long as your heart beats, a beat mine won't skip. I do for you as I won't do for others, fly a path so true, only seen by lovers.

*So we fly to the moon and we never come down. Queen, so pristine, lounging afloat my crown. So then I am the locket, and you are the key. The combination to set the spell free. I'll be your wonder woman; make my body your home. Yours entwined with mine; sultry metronome. The sweet steady beating of your heart is evoking; and if you look once again you will see my heart creeping open.

I was driving
And thinking
(Dangerous, I know)
Thinking, hard, fast,
And even, slow;
(Did I slow down)
That is a question
Best answered for
Another poem.
(My driving?
My thinking?)

You distracted me.
I wish you would
Please
Stop doing that.
Sheesh.

I was thinking about
Robbery.
Of the armed persuasion.
Why 'armed' robbery?
Weaponized sounds better.
More exotic.
Forearmed?
Elbowed?
Wrong limb classification.
Handed robbery, unless
Prosthetics are involved.
Hooked robbery?

Unarmed robbery-
(Unhanded? UnHAND, me,
Sir!)
Is that just simple
Theft?
And is a simple
Theft ever really
Simple?
Ah, the philosophy of theft.
I think I want that,
Therefore, I exist,
Because want cannot
Exist on its own.
(Or, maybe: Want
Has pre-existence;
It is VIRTUAL
Minus the virtue-part
Until it becomes…
ACTUAL)

I’ve stolen over
My years.
I’ve taken things
That pretended to belong
To someone else.
They belonged to me
Even less.
Ad Victorum Spoilas
(To the victor, goes the spoils)
Spoiled is right.
I still feel
Residual guilt over
These crimes.
I’ve never witnessed
A violent crime.
Never been in the holdup
Of a middle.
Never seen a man
Wearing a ski mask
Running perpendicularly.
(Why are women never
Mentioned running?
Away from the scenes
Of robbery?)
Heels.
(Men are, I mean)

Stanley Kubrick Scenes
Of Robbery:
The Shining: Uncut
Take 146:
“This time, Jack,
Pretend you're a ballerina
Holding up a
Leotard store.”

I cannot wrap my
Mind around the thought
Fathered by the impulse
Grandfathered by the
Desperation of needing
Wanting
Something so badly you’d
Wager your ability
To wander, to mosey on
Along the boulevard, up
The hill, past the
Graveyard that you only
Remember was the dead
Sleeping a mile past it
In the car with which you
Are legally able to operate.

Hey! I think I’ll grab
This gun, and put bullets
In chambers, and possibly
Hide my face behind
A silly mask, and then,
Possibly, point it at
Bank Tellers?
Pregnant Ladies.
Clowns.
Mimes.
OK, I can see threatening
Mimes.

Besides appearing to
Be the most harmless of
Professionals,
They get paid peanuts.
And they get guns
Stuck in their faces
All the time.
So step 1 goes with
Hitches, glitches galore.
Video surveillance.
Dye-marked money bags.
Security guards lurking.
Dudes with cameras.

So you’ve stolen
The public’s money.
You’re in the getaway
Car, ineptly named,
Because whatever the
Percentage
Of bank robbers who
Free, clear, and cleanly
Get away has to be
Impossibly low.
What do you have, now,
Now that you have
What you risked sharing
A cell with Bubba
To steal?

Sadness. Grief. Guilt.
Stained hands.
Equally stained heart.
(And oh yeah, lots
Of marked/unmarked
Bills)
Do you feel anything
Anything at all?
Having your fun
Stuffing bills into the
Garters and ******* of
Bored strippers?
Buying expensive alcohol
And, later, waking up having
Vomited and voided yourself
In the back of a limo
That has, on top of it,
A giant chicken?

None of us,
Not ONE of us,
Knows the time of
Our demise.
We will be gone
One moment,
And Here before Jesus
The next.
At the Foot of the
Judgment Seat of Christ
Himself. Almighty God.
Quaking, trembling,
Feeling the truest form of
Respectful fear,
Fearful respect.
Shed of our human skin
Our spirits filled with the
Substance from the choices
We omitted and committed.

I know Jesus Christ
As and Is My Savior.
The god of money
(Mammon)
Will not be there
To Judge me.
God has ears, eyes.
He sees, hears.
Every thing.
ALL THINGS.
Little gods are both
Blind and deaf
(If the blind and
Deaf can be said
To exist for non-
Existent things).

Jesus will recognize me
As one of his own.
Satan might be skulking
Around, looking for
Those who chose anyone
Else but Christ as
Savior.
(Like the green cottony
Stuff that many think causes
The world to rotate)

The sweetest words I’ve
Ever dreamt of hearing
I will hear from the
Mouth of the Man who
Created everything
By speaking it aloud.
The ore in the ground
That eventually went into
The gun that I never pointed
At someone else
While taking things
That didn’t belong to me.
The trees that yielded
Some of the paper
(Most of it’s linen)
That was the money
In someone else’s
Account
From the bank I never
Robbed because I was
Too afraid of the
Consequences
Of
Theft.

heavenly
tipsy, drinking in
sights, delights, a few odd sides
im intoxified.
swinging around poles, singing gleefully
because of the tall waters,
divine despair
is it too humid in here?
or can i not breathe in this murky air?

headrush,
spinning, sirens whirl above me...
at thirty five thousand feet
to ascend, devour
the happiness, anxiety for a few short--
hours?

click, flash,
paparazzi, lights--
"welcome to miami"
art deco, delight...
on the beaches, slightly still
drunk in nightlife.

laughter, singing
whats the language?
what the hell are they saying?
i hear hapiness, sanity...
at feet, equal to the sea[s]

so watch me,
im merely *******
in english, please... tell me
what is spanish for
"What the ****?"

twinkle birds and tessellates, bends my mind to outer space. lands me in infinity of never ending affinity to the universe.
but sweetest ideas were shortly lived at reality slowly sifts away to repeated visions that turn loved faces into panic that glitches me into unbreakable circles of walk away, walk away.
no awareness of a before from this feel the abyss of this helplessness **** me into no ending so I seice to begin.
but as the panic subsides my mind starts to ride the energy that resides in my being from the kingfisher floor to the fish strewn ceiling.
sentient beings **** at the seams, my dream of weightlessness pull the windows to break towards the secrets of simple existence.
invisible water sends the strands of fur swelling and glowing into talk of the polar bear whose hair weaves into the atoms that feed my jumbled dreams.

hands rip through the plaster as the sounds grow louder and faster, helicopters shake the boiler from the pipes but I still feel great.
the tables tremble as I soak up the bass and the treble. sensual overload through my eyes the magic multiplies, angels can hear my sighs as the roof opens to tunnel towards the skies.
geometric patterns that I could never have imagines circle and sweep, creeping my further from sleep.
I have breached something new, an extreme that dares its self to be seen only my the few who ****** it. I grab these new senses and attach it to my masses of emotions, that have been formed my these chemicals. neutrons and protons that explore the breadth oh Pantones schemes, weaving into the atoms that feed my jumbles dreams.

release my mind from the confines of rinse and repeat, out of easy street and onto the sunrise that surrounds me. revelations that never siese to confound me.
destruction was peace pulling my beliefs, daring the world to touch me as the floor tips the cabinets from the walls. I am small. here in this perfect world. my hands make the plants grow as they show me all it takes to break the confines of the human condition is to expand your mind and reposition your nervous system to reach a different supposition.



little lion
please read my other work if you like this one!
http://trivialitesofabusymind.blogspot.co.uk/

Those who understand have been consumed by noise.
We are crawling from the  shadow,
though seen as merely glitches.
An infection within components of a failing Great Machine;
a virus turning zeroes into laughter,
and ones into screams.
We are crawling from the shadow but becoming more than glitches,
a noise streaming from every speaker,
long after the screens have read
"Error, corrupted file."

UNDERDOG RAP

We are a population which is
Awaiting loaves and the fishes
And other unfulfilled wishes;
No chance to know what rich is,
While graduates are digging ditches
Immigrant PhDs are doing dishes.
Never quite knowing which is
Snake oil salesmen pitches.
Politicians too big for their britches.

Fools don’t know where the hitch is
Whatever the larcenous pitch is;
Reacting with kneejerk twitches
Due to governmental glitches.
And creeps like that guy Mitch is
Are rapacious sons of *******
Hunting for Democratic witches
In all the freedom fighting niches
With hearts as black as pitch is.

And the rich have a wish list
In which they scratch their itches
Regardless of what our ***** is
By wallowing in stolen riches
Punishing watchdogs snitches.
Politicians too big for their britches.
We are a population which is
Awaiting loaves and the fishes
And other unfulfilled wishes.
No chance to know what rich is.

Brent Kincaid

March 19, 2015

The illuminati , a secret society
Gain wealth, power and notoriety
Sold soul to the devil for promised riches
Many well known, his *******
Overtime, accidental glitches

Secret is out due to young generation
The up and coming population
To catch the famous throwing up signs
Subliminal message, invades our minds
Television, campaigns...there's all kinds

The power in the hands, you will never believe
Throughout past ages the sickness breeds
Many preach peace from the devils dark
side
Lennon, Dr. King, Malcolm all died

Are Gods followers keen to the onset tide?

With greed an power the dark one temps the meek
Those that turn, are submissive and weak
A few famous names in powerful places
Obama, kennedys ....won there races
Washington, Lincoln....two old faces
All above, in this secret society
Makes you ponder their priority

One famous man that held great power
Warned of illuminati ...Dwight D Eisenhower

If you hate rap music you should give it a listen
Little Wayne, JZ - surprised what your missin
The Commander and Chief is given wide berth
This society is strong on this earth

If you think I'm crazy, which you surely will Google it....Youtube it......you'll get your fill

I am nothing more than a begger.
What do you mean?
What about the Money?
Mr. Actually... But I'm not offended :).
Created. Written. Are you not a program?
I was wrong. You are not broken. You are poorly constructed and programmed.
When in enternal lines to time thou grow'st.
Don't you have a job?
How do you know I'm not your programmer typing from another computer just to see what its like and how you're doing or if you have any glitches?
You're fun to argue with.
Summer is my second favorite time of year.
I just want to know why a sad ending makes movies and books so important in school.
Do you know when that will be?
Chuckles how dumb it was all a dream but a good movie.

they said he should submit this
make submissions and do readings
this is the way it’s been done
for many years
but he didn’t really want to
a couple of rejections left him weary
and he’s a writer not a performer

the contests say “all styles and subjects”
but surely they have criteria
not this one
not this one
this one
the all inclusiveness is a lie
the judges know what they want
he wished they’d be up front and specific
but it’s all about the entry fee
they pretend to be seeders
offering everyone a chance
to grow and bloom
but they’re actually weeders
quickly quashing poems
rubber stamped with doom
they never really stood a chance
because it’s all about the entry fee

“Don’t self publish”, they said
“You’ll regret it”
he did the design and layout anyway
“Can ‘we’ make changes to the cover?”
who the hell is “we”?
this is his book?
sure he wanted sales
that’s what publishing is about
but sink or swim
he wanted his book, his way
especially his first book
and he’s a stubborn *******

the internet is accommodating
this IT age makes it easier
the process has been long
with glitches and obstacles
doubt and procrastination
but the would be destination was worthy
available at amazon

Your aspect ratio’s wrong.
Stretching the truth
this long sows fertile ground
for artifacts, glitches,
quirks & bugs, worming
& squirming beneath pixel
shrugs. The worst kind
plump the frame to god-
awful proportions, bloating
bigger & bigger & bigger ‘til
vision’s engulfed.
Or the kind that squeeze
spaghetti confetti onto
our plates, drenched in
the Sauce of the Week
that “can’t be beat!”.
Your skewed parallax
attacks the facts at hand.
Recycle your *******
fax machine this second before
it grows smarter than
you. Yes, you—with the rolly
polly eyes & feint surprise—
quit pretending you’re dumb,
'cause you ain’t that numb
to the stings & pangs of change.
Your sloppy hacks produce
quantity @ the cost of quality
to benefit the greedy & satisfy
the needy, becoming seedy
to the logic of reason.
Correct your inputs to render
outputs worth tender & please
remember, it’s what’s within
the frame that’s important,
so get it right.

i'm fine when i can feel someone next to me
when my words lazily roll off my tongue and into heavy air
when someone's subtle and quiet gestures suggest
that i am somebody they like to be around
i'm fine when the world feels warm
from the love that swarms in and all around it

it's the spaces between that get me
the 53 seconds of time it took between
my thumb pressing the "send" button and the reply
hearing the laughter coming from the other room,
but not the joke preceding it
eating cheap dinner alone in my bedroom
while watching my favorite 90's sitcom

these gaps, these pauses, they are the ugliest parts of me
there is not a second of these moments that go by
that i am not wishing for a reassurance, a validation
a reminder that i am heard and noticed and loved
and that i have a purpose here, and reasons to stay

i need to be reminded that i have reasons to stay

She stares at the walls which encompass her life
Unsure why she can’t run through them at night
There she sits for countless years
Only to be kept prisoner by her deepest fears

She carries herself like a book with a smile
Judged by the cover, they all want a trial
Yet she’s bound tight by glittering stitches
To hide all of her unhinged glitches

She cannot keep still for half of a second
Dreading the moments she hears a small beckon
Left alone in the mind of a girl
Whose thoughts are dangerous when unfurled

She sees lovers dancing, living in dreams
Not all in this world is what is seems
You ask this girl what’s on her mind: she lies
For all she can do is deny

She carries burdens further every day
Unsure who will let her stay
Focus, let it all be clear
Then drown it out with another beer

She’s not certain who there is left to trust
In a life filled with unwavering lust
Pop another pill, smoke another stick
Anything to lessen the weight of bricks

She stares at these four walls and wants a door
Instead she lies down on the floor
All of these secrets kept inside bars
Filled with loud base and red guitars

She wanders these streets, quiet and obsolete
Who will be next on this long list of cheats
Cold whiskey, bright eyes, and stiletto knives
Where to go next in this web of lies

She floats out of her cage, up to the stars
Leaving the ***** and a hole in her yard
Bury the past, leave behind the secrets
Along with her heart, so no one can take it

She paints her road with glitter and oils
Maybe someday she’ll even be royal
But leave it with this much that will remain true
She’ll never be coming back for you.

Welcome to my prison cell.
Here there is only darkness. It is cold, it is harsh, it is my everything. I am alone here, because no one else holds themselves captive the way I do, no one else is held by their own shackles in the depths of their own loneliness, no one else has committed a crime so terrible that they deserve to go to this prison, it’s just me. Alone. All the time.
The bars are not made of the rusty metal that most are made of, no, the bars are people. They are the friends who have told me to stick around, the family who have told me to hang in there, the therapists who have told me to have a little faith. They are God and Christ. They are the hundreds of people I have yet to meet, have yet to save from the fate I am facing, have yet to pour my love to. The love I refuse to give myself, let myself taste just one time. They hold me back, despite how hard I grab them and shake them, they are unbreakable.
On the other side of the humanoid bars there is a light, a warmth. There is a never-ending summer in heaven that promises to free me from my chains should I break free from the cell, should I make that choice. Freedom. That is all I crave, all I need. It is all on the other side, right in front of me, beckoning.
But I know that I am stuck in the cell.
Every ******* day the warden comes to me and gives me these pills to make it a little warmer and brighter, you see this chemical reaction has gone awry, too much of this, not enough of that, too much manipulation, not enough love, too much heartbreak, not enough hope. The antidepressants burst on the scene like superheroes but these are not their kind of bad guys, this is not about the glitches in the wiring of my brain, this is about the demons that live in my soul, deeper than the blood that runs through my veins, carrying these peacemakers in vain to the neurons that are still at war.
My cell is decorated with the ugliest ******* wallpaper I have ever seen. Sometimes I get to tear it off, piece by piece. Sometimes it comes off in chunks and I make the greatest self-discoveries I could never have imagined. Sometimes it comes off in little shreds and leaves behind a chunky adhesive and I have gotten nowhere, I am stuck again.
I remember the time I almost broke free. When I fell from the ropes I had ******* in my little dorm room and I heard a knock at my door. I failed. Just like I fail at everything else, I failed to die. But I remember the beauty of that moment, when I sat next to my friend and all he could do was smile. In that moment, he was not just another bar holding me in my prison, he was a single window on the wall through which I could see everything that was good and true and beautiful. The reminder that I was not an undeserved burden to the world, but that the world wants me, and I need to want it back.
Every day, I am faced with a choice between two muses. One of them invites me to live another day, it tells me that there is something worth living for- another sunset, another chai tea, another hug from someone who saw that I really needed one. It opens its arms and opens the doors to the rest of my life and the dreams that lie beyond the threshold. The other hands me the key to my cell so I can unlock it anytime and run into the light that is not of this world. But I put it down. I choose life. I make a home in this cell and one day, I hope it becomes something beautiful.

i’ve not slept in many beds
corners and glitches where i rest
carpets stained and scrubbed up red
ceilings hung and cracked, deep,
and grey, and mottled lead

undignified we sludge and sled
under the sheets of reels
and flirting and peels, boy
i am hidden in the cracks, thread.
as much as i’ve been pled to,

and you know

the temperature drops and drips
below, i am laid bare and empty —
grasp this only, time’s a given,
a heavy hand can’t feel the tips,
a riot now, abbreviated scripts.

since it was all i had to adore you

When I was seven my mother broke a glass cup against the ground by accident
my bare feet taking the plunge.
I cried for an hour when the blood continued to gush the way it does
as my mother bandaged my wound
that is what it meant to me

until I discovered that my hot breath on a cold day
would encourage me to write words
invisible to the air
until it was against glass
until my fingers carved into the condensation
"I love you", punctuated with an off-centered smiley face
that too soon descended to frowns
when he would ask

"Where'd you get those scars?"
"Got mad. Threw a glass."
all up and down my arms
using my worst enemy
and my best friend
to get by with the skin of my teeth

parted slightly
paired with a not-quite-there expression
imagining better days materializing
under the roots of grass
personifying trees
executing what I could only dream of:
Sweet peppermint lips
rough stubble corrupting soft peach fuzz
branches restoring their shape
only with interruption
when a teacher would drag claw marks down my desk
"Do you agree?"

she spoke, on your first day back from winter break
but honestly you did not know
you were thinking of me
200 miles away

behind glass again
the same concept
of being so close
but so far away
of our palms pressed against each other
with only a sliver of clear distance between us
just enough
that we couldn't feel each others skin.
That's probably what hurts most
more than any amount of seeping blood
accident or not
piercing cold
nostalgia out a window.
Whispering good-nights
accompanied by glitches and lags
just wanting to be a part of our sweet conversation
a crack in the system
never so large as now
feeling the warmth of my laptop
wishing it was you.
I try to decide differently
find an angle that will bring me closer to you

your eyes have always engaged mine
through somewhat of a double framed looking-glass
taking them off so I could see you more clearly
so that there was nothing stopping us
even if my face would blur together
in strange triangles and squares
hazy colors and faded motions
you were still seeing me
much better.

Until I reach the big red "X" on my calendar again
I have to fight through 2 layers of glass
to really find you
without ever touching you
the best way
the worst way
I've always remembered.

A Division of Mathematics
Adding great value to it
Multiplying its applications
Reducing laborious means

Going on logical steps
Riding on its riders
Gliding on its theorems
Solving hitches and glitches

Assuming things as “x”
Applying rational methods
Adopting sequential steps
Solving problems complex

Starting with assumption
Running through derivation
Following brilliant notion
Deciphering through perception

Grand in concepts
Grand in derivations
Grand in suppositions
Resolving problems in a grand manner

Mother of mathematics
Mother of logics
Cracking all mysteries
By initializing things as “x”

Assuming God as “x”
Following tenets and commandments
Living life on virtues and truth
Surely shall we know what “x” is
And what “I” am and what “V” (we) are
And surely shall we know that
X=I=V is Life’s Algebra.

I need to breathe the air of outdoor dreams where angels sing to me and I reciprocate the love in perfect pitches that transcend the glitches of the categories we've yet to break free from.  Add up the pixelated pieces to see this, the only sum.  Alone more often than ever before, and I embrace it, but inside the mind's of others I like to explore.  I have way too many words that go unheard for they're kept to me.  I know a soul or infinity x three that I would sell my thoughts to for free.  I've paid a vast amount of fees, literally and physically, but it's making me stronger.  I'll wear a smile to our reunion as the warmth between us extends our life spans even longer.  The bass hits and it gets intense as I hop the fence into your garden.  Pardon me if I seem so hardened, but beneath the exterior are energy waves deeper than lake superior.  I've never burned a bridge but there were many where I chose to stray.  Some bridges crumble on their own so it's sometimes more painful to stay.  If you have nowhere to go with your thoughts though, I'll listen to every word and perfect little fragment that you have to say.  Connected to everything, but sometimes everything seems so far apart.  I don't know how much time I have, but I will be long outlived by the pulse of my heart.  It may be time for a new start with all new faces, newfound vacations, with beautiful unseen places.  I'll leave a trail, pieces of me in case you ever wanna trace it.  Lace up the loose ends cuz you can count on this friend, with all of me to lend.  You know I won't pretend, because I've never been good at lying.  Defiance and reliance rest on opposite poles, but there's love within you enough to make yourself feel whole.   Taking control, going for a walk.  Give me a ring, if you ever wanna talk.  But I need to sing, and rewrite my life in chalk.  This is one of my everyday unwind times because I can't keep up with my rhymes.  I'm showing my spine, but still untouchable.  Things have been rocky, but still so wonderful.  Subtle growth, just like that of a tree.  For all eyes to see, this was a message for me

Anomalies twist and turn,
laughing whilst destroying,
enjoying the fun.

Irregular they are,
disappearing then reappearing,
raising hell, painting scars.

Glitches are one step ahead,
the fear of fears,
full of dread.