Put up another sturdy steel wall

Let sweet apathy be the motto

Every move is casual improv

Absolve myself of all desire

Stone cold callous absolutism

Ether of posthumous heartache

n.a.

If you could feel just a fraction of what I do

You could not see the world so pointless

But rather some grotesquely beautiful creature

covered with needles

n.a.

My consciousness glides

too quickly back and forth in my mind

like a wayward bow on an out of tune violin

incessant tremolo

tremulous cares won’t slow

just swell and dim

an aching hymn

n.a.

April is a multicolored sugar cube melting year by year in the back of my throat

n.a.

origami bones

Opening a dance of folded grace

crawling out from under the paper weight

these origami bones can’t stay

creased too long in one place

pressed precisely into position

but the scuffs and bruises of indecision

still mar complex arrangement of limbs

and so I collapse and start over again

n.a.

Last night I was swimming in the sunset, the way it bled into the ocean was like a hug and a kiss together.

n.a.

It’s like I fill myself with cement whenever I try to move towards something good.

n.a.

frozen in time

I put my hands in the snow

next to my favorite reflection

smiling into the ice as a snapshot was taken

if only we could numb joy

the way we can fingers

perhaps we’d find a way to let it linger

n.a.

Conflict doesn’t scare me as much as peace does

It is a glass angel waiting to fall from grace

-n.a.

It is more important to me that I am romanticized

than that I am romanced

n.a.

I’m being suffocated by nothing

Reverse claustrophobia

There is too much space inside me

n.a.

Maybe that is love:

To catch each other’s grappling hooks in our backs

n.a.

I find such incorrigible satisfaction in discovering beautiful things, outside or inside myself. I really have no time to live when I am always on such a treasure hunt, the noise of the earth is sand to be searched.

n.a.

Words are growing in me like new buds, eaten by hungry animals set loose by my subconscious before they can bloom.

n.a.

If it’s the end of all we know, it still won’t be much of an ending.

n.a.

The ocean always washed broken shells to your feet

But I was whole, too heavy for the sea

It’s really a wonder you ever found me

n.a.

My heart is breaking in a peculiar way

it’s turning to acid and dripping down into my organs

seeping back through my arteries

poisoning my blood

my heart has become

toxic

n.a.

Continuing

There is silence in consistency

without jolting, halting, or hesitancy

the quiet purr of persistency

lets life slip by unnoticeably

There is music in perpetuity

the urgent rhythm of continuity

drives the song of ingenuity

to appreciate life less casually

n.a.

Now I write, for fear that there is nothing inside and I must prove that there is because if I don’t there is no reason to dream, and all I do is dream, so I have to find out if there is something there, I am so old and nothing to show for my age, I fear too long will pass and I will forget how to manifest, but if there is nothing worth displaying then what is the point, I want only one thing and my greatest fear is that I am not able because I am not chosen, and if I am not chosen there is nothing I can do to endow myself with magic I don’t have, as time goes by I feel myself becoming more and more still and less and less fantastic, as if there were nothing inside, I pray that I am just scared and not truly barren of brilliance, let me be anything but that, if I am brilliant I can survive, if I am not I will writhe until I am or until I disintegrate 

n.a.

Sparkle and smile lines 
a giggle is a bubble broken a half second too soon 
warm glow with red overtones 
what is the cost of ebullient countenance? 

I found a butterfly with bruised wings 
covered with dirt but still beaming 
she once flew high but once she did 
she found that high wasn’t so high after all 
and even joy has 
edges 

n.a. 

Dry

I haven’t written for a while

I suppose I haven’t tried

But part of me is wondering

If my well of wit is dry

It’s like a box I just half open

Seeking some clever ode

But nothing profound ever seems to surface

So I decide to keep it closed

There are whispers inside me, desperately fighting

To break past a barrier of white noise

I claw at my face and ankles and arms

To scratch colors into a blank void

Perhaps it is true, all I need to do

Is sit down and pick up a pen

But anyone who’s tried, will know that’s a lie,

It’s far easier said than done

n.a.

Here comes melancholy dressed in velvet and sapphire, lined eyes and sweet scented, to sweep away the flailing.

n.a.

astigmatism 

The blurs are coming back 
Black and blue 
They smudge seconds and smother the sharpness of you 
A stigma, tysm 
Now I don’t know what’s what 
Without assuming the worst 
What else will get hurt 
I’d move forward but I can’t see straight
Through cracked eyes there’s no whole hearts just heartbreak
Love and loss are the same at this rate

n.a.

On L - - e

People talk about love like it’s

bubblegum on the tip of your tongue

a hit from a cool new drug

the chorus in your favorite pop song

But it’s more like

hydrochloric acid for your cotton candy souls

it’s a five inch drill bit through my left collar bone

it’s five hundred flood lights, after a dim room

it’s fire sparked by the friction between my blood and the walls of my veins as it races through my body at the speed of sound

a lightning lullaby that burns my ears

and some still wonder what reason I have to fear

n.a.