Bones and Skin

Was it a ghost? or one of the voices you hear in your head?
You go through life and wonder what the hell happened.

It’s so fast; I lounge in the current
Many things take me away from you.

What the hell happened?
I write this in an aftermath that still I am grasping like cramped and exhausted fingers – palms and pads burning, the sensation that layers of skin may tear open, peeled from the bones; still trying to grip

No kisses, no hugs, it’s clear this isn’t what it was, much more complex now – you don’t want touch – and I don’t want the permeating feeling that I am not enough. I will not be..

You see, I’ve lived my life as honest as I could. Which is hard because we all have issues. And no one understands them. We barely understand our own.

Leaving used to be the hardest thing,
I promise it can be done with ease

I hear you got married,
and all I can think is thank you for all the inspiration,
glad you found a good man.

Don’t try so hard, those are the one’s who get let down the most

I guess I forgot as a grown man with an open heart inside, Ataraxia, the shores of which I always speak of leaving – something like me needs the storm. You say you’re curious. I call all 9’s, dressed to the nines. I’ll show up, and we’ll just ride. Words only once we’re back from the sky.

There is simply not enough time for this world;
every day is a sacrifice of one thing for another.
Maybe we’ll have it, or maybe we won’t.
I could have had everything I wanted for free,
in the end I paid for everything I didn’t want to go away

I had something I was writing you; it wasn’t a sonnet or anything like an ode, limerick, or quatrain-no it was just something-nothing like a burlesque, or villanelle You know it had shape, and sound, and visual! Perhaps a rondeau

I got it all mixed up and by mistake discovered ways of seeing things I could never have found on purpose

What good is all this money, if all it can buy is a first class ticket 6ft under.

If I Had More Life

I draw you–in–many don’t go down this road.
There is too much to do,
even with what we have we’re short – we’ll make it work
I see the world writing,
a new story everyday
poetry month, another year –
It’s me, it’s me, it’me,
With brave words I hide many fears,
fear of loss, of pain, of truth,
I am not the words I’ve written
It’s me, words I’ve always been,
how to use them, how I bend,
Yet in all this months time,
I’ve managed not to rend
words from within. I am dead
Never doing what I’m supposed to be doing,
and maybe I won’t do what I should,
but I’ll end up doing what I’ve done,
and that is something.
I’ve got more life!
Have you seen me with a fire?
Have you seen me when I’ve got everything together?
Just the right amount
The right mask,
A taste I can enjoy at my own pace; nothing moves at our own pace
To my own tune – I’m sacred
Off key and I’m still enraptured – a captive audience does not decide what it likes
I’ll enjoy this with ceremony

I Want To Taste It Again

I fill these lungs with just enough of you so that I’ll never quite say I had you, I watched the minutes go by, without even noticing them. The days they talked, barely did we touch, barely did we know each other’s love. The potential is far too much! For you to truly know anyone. Save that one you can.

This is the beauty of us. We show one another things we never knew existed within, lighting paths to new spaces, creating realms of wondrous joy – and then we fall. At first it might feel like you are empty. For what will you now do with all the unoccupied spaces? It is wrong to think you must remain with such a feeling – Empty. You at this point must find the perspective to see possibility beyond this supposed container. You must now grow to fill your expanded self! You must grow to meet your new heights

You’ve got to remember that the world isn’t going to wait up for you. It isn’t going to sit patiently while you get comfortable – while you get the order straight. Fuck order, and forget all that shit they tried to instill in you because what you end up finding is you spend your entire life trying to piece together some image that never does look exactly right to you. It’s magic don’t get me wrong, but you’re barely grasping what’s really at your fingertips. Until you do, all you have is a couple unconnected dots that may get you high or bring you down. And have you ever gotten high or down without a sense of direction? Talk about exhausting – only the crazy ones survive that.

What Should Be Salvaged Of This Wreck

Feeling like a computer attempting to execute the commands, but something in the logic is stickingxxch

The question is not whether the ship can be saved, there is no confusion around this truth.
What we are here to determine is what of the ship should have an effort made in its case.
Of all the good, and the bad, what will best serve the survived in the years after descent.
Would the lungs make the list if they weren’t intrinsic to the body?

Perhaps only what, by chance, climbs up on the sands nearby.

I think we can agree all of the collections hard earned, are perfect for the rite– A burning. Quick set the flames before any other decision is made. No moment to waste as we take on water, this won’t be complete without black skies and a warm asphyxiation. Now that things are a bit more pressing, take only what you need. Not what you want. Not what you love. Only what you need. If, when you find your way to shore, your hands are empty; you might consider yourself lucky. Washed clean of all the preconceived notions you had carefully crafted loop after loop, you can drink from the bottom shelf and feel no different.

You don’t want any drinks, but you will need one or two– just for the taste; clarity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be sometimes.

Sit With Your Embers

Those nights when you feel lonely,
Even with all the company
Pickn’ up these problems,
Pieces telling us we shouldn’t;
Don’t touch me I’m poison

But look at the choke on you
Constraints on you, restricted
But we still want to hit you,

Take it down to the floor boards
Dancing to feel alive,
Stayin’ distant because we’re afraid to die

We all know that it sets the fire
But the drugs don’t do it,
No, not when your mind has seen through it.

Fuck, you need to burn out. You’ve been smoking for way too long, and your fire ain’t rising. Conserve yourself, and wait till the forest is ready to be consumed.

“Sometimes you reach a point when you can’t feel anything at all, just a ringing in your ears. Until like Beethoven, you find yourself pounding the keys of your life just to feel anything at all, trying to make the ground thunder below your feet.”

Oh hush, shut it. These little jewels, these sparks fallen on you, leaving tiny holes in your clothes – these are perfect, right what you need. Plenty enough to bring you back up to speed. These are the real fires, this is where the magic gets started. I’ve seen more in them than people have realized in a forest blaze. Because the fire will end, but these are potential. These are the dangers coming, just begun. Give them to me, and I’ll breathe life into them.