The pidgeons on fourth street used to mock me. Each morning I'd tell them about the suffering of mankind, our trials and tribulations, only to be met with a rumbling "Coo".

Coo, such apathy makes me writhe. Indifference to a world on fire doesn't make you stoic. And yet they freely accept our breadcrumbs and fight over trash, feathered hypocrites.

Each morning I would chastize them

" Fools, have you no shame? Do you think yourself my betters? I shan't let you make fowl of our society and get away with it!""

" Coo" they would reply. The greek cynics proclaimed the simple life superior to self imposed complexities. Statues were built of them for the pidgeons to poop on, which I suppose proves their point.

Perhaps I was the one in the wrong. Our modern world is a conveneint one, technology staves off death at the cost of truly living, bodies softening from lack of use, our futures on strings tethered to the capital building. If only I could take leave of the opression and the lies and vanity that enslaves us, if only I could fly. I would not fly far though, the unfamiliar is worse than withering in this button down shirt. Maybe I'll perch up by a park bench, nice old ladies laying out feasts from time to time.

It would be coo.

Spending nights with my pillow

Soaking it with tears and sorrow

Staring at myself for hours

Trying to heal all the invisible scars

Letting my heart cry out

Silencing my unheard shout

Hiding the tears behind my eyes

Faking a smile to cover my lies

Waking up every morning, without having slept

Remembering the secrets I have kept

Going around all day as if it’s fine

Laughing those laughs which are never really mine

Hanging with people who don’t really care

Yes, so many people but this pain no would share

I’m feeling so much that I feel empty

Surrounded by people, but from the heart there is no one I can see

Walking back home with a broken heart

Wishing an end for this story that start

And reaching back, with a thousand things to say

But everyone has already walked away

I looked around

I wanted to disappear, but actually I wanted to be found

And then again, curling up in bed, hoping my heart, never again beats

But this pain never goes, this pain just repeats

But, now again, the nights are here to hear me screams

And the mirrors waiting to steal my dreams

The pillow is ready to be drowned

And the scars are waiting to be found

The pain is waiting to roll down my cheeks

And then come out as shrieks

But who dose care; no one is here to see

No one to notice what loneliness dose to me

Solitude is bliss, but loneliness a curse

Cause solitude comes from self and loneliness from others

And they say to live you need water, food and air

But ask my murdered heart who has got everything but love and care

Loneliness doesn’t really have a colour; it’s like a black hole inside

Or perhaps a place where I could hide

Don’t say you were there, because you left me alone

Don’t say you brought tape, because my heart was still torn

My heart that is broke now can’t be made

The smiles that covered the pain, have started to fade

You’ll not know how I’m being killed from inside

You’ll not know how many tears I’ve cried

You won’t know how bad you hurt me

I’ll never let you know I’m lonely

It’s not my fault you didn’t hear my cries

If only you would have read my eyes.

But I’m never alone, I’m just lonely

Cause loneliness is always with me.

We are all passengers 

Soul driver passing through an elaborate human experience 

Like the wind blowing by branches and trees

Lives , emotion , memories , relationship ,pain , touch us then also just leaves 

we were never meant to hold on! 

go w/ the flow 

Love 

Like 

Never 

Before 

The sum of the world’s griefs rests between us

on a rickety wooden table. They fit, with room

to spare, at the bottom of the chipped china

tea cup that sits before me. It reminds me

of the porcelain bowl I used to shave this morning,

splintered with thin gray spiderweb cracks. The tea cup,

the man tells me, is from Vienna, where he studied

as a young man before returning home just before

the war started, this home where we both now sit and talk.

The chip is in the rim of the cup, and a threadlike

crack runs halfway down, it is the kind of divot that the upper lip

cannot help but find when I drink; I do not turn

the cup around to drink from the other side.

The light bulb overhead buzzes, and through the open

window come fluttering wings and the sounds of

evening settling over the village.

He used to, he says, love to watch his daughter

play with the tea cup and her doll; she had beautiful

hands, he says, long pale fingers, I wish she could have

had a piano to play. The daughter is, of course, not here;

she is why I am here, it is no recompense.

The curtain flutters, someone outside is singing, the

first stars are emerging in the purple sky, the sun

is eaten by the mountains in the distance,

their round tops like the knobs of a great spine.

Two weeks before he died, my brother and I went camping

in the mountains, partly to celebrate my graduating

high school. The trail led upward for hours, evergreens

towered on both sides, deer and rabbits and hawks

peered at us and then decided we were, in fact,

the nothing we really were and went back to their lives.

We found a fire lookout at the top of a ridge that looked

out over a forested valley at the base of which was a

lake that looked like some god, playing roughly with

some other god, had torn a sapphire from the

gauntlet of his foe and in the scrabble for purchase, it

had fallen and landed here. We drank and talked

about the years to come, that seemed innumerable

as the stars overhead and just as bright.

Side by side we slept; or rather, he slept and I lay

awake, because the night had settled upon us like

bad news and I lay down in my sleeping bag with

a growing sense that when I woke up, everything

would be different, because moments of beauty and

of chaos walk hand in hand like brothers. Pink light

came in through the window and lay across his face,

I lifted my hand and my black fingers appeared on his

sleeping eyes and cheek, surrounded by the

blood-light cast by Mars high in the night. Trembling,

I got up and went out into the warm night. I stood

looking up, pale wings whispering against my bare skin,

at the far pinprick of ruby, shining like some warning light

on us all, or perhaps just he and I. Please don’t, I told the

far world, please you cannot. But the galaxy is a big place

for words to get lost in, and the wars inside grind on just as do

the wars of the world and after all

what is the point of a treaty, if your

body stays at war? The wings battered at me like

a ghost kissing my body over and over, I sat down on

a rock still hot from the day’s sun and looked out

at the little lake, its surface now bloody. Something

flew past me in the pink night, into the trees, and then

flew right back out again, right at me, I felt the breeze

of its passing on my cheek, the brush of a feather on

my shoulder. It is fleeing, I thought, from whatever

is held in this light. Back inside, he is washed in

the pale red light and I cannot look at his beautiful face

without shaking. In the morning, I say I want to go home

and he smiles and we begin to pack up and walk down

again, through the trees; he steps off the trail to piss

and into a cloud of butterflies. He laughs, he says Look

at them, and I look at them and I laugh too; they wreath his head like

a May virgin’s crown. My breath catches in my throat,

this is the last moment of joy I will ever experience

and I feel the certainty: the butterflies, the pink light of Mars,

the feather against my shoulder, our laughter all fit

at the base of a hollow in my chest, vast enough to hold

all sorrows, to hold them safely,

like tea in a tea cup, like a wish, like a prayer

lost in the dark, drifting through the night,

up through the branches of tall trees,

lighter and lighter as it rises, passing through

atmosphere and into the stars, where there are

no wings to beat it back, no light to make it cry.

Find

yourself

and

you’ll

attract

a

soul

that

grooves

w/ yours

I’m weird 

I’m odd 

I’m corny 

If I’m Judge by that then you don’t really know

Me

Then ask me why are you acting distant ?

why do you look so lonely ?

Do you think he’s phony ? ....

SHUT THE FUCK UP ! 

I donate - I share - I care - It’s Rare 

I get it  

Blank stares -  despair - cynicism 

It’s all gone! 

never been about it .. no pessimism 

I talk about optimization 

New Reality 

My Revelation 

Includes 

Translation To The Nation 

 - How to be happy 

 how to show appreciation 

Towards education 

More dedication 

non retaliation  

Someday I won’t need an introduction 

Some day I’ll build my organization  

Where everyone shows affection and handles operations with determination 

Work towards solutions to situations when no one cares no positive affirmations 

IDK 

Maybe it’s all apart of my 

imagination 

Fuck it ! 

Just call me 

( Weird )