Choice of words

Choice so obscure

Obscure mind

Obscure line

Line of sight

Line the sky

Sky that fell

Sky of poems

Poems for you

Poems that bled

Bled from soul

Bled for time

Time and laughter

Time well-spent

Spent so freely

Spent with you

You now busy

You now gone

Gone from me

Gone for good

Good things end

Good things die

Die like stars

Die so dark

Dark with despair

Dark falls over

Over my love

Over my spell

Spell is broken

Spell went wrong

Wrong was financed

Wrong plus tax

Tax my patience

Tax my effort

Effort so earnest

Effort was wasted

Wasted rough drafts

Wasted tears

Tears that choke

Tears that stain

Stain the memory

Stain the sheets

Sheets can strangle

Sheets that cover

Cover with soil

Cover a grave

Grave of love

Grave that's haunted

Haunted

Love

A HEART ENDLESSLY FALLING

HOLD FAST

PUSH FORWARD

THROUGH DARK CLOUDS,

LIGHT BREAKS

THE ARDUOUS JOURNEY ENDS

RELEASED

FREE

SALVATION

I AM MADE NEW

I STILL STAND

Though It Seems Endless

You Feel Restless

Am I helpless?

By Your Side

Always Here

Always Near

I’ll Hold You Close

I’ll Hold You Tight

In The Darkest Night,

I’ll Be Your Light

You My Dear,

Need Not Fear

You Are Not Alone

You Are Precious

You Are Beautiful

You Are Worthy

You Are Loved

I am the wailing unclean spirit, born in a palace of corruption.

I am the wide mouth of the glutton, bearing the daggers of consumption.

I am the tension ever rising, in the wake of my regret.

I am the hopeful father's soul, on the long way to repent.

I am the hedonistic mercenary, flaying children with a smile.

I am Christ upon the cross, my disciples drowned in bile.

I am the sprawling army waiting, a vanguard of mistrust.

I am a kneeling God in exile, a tarnished icon of disgust.

Watch as I dissect myself.

Watch as I destroy myself.

For I am the omnipresent ghost of lust, in a world of black and red.

For I am the bane of self-acceptance, seething among the dead.

I am just trying to. Be something. In the light.

/Not your holy fire or an endless daze to fall into

to flee the endless days.

I’m a whisperthroat & poor eyes

full to the crown with dancing nights. Or so

I dream. How tired of teeth

can you grow, do you think. I bruise his collarbones.

He moans for me.

The silvered words are seeking my ankles.

Life is string & if the puppet longs to fly

does the yearning rot its cords

& is the fall to the ground

close enough?

I knew some kids who tried it out.

(& why can’t I speak my soul in the empty spaces/

what star forgot how to glow & how will we ever

know it)

We were getting lost in waves of electric

cheap beer, stoned

speaking of nothing

within our heads

& the saliva coated the entire carpet,

the walls & the ceiling

but we couldn’t talk about it

because it was

something.

(& I was just trying to

be something

in the light, my dear.)

Depression can’t write,

Anxiety can’t read.

So if you’re reading this and writing that.

You’re doing alright, take solace in that fact.

But obsessions can manifest and they can kill.

So be careful with that free will, to think.

Stop!

Just don’t think.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

Focus on that.

You’re connected to us all,

Within and without.

Mind’s eye.

Just that.

Don’t die just to realise you were alive.

Sing my words to me 

In another measure 

Last week's trash 

Is this season's treasure 

The Bible in a bottle 

And mass consumption 

Use the rear view 

For a year-end-review 

If you have the fucking stomach 

Or just hum

While I'm at 10 and 2 

Using both hands 

I expect the same from you 

Escape 

There's always someplace better 

If you're not afraid to see 

A little further down the road than 

You thought you'd be 

Warm this winter 

Pulling threads of a dusted 

American sweater 

I much expect that when men first harnessed the wind and filled sails by the power of god, seeing before them limitless adventure, exploration, domination, and even exploitation they believed, some of them, that they were closer to creation, others, The creator, and some still yet, being gods themselves.

A few. A humble few, instead realized how small they had just become, shrinking with the world, chasing stars forever out of reach. The spirt is the spirit, today as it was then.

My hope. My only hope is that I am the humble few.

she kept passing me,

in the dark,

like a shadow

the sun forgot to erase.

but I felt her

like a warmth

ready to rise,

a dead man

using hope

to resuscitate,

and I've waited

years to see the dawn,

to see her rise

beyond the bend,

to see her prove that

love beyond grasp,

can scale the earth,

can trace my steps,

can find me

long after I see it fade.

and the spin of the globe

becomes the rhythm,

that my heart makes,

when it dances at the

sight of her,

when the future

has no night,

and the pain chasing me,

becomes a shadow

before her face.