Moon.

Rises soon. Twelve Days, little maze.  Find the end, let us sin.  Mate with date, its just a date.  So soon, rise little moon.  Save me, save me, Please?  So soon, little moon.
I need out... Even with doubt...
I weigh so heavy, burst the levy.  No more walls.  No more falls.
Rise soon, my little moon.

Empire of Dirt

There is something about the hurt that calls to me. I can’t help but wonder why, but its true. The broken feel so easy to understand. Their lives are dramatic and quiet, they see things in shades of grey. Its so easy to be someone’s color. Am I like this because I really care? Does this make me a good person? Or am I just as hurt as they are, and it is my own insecurities that make me feel this way? So easy to be beautiful when your backdrop is dark and chilling fear. So easy to glow in the darkness.

Sometimes I feel like I am wishing to be a mess. A unfulfilled complex of victimization burns in me. A specter that never really leaves my side. I used to dream, I used to wish for it. Maybe then someone would notice, maybe then someone would care.

Most days that all seems crazy, most days I cant help but think I have been the greatest fool. Bad news for people who like bad news; two o’clock and all’s well. The good times are killing me.

Some times it strikes me, a specters shadow and I just want to be hurt. I call for it, I see it, I feel it as the hot copper zeros in on insignificant gray matter. Sniper’s sweet goodnight. My mind goes blank and I imagine someone just pulled the plug: LOADING, please wait…

I draw a breath and then another, and its all back as it was, naked and unequipped. Empty, wondering where my stuff went off to. It’s a gesture of a reboot, but rarely does it quiet that voice in my darker soul. The one that can’t let get go, the one that feeds on the sorrow.

What is my background then? I wish I knew anymore. I used to have so much to say, I used to have so much to feel. Have I gone past that place or has it passed me? I don’t know where the ladder is or why we want to the top, but I still can’t help but wonder if I fell off.

Broken shards.

Heartbeats glass. Long bloody gushes internalized, long dead hurts baptized. Crimson river dunk, sweet sorrow drunk.
Fragments with sharp edges, clinging on to cracking ledges. Spinning along, so small... we're all just nothing at all.
Election Angles, photon souls. What does that make us suck on the ground? Is anyone looking? Will we ever be found?
Big and small and nothing at all.
Big and small and nothing at all.

The bee forgive me, to the stars I apologize. But sorrow is not the same as regret. Never surrender, never forget.
Fight on my little faun, its only a spark. Nothing to fear and nothing is near. Rest your little head.
Right or wrong, just sing your song. Tomorrow's day is far away.
Tomorrow's day is far away.

Will it matter, will it read? Will it shine or will I need? Doesn't matter, little master. Just do it faster, do it faster.

Mean little Zot

Mean little Zot, tell me what your not.
Sticky for sure, a prickly snot.
Do you even know, have you even heard?
Wish it weren't so, but I can't say a  turd.
Not a little gentlemen, not a little kind.
Rough around the edges, not quite a find.
No excuse to be had, nor some passing fad.

Sad little Zot, tell me what your not.
Not at all proud, not with its lot.
Sad in his heart, confused and lost.
Frozen fire years, eyes full of frost.
Pretend to be a hero, wish for more then zero.

Sticky little Zot, stick with your dot.

Skree

Hello little one.

Im sorry I've been away so long.  Can I come hide with you?  Can we lay between the stems and stalks?  Never seen, little friend, always one to miss.  Never seen, little friend, come, can we talk?  Maybe just a whisper, maybe just a kiss?  Daily sitting under Flower, its the white one, the emerald tower.  Can I sit awhile?  Watch the sun go down?  When Sun falls below the ground, Mo will hold us, Mo will show us.  Dark blakets, so scure.  Another night to endure.

Come little friend, hide me in a pettel.  Come little friend, show me the way.  Hide together, little feather, another passing day.

The Bent Mirror

I had this thought that just rings in my ears.  I'm pathologicially unimpressed with myself and have been for years.  Better to hide, better to fade, better lurk, better to stay inside.  Is there something wrong with me?  When I look at myself, with what I see?  Everyone seems so ready to say, the golden apple is theirs, at the end of the day.  Kallisti I see, but will it ever be me?

Goodbyes are hard to raise.  Lost in my heart, lost in my maze.  Just a bother, just a fuss.  A perfect silence I would muss.

Can you pound a mirror back true?  Will it ever show the real you?  Will it just crack and shatter?  Does it even matter...

The pyous say humility is a glory.  Better to be the quiet and rightous story.  But I cant believe it, its just a lie.  It all is, but this sickness just wont die...

Something of Nothing

Lately I just dont feel like I have much to say, these whispered thoughts this long drowsy day.  Things just go, moving fast, moving slow.  Everynights wish becomes nothing but a show.  So many wishes, so many plans, its like its someone else I have in my hands.  Another string, glowing life.  Anothers desire, anothers sharp knife.

This side and that side.  What I tell myself, what I lied.

Crazy rantings in rymes, simple flashes of time.  Snapshots of a time so slow.  Passing by like melting snow.  Yet somehow I look and I see, I think to my self, “This isnt me...“

Lately its memories of days long past, the ones that I thought would last and last.  Shocking, sometimes, to see how far they have wondered.  I cant help but smile at so much squandered.

I was writting my book, I gave and never took.  My wishes were dreams, to be held and forgotten.  I felt like they wernt for me, like I was adrift at sea. 

Suddenly I wake and find, all I wished for was always mine.  Waiting just behind the vale, right ourside my secluded dale.  Tapping on my shoulder, saying, “You are worthy“.  Cutting throuht this hearts long apathy.

So odd, that now as ever, I still think like I‘m used to thinking.  Like my mind is lost and my boat is sinking.  But thats all just ghost of misty times.  Of shadowed summers, of unspoken rymes.