concerning pain

I think I might know what it takes to be strong.
but with every brick I build around my ramshackle consciousness,
my shelter becomes a prison.
the fiery wounds in my side remind me of the nights spent alone.

I think I might know what it takes to be rough.
my edges burn even me.
and my sides turn me inside out.

there's no need to pretend, no need for innocence.
a culture consumed by vanity forgets the wayward sons lost in the darkness of their own fear.
calls for change go noticed only by those that know they didn't do enough.

and change never comes.

I fear being alone.
I fear biting a bullet.
I fear women.
I fear confinement.
I fear deceit.
I fear disappointment.
I fear pain.

concerning pain, I fear I know to little.
but I do know that I believe in a god that welcomes those in pain with open arms.
I do know that the bite of death wounds only the tainted body.
I do know that all good lasts longer than this excuse for a lifetime.
I do know that pain will never cease in society.
I do know that it ceased in one heart tonight.

concerning pain, I know I've caused too much.

longing for change.

Caroline no.5

Parched is often used to describe the thirst of the human body, and moisture alleviates pain.
But parched is my mind, as it hasn't received proper sustenance for months,
Wracked  with the weight of a reality plagued with cognitive awareness gone awry.
So leave me for the wretch, and watch as I fall.

Looking down upon the world gives a wary mind a strange sense of power.
People fade to the minuscule existence given to them by God almighty.

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Memories fade to.
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From time to time the rapture of the guitar strings upon the maple frets allows the mind to wander.
Melodies elongate the strains of hope emitted from exhausted finger tips.
And a tired mind lulls himself to sleep amongst the music.

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Heavy is my heart.
Frankly life isn't what it used to be.

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I dream of escaping into the woods,
Far from the grasp of a society choked by an ever growing tide of filth
In the earth, dreams tend to float easier into the heavens, and thoughts aren't so grounded.
In the earth, breathe is sweeter and the crispness of the air lights afire tattered lungs.
In the earth, warmth leaves the body quickly,
Reviving nerves previously forced to sleep.

Pages fold and tears burn.
Feet tire and hearts stop.
But I want mine to stop in the earth.

The Unfortunate Truth of Reality no.9

Giver of my name, don't be disappointed.
Please hearken to the depths of your heart to outstretch the palm of forgiveness.
Apologies to the shell of a forefather, wrack with the weight of age
I fear I'm not all you thought I was

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Blood pulses through the same veins that bleed envy for the life unblemished
The same veins weave themselves into the brush that paints the daunting tail of existence

Tell me, is this real?
I fear that day passes without adherence to law,
And night falls with anguish.

Life isn't what it used to be.

Far beyond tomorrow lies a ramshackle heart beaten upon the walls
And there one hopes the mind hasn't reached the same fate

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"If the world had a million of you, it would be a better place"

       Take me away into the night. 

no.4

I wish to fly up amongst the clouds.
The air is crisp there,
but it is worth the trip.
Amongst the clouds, the earth beats like the throbbing heart between my lungs.
At this distance, freedom is exemplified by the triumphant eagle with it's outstretched wings.
Pristine are the sounds as they travel into space.
Physics cannot calculate the trajectory of the broken dreams fluttering up into the heavens.
If only one could fly with them.

An emblem of purity, the white within the blue perpetuate the cleansing of the world.
Amongst the clouds, clarity is pristine, and wayward thoughts seem to claw their way back into cognition.
As one transcends the clouds, they eclipse the portal of mortality.
With arms like blades carving the sky, past travelers glide into the nothingness of beyond.

Amongst the clouds, one is safe.
One is sound.
Amongst the clouds, one is safe.

no. 3: egs

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Eloquence is not simply measured by the fluidity of your movements,
or the perfection of your mascara,
or the lace in your newly purchased dress,
but in the curvature of your heart as it resembles your desire,
and your hope.

furthermore, Grace is unmatched by the smoothness of the water, and the fine grass that lines the side.
and Grace is found in the pine, and in decaying bark surrounding the core.
but i think i found Grace in the workings of her cognition.

and once, i think i found perfection in Simplicity.
i'm not sure if this is a love letter, or simply a upheaval of emotions,
but either way i think she would appreciate it.

frankly i don't even know what love is so how could this even be a love letter?
is it a statement of affection?
or a proclamation of genuine appreciation?

i wrote a song or two about said Eloquence,
but i choked on the words as they slipped through my teeth,
and scratched my gums so that every word dripped with the blood of emotion.
and Grace.

i miss the Simplicity of warm nights and the strength in numbers,
and the fatigue accompanying desire and excursion.

i miss the Eloquence of small words,
and the Grace in no words,
and the Simplicity in thought.

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i miss coherence.

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no. 2: Almighty

Sometimes the fluidity of my emotions is alarmingly solid.
and like clay they seem to clump together into an unidentifiable mass.

Sometimes they drift through the leafless branches of the trees that remind me of security.
occasionally they rustle through the dying bark, and through the brown needles littering the ground.
occasionally they stop.

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Clay.
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Turns out the ridicule begins to wear one down a bit.
it starts at the shoulders, and the joints become tattered and disjointed.
then in your wrists, you forget how to use the empowering pen in your journal.
once it hits your feet, walking is no longer an escape but the shackles that bind you to your hell.

I raise the white flag Almighty God.

I surrender.

I dug my way through the clay that claimed my emotions, and as they bled out of my shattered world, they mixed with the very obstacle I had to climb through.

The trees don't blow in the wind anymore, Almighty God.
i don't hear the leaves lift off the ground, only to brush across my shaken skin.
i don't even hear my own music anymore, as it slips of my fingers, and out into breath.

I raise the white flag Almighty God.

Everyone has fallen from my side, and you have me alone.
i stand here, war torn, distraught, medicated, afraid, hopeless, exhausted, breathless, but strong.

Digging through the clay left me vulnerable.
Digging through the clay left me vulnerable.
Vulnerable.

So take the shot.

I raise the white flag.

no. 1

I firmly believe that as it rains

it pours.

Too often do I find myself routinely inadequate in the things that I need to be 

superhuman.

The damp sleeve pressed against my face is a reminder

that existence is to closely correlated to life. 

Cognition tends to not serve it's purpose

and my heart hurts for the 11 year old girl who lays alone. 

She doesn't yet know the value of catharsis

just the value of the potent quality of pills that are supposed to help.

Why

can't I be superhuman. 

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I'm back

but I don't necessarily want to be. 

I'm going through withdrawals