What if we cannot see?

The bluest of skies;

the clearest of seas.

The beauty around us

no-one to appreciate its majesty.

What if we cannot taste?

The lips of the one we love

The fresh air, blowing freely.

Or the food and drink provided by the earth

to keep us from the finality of death.

What if we cannot feel?

The one one we hold most dear;

who holds our heart with theirs.

Or to feel the warmth of a fire,

pleasant on our uncovered skin.

What if we cannot smell?

The scent of a flower in full bloom;

It’s aroma intoxicating and sweet.

Or the smells of our home we miss

whenever we are not there.

What if we cannot hear?

The sound of cleansing rain on the window

or the music that speaks to our every being.

Or the sound of a newborn baby

crying for it’s mother.

What if the meaning of life is our senses?

To See.

To Taste.

To Feel.

To Hear.

To Smell.

Would life be worth living,

if we cannot experience it fully?

The intricacies of life all around;

no-one could appreciate them,

how truly perfect they are.

What if we were never born with them?

It’s hard to miss something

you never had to begin with.

So for those who haven’t experienced these sensations.

Life is still worth living.

What if this life is false?

Reality isn’t what it seems?

What if this is all just a dream

and we don’t know any differently?

What if we were never born at all?

The bottle calls me.
Something like a roar.
but sultry like a singer
That rocks me to the core.
Shaken hands and finger
To much to ignore.
my fight is growing weaker
Not much more I can endure.

You are my smile
You are my bliss
You are the reason for which I live
I chase you down
I seek you out
Of you...I could never get enough

I crave that moment
I can no longer seize
Expecting fruits
From these demons in me
You once gave me courage
Where now, I'm fueled by fear
You feed on my hunger
The hunger to feel you in me

You are my sorrow
You are my pain
You are my scars
I stare at in a daze
You are my calling
You fueled my cries
You bring that rush
From head to spine
Down to my toes
Right through my core
I no longer have control

I crave that moment
I can no longer seize
Expecting fruits
From these demons in me
You once gave me courage
Where now, I'm fueled by fear
You feed on my hunger
The hunger to feel you in me

I love you
I hate you
There's such a thin line
You are the struggle I go through
Everyday and Every night

****** in the afternoon,
Orphans brawling in stereo,
hometown ballads of unseen terraces,
bar stool swallowing peanuts, pretzels,
salted anti-depressant,
the foul smell of life amongst
folded towels, synthetic apple,
the Magna Carta of Suburbia.

The allotments buckle and spread,
fragile sexuality, the April sun;
quick to heat, quick to tears
after a long winter of recovery.
Grit in the carpet, art in the air,
it comes too thick to catch a breath,
too thin on the lungs
to turn it to a song, or prayer.

This G-dless drug,
hippie theories, old self-harm habits,
slanted handwriting to prove a point;
intelligible fears for acceptance
as words form like train tracks
in my disappearance from this:
the peak of the day,
at the bottom of the world.