ive been spinning mysteries and fiction in my mind
from a spool of fabric weaved from an abundance of time
we begin to hit the cabbage and again i can see magic-
it's clear that while i had it, it's become no longer mine

--frantic--

spending my last dime and nickels on wealth never trickled,
this battle never-ending grows clearer, yet still riddled
you may encounter the drug of comfort
                                                        c­onsume it or even pack it
but in a world of no profits, i am the hand behind this racket

im the don, im the boss, the last say and the final face
that you will ever see, and that nobody will ever place
you may dream with Morpheus and live for others to hear it
but i am the father of the sleep, the Hypnos for your spirit
i will claim you with the tides of rest sent by mother
and it will feel no different than the death known by no other
do not mistake our time together for numbing or slumber, for
i am keeping you here, ever awake, yet under my cover

~you are safe here with me~

i admit, my head feeling too heavy
aint prepared but now i feel like im too ready
too steady, can't push me over
bob and weave and dip, wait they grabbing holsters?

---****---

it ain't that serious
eatin cereal at 3am, gettin curious
about Buddha and Jesus, imagine they cruise in a beater
with an 8-track playin classics from Bocephus

world leaders taking pics with the people, is that
a green screen or some hay from a needle?
every open door adds another horror more
hoping *****'s drugs keep me grounded on the floor

pop a little AD for my headache
need a little BB on for my soul's sake
or at least heard, logo on a t-shirt
do i think about the things that i dream for?
well i ask, who's got time?
in between all the *******, tryna make room for a dumb rhyme?
i guess im moving on to the next line
cuz everything might be okay

------------- yeah, right -------------

men with money and power deciding outcomes
and everybody with plans talking about some
sympathy and ignorance, everybody allowed some
i keep my feet planted, aint nothin new to see mouths run

try to read between the lies of the faint lips
overthinkin my demise, i need patience
paying loose change for my ancestral basics, and
now im too numb from the meds for the anxious

see, the thoughts in my head too loud
so i need something light just to hold me down
but i hear there's some of that goin round
everybody listenin for the same sounds

The sunrise is often blamed
For the crushing of fairy tales
For returning the dooming chasm
Fearfully known as “reality”

When that grimy light appears
The queens and kings retreat to their storybooks
The magical creatures return to their hobbit holes

As the party goers exit their fantasies
The lights blind them to their bliss
All of a sudden, nothing real ceases to exist
They bump shoulders with dread as they head home

There are some for whom the sunset
Is bittersweet, like seeing an old flame
At a coffee shop with their new fairytale,
Gently admiring what is just out of grasp

It may be that early morning work shift,
Which they were forced to transfer to,
Forcing them to leave the party early
So they fall asleep to daylight’s lullaby

But when that devious alarm goes off
It’s time to return to the coffee shop
A different form of the sun, within reach
Is always there to greet half-opened eyes

As we sit, facing each other over steam
I only think of how I’ve waited for this moment

How the sunrise, for so long, was only painful
How even now, I’m not sure if the fairy tales
Have left me just yet

38 days

    The world is spinning at roughly 1000 miles per hour

38 days since I last wrote

    The world is still spinning at roughly 1000 miles per
hour

There are a few moments that change its course
But it’s been so many miles since the last meteor
As much as humanity would love to think
That our      
             Footsteps  on the wet sidewalk or our
             Promises spoken into the universe
Are a meteor worthy of slowing the world just a bit,
In another 38 days
     It will still be spinning clockwise
In another 38 days
I will have more      
                          Partially drafted poems and
                          Lyrics written while half asleep
But none of it was ever intended to be a meteor
None of these words were hopeful enough
To slow down or speed the world up
On another night, in another half dream
I may find this frightening enough to spiral
      Enough to feel as if the sky is raining down
        Enough to feel each mile slipping out of grasp
          Enough to tell that the world is moving clockwise

But in another 38 days

    The world will still be spinning at roughly 1000 miles per hour, and

I will have written 16 more lines

That’s more than there were 1000 miles ago

Black, pink, yellow, and purple
How much do you really love me?
Not the fairytale type of love
But the curled up on the couch type of love
The good morning whispers type of love
The sugar-is-sweet type of love
So are you

Black, pink, yellow, and purple
Would you paint your nails for me?
Everyone wears rings, and
Everyone removes them so easily

Black, pink, yellow, and purple
Would you paint if I was sick? Grossly sick? To the point
Where I have bubbles of boogers bursting beyond belief?
Would you paint if I couldn't sing? Or write?
If I had no way of showing you my love?
If I was no longer beautiful to only you?
What if the world loved me? What if I loved me?
Would you still paint?

Black, pink, yellow, and purple
Would you paint your nails for me?
I’ll let you choose whichever color you want
Blood red, ocean blue, plum purple
Can’t name a color you don’t look good in
Besides, it's not like it lasts that long

Black, pink, yellow, and purple
But what if it did?
What if when it wears off in two weeks
You painted them again?

I want to know you in the worst way
The face you make when you first wake up
Shocked by the alarm that goes off in the dark

Not the paper daisies spray-painted pink that you post

Your breath after a night of drinking
Your beaded forehead and sticky hair

Not the smooth skin I’ve used to weave my fantasies

I want to know you in the worst way
The uncontained, rageful vengeance you feel
When you’ve started the same sentence again

Not the voice of reason you’ve been lip-syncing with

The you that shouts unforgivables and cruelties
The you that begs for forgiveness for your cruelty

Not the stone that sits in the garden, forever the same

I want to know you in the worst way
The way someone used to love you
The one you tried your best with

Not the bridges you doused with gas out of “courtesy”

The you that dances alone in your room
By the spotlight of a cheap lamp you thrifted

Not the performer who’s comfortable on the daily stage

The you that floats like a paper daisy on the river

We spent nights like these
In a room with remnants of marijuana smoke
Our breaths with the remains of bitter spirits
I say bitter, but these nights went down smooth
Yet somehow I find the fear of my throat
Never burning again hard to swallow
We left behind a legacy of half told jokes
Complete with full smirks and slight digs
The aftertaste still ligers, as I lay in a room
With no marijuana smoke
My breath contains no spirits
Yet somehow my throat burns still
Those times have yet to become nostalgia
I remind myself, as the memories we’ve made
Are only a start to the ones we’ve yet to drink
But on nights like these
There are only remnants of
Marijuana smoke and bitter spirits and you