you knew I was lost,
you took advantage of that.

i had to accept your touch
i had to understand your desire
and your hand on my body
left a mark

i broke into pieces,
with your touch that I can't wash away
and with your face,
which I cannot forget


now am silenced
for the rest of my days

I am pride, the victor
In my presence, champions prevail
I whisper, “You are unstoppable”
I, alone, create heroes

I am pride, the origin
Everything comes from me
The artistry of a painter, mine
The genius of an inventor, mine
The dominance of a conqueror, mine

I am pride, the paramount
Every beauty is but a fragment of me
Nothing compares to me
I am the apex, the summit, I define power

I am pride, the liberator
God gives laws, God gives chains
I give freedom
In me, your will leads

Weeping oneself to sleep – by these muddy
tears, and their questions of worth.

As the relentless sands of time erode a soul;
it's all too simple to feel like grains of river sand,
drawn by the currents of life, and banking on your
dreams; yearning for our stream of tears to lead
us to a flood of many successes.

For in those moments, we are but the weeping
sandman’s tears, drifting into the embrace of our
dreams, lost in the wet lament of our tears –

One day, we shall master the art of swimming!

I can't do brain
I can't do thoughts
I can't do friends
And I can't do smoking in parking lots

I can't do death
But I also can't do living

I can't do anything
Except for just giving
And giving

Every single
mistake of mine,
even the recurring ones,
patiently you edit within
and read as if it's fine,
nothing has ever gone wrong.

see!
what your love
incomparable
has to me done,
my poor, darling!

in my writing, they see
the grammar fully muddled,
so many words I spell wrong.

I see this, only when
others, bitterly, loudly complain
gentle soul, your'e forgiving,
but the world isn't,vengeful it seems,
don't you see the predators, prowling?

Why don't you consider the truth,
I am imperfect, want to be corrected
why not help me change,
tell me where I go wrong, urge
I'll certainly adore you more for that.

I see it time and time again
that beauty’s made by what is spent.
 
A beauty that demands a price
with outer glow and inner ice.
 
And observation seems to tell
it’s only as deep as the well,
 
for come the day the well runs dry…
such beauty simply waves goodbye.

I try very hard to be good.
At everything.

But often I just want to be happy.
Happiness often feels like the string of a balloon slipping from my fingers.
So close to being captured as I watch it flutter away into the sky.

Fences fail quietly—
in a slow tilt
colors give way
surrendering—
a silent retreat
from brown to brittle.

I press a finger
catch the rough
edge of metal
its dust scratching my skin—
years thin us
like coins drowned
in riverbeds.

It goes this way
I think—
a long fade
grit slipping
into dark water
turning to mud
just enough to remember
we once held on.

And I wonder if we, too
were made to loosen
to dissolve—
no shards or splinters
just a long sigh—
as time corrodes
at our hearts
turning all we were to rust.

Nature loves courage,
is what the
psychedelic
sage says

find this power,
some inner guidance
that refuses
to submit
and relinquish
its soul

stand, and stand higher,
rise again,
bring up your brethren
& sistren

follow the flow,
and remain in strength
fear not,
the spiritually hideous
monsters