I swear
there was a garden here

before the breaking winter
won the blades of shorted glint

through hazy recollection
swims a watermark imprinted

of a simple tangled haven
at the shaking of the World

Friday, at the Café
With iced matcha latte
and things she didn't want to say
What will fill the void?
In the midst of the crowd,
you are the one that I avoid.

green with ginseng
and honey
a little arizona
for my soul,
it makes me whole.

make       .                           .    *                      .                    
                      *                                me      ­          *      *
       *     .                 *                  .  *                    .                     ­             *
                *     your                                            *           .              *
   *             .                          *         macrocosm            *                             .          *                             *                                                                ­  

Words are a gift I seem to abuse
notebooks and pens all strained with misuse
my speech is fragmented, a point is not given
yet somehow words cause me to just keep on living

a text from a friend, an email from you
a post from a person who knows what to do
I read an article about people like me
and pray to a god that I'll someday be free

to write what I want and to write it so well
and in such a way that no one can tell
That I'm trying to hard, or I'm just spit-balling
That I cling to these words to keep me from falling.

The world can be a darkless place
Fires fervent in heart’s ember—
So I douse its ash into a bath,
And submerge in shades familiar

Welcome to the dark side of the moon
where angels
**** devils
and the grey morality
of their children
is our main show.