The man, lanky and
Lugubrious in his actions,
Filled with loneliness and
Compassions. I watch
With absurd interest as he
Smiles, missing teeth and
Yet, a light in his eyes that
Never goes out when he
Talks to his grandson,
Beauty and approbation
On his face. I conclude
With sadness that this is
The only time he is happy.
The only time the life in
Him awakens. The only
time his soul rejoices
And yet, I sit here, just
Penning down someone's
Penurious life sans joy.
Doing nothing about it,
Replicating the standard
Human nature.

Why?* If we had such a great start,
to my bed I ask before I fall asleep,
while I'm trying not to fall apart,
before memories roll down my cheecks.

Did I made you inside my head?
Your smile nourished my soul
and now I'm starving in my bed.
You where all I could've imagined.

Did I made you inside my head?
I'd die for another night in your bed.
I'm not smart enough and I blame this heart.

Thick grey clouds rolled over
The tall grey buildings.
The stench of despair
Like a creeping mist,
******* happiness
Straight from my soul.
The angry clouds
Birth a raging downpour
And a flower

A burst of colour
In a world of darkness

Grasps the drops
Like a lifeline.
They lie scattered
Like an intricate pattern
Of delicate diamonds
And I'm reminded
There's beauty
In the ugliest of things.

She's got an old soul
older than mountains,
older than the rain
It was probably there when
the rivers first ran free
Older than the earth, maybe
One of the first stars
The brightest supernova
she dove in, beautifully, on a crystal comet
straight out of the Universe

she's seemed like starlight ever since

Our passions are fueled
By actions in practice
Our discoveries can be lost
In arguments of semantics
What is discovery
What is passion
Why do I feel
This sense of abstraction

Abstraction
And chance
What a beautiful combination
A happenstance circumstance
That brought you to culmination

.

Drying in the sun
   on a beaten path
bruised and stained
   by faded  blooms
crushed beneath
   the falling night
of a desperate moon
   hiding within
the memories of
   those lost

Today, I made my way through the hallway,
taking the frames down,
wrapping them in old newspaper,
filling the holes they left with putty;
leaving the walls, white and bare.
Once again, erasing every trace of myself.

I walked from room to room, slowly and quietly
like a ghost without matter
trying to cling to things it can not hold.
I took breaks often, sat on the couch,
watched the grass sway through my living room window,
and wrote three awful poems.

I looked around at all my furniture,
realized how most was scratched and damaged
from being forced through so many doors…
I’m sure there’s a metaphor there,
but I’m not going to bother.