Ignorance is bliss so I learn slow.
Resistance is my M.O.
Don't get ****** when I act like my IQ's low.
Going bananas with monkeys
means my imagination is in nature.
Behold all I've nurtured.
I've engaged in guerrilla warfare
with knowledge for ages. It's fateless.
So what does this mean for my later pages?..

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
****, I've relapsed.
Encouraged another darting spark synapse.
My brain grew by storm of truth
then floated into the past.

A bowl has the most potential empty: the enlightened fast.
So why bother learning anything?

The rain has been filling up my spiritual well,
well it's better than being empty.

I saw another to share myself
but it was bait to trap and tempt me.
My heart has snapped in so many places
you gaze on and just see the spaces.

I relent; go be content.

Go seek another then.
I told you I was bleak and broken,
happiness is beyond my ken.
So blind myself, the wrong words were spoken.
I'll stick to my diligent pen.
All I seem to share is pain
so I cry by myself to help the rain.

Desire burns through
the clothing of my civility
as easily the fumbled ember from my cigarette.

This ink bleeds
words of betrayal from a lacerated mind.
My fountain heart pumps more imagination.
My pen has an inspiration unkind.
No fruit to be had
yet I hold the rind.
I'd like to find love
but I couldn't find time.

Devastation ravages a tight-knotted soul.
Create room for another.
Make space for a lover.
How far will I fall down that rabbit hole?
The nature of my yearning is conflicted.
A golden road of good intentions
has led down a path convicted.
Followed by all my bad contentions
Winds of Fortune continually shifted.

You see the siren but not the rocks.
A skeleton key but found no locks.

Isolation is seen from the weak to kings.
Desolation leaves no crowns nor rings.

Dreaming cat beside me
teaching ease.

I gave you away tonight.

All that’s left is to coolly gaze at the moon.
Such serene grace, she sates my lust.
I trust Nature to take care of me;
she takes me straight to the cusp.
The wind gusts which fills me up.
I gasp.
A tall cup of reality hits me.

You're gonna ****.

When I’m sure you’re in his clutch
I grasp for the moon.
Of course, this golden goddess slips through my fingers.
Not foreign but still far away.
I look on shyly while the moon comforts me.
Love is so fickle.
Those familiar feelings have come too soon.
I retreat to my respite.
Even at night, light trickles in.
I refuse to fight over how beautiful things begin.

I’m a rainy day parade.
A parade that was rained on
but decided to play anyway.

Neither the rain nor the parade is a charade.
Rather, the rain is Kool-Aid and the parade is a wall
of a bar.
I’m on the other side looking far



too






gone.
I sob and blub between a racket of thunder and brass.
Every emotion I feel
feels crass.

Alas, are these drops tears or rain?
My life is a metaphor for itself.
Is that irony or plain?
Maybe they were drops of Kool-Aid.