Must I tell you, I’ve got a Bag for a mind –
Just to unpack all of my Thoughts: thinking Back
On old plans I had for Myself, I had My thinking
Cap in Reverse

I swallowed a whole lot of Colours to fill
My imagination's belly, from dreaming in Black
And white – now I have a Picture full
By this laughing Spread, I can’t help and smile
While looking at the Ugly things that are
Secretly Beautiful

All my tears are navy Blue; depression in a
Collapsing sea – depending on your own Impression,
What you witness in glee, isn’t what the other will see

A Simpleton must annoy the Complex thinker,
But what if the Easier option for them, makes life
Simple then,

                                                  Is life that simple?

What a kind curse I have. I am built in my biological design to observe the world around me. To process and be able to understand concepts, how to use the information to benefit. My visual acuity to discern the physical world with clarity and capture as much floating light information that is ambiently around. A dissociated portion of my own psych that is constantly observing me and my mental state giving a pseudo "objective" view of whatever I'm actually doing. Even when inebriated, woozy, or having ***, being directly still aware of what I'm doing and what is happening to me. I am kind enough and seem to be attractive enough that people enjoy my company, want me around, and sometimes kiss me. I have a strong enough imagination to **** a little with my perceived reality. With a degree of fact, narcissim, and uncertainty, these are gifts.

I have such a poor memory. There is so little I retain from the information I receive. I regularly can not remember to do things. It takes a long time, with considerable effort, to commit something to memory. I lose grasp on a running thread if distracted. The gifts I have are wasted for doing anything to accurately and fully benefit those around me and myself. Even selfishly it is difficult for me to substantially gain from it. This is the curse.

I have no distraction from the exact moment I am in and what is happening right then. I am always present. I have the greatest capacity to observe the exactness of the life I live. I have nothing to do with what I have, other than enjoy it. To see the grandeur of the fact that is existence. That anything exists at all is a marvel and I am here to see it.

It happens with all the holes and wounds: they grow their own face, mend their gap, heal their rifts - those new skills of yours are but entities that emerge: to give shelter, to stand guard, replace the old, thicken the crust, weather this human storm - through and through.

But will the skin ever return to its soil? It linger on forevermore.
How tight is its grip? How hardened its sappy brooks? When will it nourish those delicate roots anew?

These thoughts arise as doubt breaks free. It pours and flows as I gaze down and lower still. Shadows seep and leak as the wheel spins and drills the soul evermore hollow. Anonymous is our tree of life, but it keeps faces in store.

For it happens with all the holes and wounds: they bleed, they mend, they heal - and what don't they do as I stand here, as I bend, as I kneel - as I carve their seats in shapes of departure. These skills thicken under my feet like growling tremors.

My past was but a dream - ready to slide and crumble like a leaf.
My weariness is universal. My knowledge, heavy. There cannot be a conclusion. I am growing thin.

Let me feed those roots anew.

wet skin to skin; a tightly gripped kiss - urged lips
that surely wished they had spoken their feelings first,
then to seem like they’re both trying to quench each other’s
thirst. still shivering in my nerves that I’ve grown so lost
for my words – trying to find my identity in your eyes surface
              ...you look too beautiful for me to even claim

it’s my own shame, that sticks on my throat like a smoker’s
cough – though this love sickness is worth the bit of irritation,
of not always knowing what to do when I’m so close to you
                     ...so yes, I held you, and kissed you

but that wasn’t the initial plan; you rested in my arms and I
had my words for you ready and armed – but my hand in it
all had lost its touch. darling this is so much of a rush for
just a simple crush, to us finally going out, more than once
       …I just wish that from the beginning, I had told you,

                                                      “I think I’m in love”

If we're in our eighty's
And you thought of me
Relax and don't worry
Days have passed of me being weary

Now I'm floating, not in heaven
Nor purgatory and hell even
I'm one of the stars which the night livens
Smiling like when I was eleven.

Give you a hug now
Pick me a flower
Take me to the mall
to shower you with attention
I'm broke. That's a given.
I'll disuade you if you listen.
So I won't talk, or mumble
Underneath my breadth.

I've been smokin'
like charcoal
Or cherry wood
On cherry pie
In reality
I'm on fire
And not in a good way,
Engulfed in flame,
And I just can't get away.

as far as i can tell,
it's a waste of time
to give your heart
to people who will
crush it and leave it
to wane and wither