Have Heart

There's detoxification in the initiation,
You're cold and cold you'll stay.
What's to do with winter smiles?
Improve your composure by running away.

The glorification you can't fathom,
Stuck in the cement with buried treasure,
Tears in your eyes which is a surprise,
Your apathy is impossible to measure.

I don't believe in ghosts or children,
When do the dead finally become free?
When do the babies become intoxicated?
I don't believe any good can come from me.

The shore line has corrupted my mind.
Forever changing, but staying the same.
The sands honesty battles the waves away,
Through thousands of years it's remained.

You're so cynical, why don't you see?
No beauty could have come from coal,
You're a waste of paint, of company.
This art couldn't save your soul.

Dear Acceptance

There's the constructed and the reconstructed, the buildings that have gone through the same processes time and time again to make things work, or the words that have been changed, (im)perfected and debated over. There are the hearts made of plastic that choke the turtles in the sea, there are the times where you insisted that there's no life in a tree but a forest has the capacity to stop you from changing from slave to free. You've got your capitalism and your ideologies, I've been sleeping in playgrounds and flying with swings. A bird had blotted out the moon, it shone there through its wings. There's significance and soul in the most trivial things.

What's the definition of insignificance? Whether the weather is accurate or not, the differentiation between lines and dots: it's a learning experience that most have forgot. You can be an optimist on opium or a pessimistic person, but the significance still lies there. You could be sleeping or leaving or splitting some old grey hairs but it's still a reflection on your life (whatever that word means). I'd prefer to write a commentary than be held between two teams because they make it seem so straight forward, one kicks one to their knees. But that's not something to live by: within the set of morals you have from your parents, the bible, or your brothels; you have to do as you please.

You Helped to Pass the Time

I am unsure where to start, with your words wrapped around my knees, pulling at my dress so slightly, but so eager to please. Maybe it’s the missing substance, or the way you used to be, with the nervous glances and shaking hands; a little less than me. But a knife dropped and in its fall took the innocence of the Lord. I could not blame you for your actions, so don’t blame me for being born.

Perhaps it was the initiation when they paved the streets all wrong. Or was it that blue bird in the street, singing that melancholy song? Things like this, they just don’t work. You’re the night and I’m the day. For short times we can exist together but the rest cannot stay, their lives live in mirrors; fighting to keep the world true. Forgive my envy and apathy for not letting me get close to you.

Something light just struck the street between the blue falling feathers and the disorganization of feet. It made me step back and the world seemed split in two. I had lost, regained, and lost some more, now I’m left with just the hope of you.

But it's surprising how little I miss you. It's only at night between cocktail smiles when I think of your laugh. I've been sleeping in playgrounds between eerie grey flowers, throwing myself through the days and sweating every night. Four pages down and another ninety to go, you promised me a story about a boy who never gets attached. It turned into a biography. There were flowers on every page and a lullaby as an epilogue.

"Sweet, sweet air why don't you sing? Why don't you trust the life that you can bring? You've been through mountains and crossed sacred cemeteries; if you'd trace your fingers through my hair I'll keep it between you and me."

Psycho, American.

-An ode of sorts to all of Bret Easton Ellis' (author) main characters. The quotes are from American Psycho.

Throwing coins into a jar:
"Abandon all hope ye who enter here".
A lifetime of suffocation, dust and death.
You can choose whichever adjective you see fit.

You’re a bit of a coin
Passed around, dented, dirty, deluded;
Surrounded but so alone.
The cities of choking loneliness.

Dressed in your best, white of whites.
How could you live without hope?
Eyes not blue nor brown nor green.
There’s a displacement inside.

And in your dreams you have a soul.
The laughter is gone with the winter.
Searching through thin forests of fairytales
Instead of a prince: “this is not an exit”.

In Absentia

Why not eat dinner on a couch, in front of a static television
that shows news more relevant than any of that media bullshit.
Picking peas off the plate and flicking them through air,
Cutting through spores and the lonely insect.
(Complaining of the brutal light,
Unforgiving the air of wrong vs. right.)

When eating is a chore and keeping it down, even more,
Your body is just as uncaring as your mind trained it to be.
Crack your toes on the tiles treated like speckled stone
skies in the morning, the shepards warning settled with me.
(My bed whispers lies to me in the night,
Between the dreams there's static plight.)

What is it that makes the tiny bugs appear in the afternoon?
The suns angle? But the morning sun angles the same.
Perhaps, just maybe it's instict that cannot be erased:
Like dogs being put to sleep, horses become lame.
(I'm living out a cardboard fight:
Eyes so clear but free of sight.)

Beauty in the Beggar

There's a stray dog crawling up to you,
Timid, somehow timeless, treading heavy,
You don't know how to treat it, but I do.
You don't like loneliness now, do you?

High-maintenance dreams
The glamour the city will take away,
Such a beautiful face, so it seems.
Such a place for sour worm dreams.

The timeless notion of give and take,
Sitting on the streets, you're up in the air,
Glitter and grudges are all you make.
Some freedom and ethics you'd never for take.

Captivated by where the sun goes;
I remember being a child,
Fascinated by the gaps between my toes
Wondering where the space below goes.

The grays' decided to climb some trees,
Delivering home some much needed closure,
But for what? A beggar forced to his knees,
Meditating to the sound of falling trees.

Tricks and Drones

The tide rises and it falls,
Tame, yet escaping through wrinkled floors,
Making its way between the hands of clocks,
Slipping through fingers and landing on rocks
That will turn into tiny specks, so coarse.
Time drags on with an immeasurable force:
Past the child in a cradle, lady in a chair,
The establishing, the growing, the graying of hair.
Tiptoe past my first pet's grave, lined with fish of gold,
Passed the For Sale signs that quickly turned to Sold.
Now the trees' silhouettes are showing in a way
That it is impossible to decipher night from day.
Just like the tide falls and rises,
Time itself has no surprises.