A Song To Die To

Of angels and the astral beings
They hum and drum their ghostly tunes
While they wait for us to be entombed
And if I die before I wake
I pray this song plays at my wake
A funeral march so dull and dire
To walk me down to the fiery pyre
And as this grey song limps along
Dear Death let’s dance, this is our song!
I’ll jig into the eternal dusk
Moved by that flat tune, fit just for this husk

Comfortably Uncomfortable

What an unpleasantly pleasant surprise

Body warmed porcelain greeting my thighs

My legs expected to meet an ice cold seat

But some kindly stranger lent me their heat

Like the vicarious kiss when you share a glass

Now my butt has touched someone else’s ass


See this vase, tall and strong
With a few cracks and scratches
But made with such effort and love
Formed in the potter’s hands
Fired for months in the living kiln
Polished over the years
Proudly displayed on its stand
Now it has slipped and fallen
Down to the cold, hard, ground
Smashed into pieces
Wet with tears
Spilling through the potter’s desperate fingers

Saving the Daylight

The reddening sun falls quickly
Embarrassed at his early departure
The president called and reminded him of his curfew
Told him to open a bank account
Save up rays for a rainy day
So his cheeks burn bright, but still he goes
Drawing down the dark curtain of night
Rolling out the tired fog over my sleepy brain
While the man in the moon jumps up briskly
Winking down at capitol hill



Distraction is the name of the game
While the poor starve and freeze
Everyone else watches football
While the sick lay dying
Everyone else goes to church
While some are wrongly imprisoned
The rest are playing video games
While the world wastes away beneath our very feet
We inhale smoke that lets us walk on another plane

When the poor rise up, when the sick die, when the imprisoned are forgotten, when the Earth falls apart
We finally wake up
But it’s too late
The die was cast on our couches
In the sloth of our diversions

Rolling Thunder

I look out across the darkened landscape and see the raging storm. I hear the thunder ring as the clouds pound together, hammering the air on their cumulonimbus anvils, forging their spears of destruction. Sparks fly as the air hammers fall, lightning streaking to the ground. It blasts and burns anything the angry clouds deem too tall and proud. The heavens weep at the wanton destruction, the tears pouring out into the Earth’s greedy mouth. The dirt drinks down every last drop. The wind wails and lashes out at anything in its path. It whistles and screams, telling anything with ears its tales of woe. The once gentle breezes have now gathered into a gale and they pull at houses and trees until they are finally uprooted from the dirt. Aeolus’s Frankenstein throws its prizes about, destroying them like fragile toys in the the hands of an angry child. So much rage and sorrow all rolled into one force of nature. A tornado of passion that eats all in its path and then vomits out the half digested mess. It’s hunger is as high as the atmosphere it feeds, and nothing can satiate the beast. It is bidden by something it cannot control, and will spit, pound, strike, and blow until its energy spent. And here am I, so warm and dry, with the same storming raging in my mind’s eye.



Men always seek immortality
We erect monuments in our memories
Wood for the good
Granite for the excellent
Gold for the long lost heroes of old
But wood burns, granite wears away, and even burnished gold fades

They say people die twice
Once when they breathe their last breath
Again when their name makes its final voyage on a breath breathed from lips still living
What good is that final whisper if there are no ears to hear it?

Just as a man will breathe his last so will our dear mother Earth
Her death throes will end in fire and chaos
Her grave will be the cold silence of the endless void
When she dies, there will be no names left to speak
No monuments left standing
No ears to hear the rending of our little blue planet
No eyes to see the tombstone of space debris
No tongue to taste the bitter loss
No hand hold the broken pieces
No nose to smell the burning brimstone
The moon cannot place flowers on our tomb
Nor can the stars cry in our absence
What a foolish and empty thing
Is a man’s immortality


Cro Magnon

Give me a club
Give me a spear
Give me a coat made from animal fur
Give me the wilderness
Give me enemies
Give me simplicity

In my fevered and troubled mind I long for simpler times
For the days when cavemen followed only one law, “kill or be killed”
When peasants and serfs labored in the fields and knew their station
When conquerors ruled and the defeated served
Now in these future times life is not so simple

I know not my station in life
Formerly men were measured by their muscles
By the broadness of their shoulders and the girth of their legs
Now men are measured simultaneously by the breadth of their shoulders, the girth of their wallet, and the size of their brain
Now a man may be a champion in strength, but still be despised by the wise
Knowledgeable scholars are scoffed at by the fast talkers who can weave whatever life they want out of mere words
Smooth slicks are despised by the just who love the law more than anything else
Men used to be known with a simple standard; strength
Now strength has morphed into power whose river is fed by 1,000 different rivulets
Who now can gauge the true measure of a man

I long for the bad old days so I would at least know where I stand
Maybe I am weak, but I would know I am weak
Where now the ground constantly shifts beneath me
One moment I consider myself a giant
The next I see that I am only an ant
There are none here who can tell me how low or great I am
So I supposed in this age I must define myself
Decide whether I have been dealt a hand of disaster or decadence


Grassy Blanket

My blanket smells of grass and wind
It shines faintly in my dark room
Still glimmering with starlight
Shimmering in the shadows of my bright eyes


Forget and Not Slow Down

How selfish is the human race
As our brothers pass before our face
We barely slow our frantic pace

Permanent Solution

I don’t ask why he did it
Why he pulled that final trigger
I know why
People are angry and call him a coward
They’ve never known what he felt in that hour
“Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem”
Whoever wrote that doesn’t know
When you’re spiraling down in the pit of despair
You have no hope for a better day
Each day passes, different, but the same
Good things happen and bad things happen
But the feelings rarely change
Depression is like a itch you can’t scratch
A demon buzzing in your brain slowly driving you insane
You can plug your ears, but it’s taunting voice comes from inside your head
It’s illogical, silly, and stupid
But you can’t stop it
Hopes are dashed, or dreams come true
But they don’t mean a thing to you
Good or bad it’s all the same
Cloudy or sunny, it still rains
You call him selfish
Say, “why couldn’t he see the grass is greener just down the road”
He couldn’t see down the road
Depression is like a pair of blinders that blocks all the good you could see
It doesn’t matter what is actually happening
No matter what, you feel depressed
You could win the lottery or fall in love
But depression doesn’t care
It still whispers hopelessness in your itching ears
It still drags you down into that cold abyss
In that dreadful pit there is no hope for a better future
There is past pain and present pain
Now based on that past and present what does the future look like?
It looks like another turn down the screw
I don’t ask why he did it
Because I’ve almost done it myself
I couldn’t see my friends or family
I couldn’t see tomorrow
I was blind to everything but sorrow
And when life has felt so bad for so long
You just want the pain to end
And suicide seems a most beautiful enemy
One you could almost call a friend

Summer Symphony

The cricket’s quiet cacophony
Scratching out melodies on his violin legs
The frog’s belching chorus
Erupting out of the river banks
Filling the night with soggy sounds
The gentle giggle of the lake
As it tickles the shore with its liquid tendrils
The whir of the fans
Humming away in the living room
Harmonizing with the buzz of the lightbulbs
The ruffing of a book’s pages
As someone scratches at its inky itches
The tiny little snores
Coming from the mouths of sleeping kitties
Most of all
I love the whispering whistle of the warm wind
As it moseys up my nose
Then rushes out my mouth in a contented sigh
All sounds singing away in the symphony of the summer night


Fast Feed

As I scroll and roll it takes a toll
Seconds grow old and up and turn into hours
I could’ve built towers in the time I’ve spent online
I can’t seem to stop going back to the top
New post on the feed to feed my desperate need
Mind hungry for anything to keep it from thinking
In Facebook and Twitter I do think I’m sinking


I pop 6 pink pills per planetary perturbation
They keep my drippy nose from running
I sink six steps down the stair of sleepiness
Falling fast into that feeble fog
Now all the sharp edges are gone
I can bounce round the earth, spin and twirl
Experiencing Stockholm syndrome
With the one that softens my world
I might be going crazy
But I’m starting to like
This pink pill
That makes me hazy

Changing Air

Clouds roll softly off my tongue
Shadowing the singing sun
My words rain down on everyone
Leeching life from living bone
None escape this siren’s song

Smoke a Song

It’s late at night
And I’m right tired
This Benadryl
Has me feeling mired
I think I’ll smoke a song
Not from a choir
One lit up
By electric angels
With frequencies for notes
Modulated at odd angles
This meandering music
Leaves my mind in tangles
I hold it in
For around 3 minutes
Let smoke steam out my ears
My brain’s reached its limits
I’ve fried my mind
With these lilting lines

Painted by Alex Grey, an amazing psychedelic artist, you should check him out

The Worst Part

The worst part was not the fantasy
The endless dreaming of death
Of the ways I could woo him
A short drop with a sudden stop
A long drop with a resounding plop
A knife, a gun, an axe, or pills
These thoughts excited me and relieved me
Made me believe I could one day escape
Gave me hope for an end
A bad one
But an end nonetheless

The worst part was not the loss of hope
As it drained from my soul
Strength drained from my body
The smile drained from my face
My heart making that slurping sound
Like when you drink the last of the milkshake
Stuttering and stalling to a near standstill
No, the drain kept me docile
Made me try to accept my fate

The worst part was not the loss of sleep
The hours wasted on tears and fears
On wondering what went wrong
On lying awake wishing to be at my own wake
No, the loss of sleep was grim
But still bearable, though terrible

No, the worst part
Was the loneliness
That big ball of only you
Curled up in your stomach
Aching and crying like a kid
Like the child you resemble
As you curl around yourself
A grown fetus growing into the fetal position
The worst part was that black hole in my stomach
That whispered day and night
“No one wants you. No one loves you”
The worst part was feeling completely
Believing that no one cared or ever could
Believing there was no hope and there never would be
The worst part was the white hot tears
Squeezed out of my eyes
I felt like a sheet being slowly wrung out
Wound tighter and tighter until I wept
The worst part was the blinding heat
Rising up my spine into my brain
Pounding and screaming in my head
Blocking out everything but my own despair

I can deal with suicide. I can deal with hopeless. I can deal with sleepless nights. But the one thing I never want to feel ever again.
Is alone

Quickening Heartbeat

My heart beats oh so slowly
As slowly as my feat tread this path of life
It pumps thick blood through my veins
Clotted with the boredom of each day
Meaningless dribble occupies my eyes and hours
Muddying up this clear pool of life

My heart beats quicker
When I look into your eyes
In them I see shining sand beaches
Awash in the ocean of you
Where I could one day stand
In the sun of your soul


My blood thins
Flowing ever faster through my body
When I smell your aroma
A heavenly cloud that envelopes me
Lightening and lifting me into the sky
Making my heart race with euphoria

My breath quickens
As the signing notes of your voice
Ring out brightly into my ears
They reverberate in my brain
Reminding me I am not insane

Much of this world does not interest me
So much of it is dull and boring
The every day routines
The pointless words and actions
The way nothing ever seems to change

But you my dear
Are so very interesting

Deadly Intent

Guns, knives, bows, and bats
None kills easily as deadly intent
Take the knife from his hand and he’ll pick up a chair
His anger is due, it’s time to pay rent
We regulate weapons
With the best of intents
But there’s no stopping the man
Who on murder is bent
Rage burns in his heart
No fire’s as intense
His hands must soak  dark red
With blood, his fingers must rinse
Pistols have no hands of their own
It’s man that fires on a whim
On others he hates
Or self loathing, points the barrel at him
Now my eyes redden
For I’ve lost a friend
Killed himself for his feelings
For that deadly intent
We could have taken away
Sharpened knives from his grip
But in his mind never faded
That deadly intent

Say the Words

Three words often can soften our plight
“I love you” can pave the way
To a future oh so glorious and bright

Romantics mumble and jumble the words alright
Hopeless in their haste to say
Their love and set lover’s hearts alight

Fathers rest these words on sons at night
As life’s blinding sun slowly drains away
To put their soul at peace and ease their fright

“I love you” just might right a slight
Turn angry grudges into play
Unwind relationships turned too tight

For these three syllables knights will fight
With honor for them they will pay
And spur their mighty hands to smite

Poets these words do often write
With pen on paper oh so frayed
Yearning to relive life’s greatest heights

Now I whisper this sentence with heart contrite
As blooming flowers on your grave I lay
Hoping too little too late can make things right


Remind Me Who I Am

I need you to remind me
Just who I am
For I seem to have forgotten
In my desperate shaking hands

The End Is Near

Insult stacked upon insult
Revenge taken on revenge
Blood poured out on blood
The cycle cannot end
The snakes will forever eat their tails
Until the earth shakes with weeper’s wails
Forgiveness is the only way to win
Only with grace can the bloodshed end

Nothing Really Matters

In the morning we look at cute pictures of animals. We laugh and joke and ignore the world. We squeal with glee about them in our virtual voices.

At night we stare in horror at the evil in our world. At broken homes and burning buildings. We scream about them in our Twitter feeds.

Then, we sleep and the clock resets. Fluffy puppies for the morning, sports for the afternoon, and murder for the evening.

Nothing really matters. Anyone can see.

Struck Down But Not Destroyed

I’ll admit I’m a failure
I’ll still strive for success

I’m not scared to be sick
I’ll still look for the cure

Yes I am a mere human
But I hope to be more


Newton’s Third Law

For every reaction there is an equal and opposite reaction
The moon stirs the ocean’s waves, they foam and rage and crash into the sand, seeking to claim the dry ground for their pale mother
Each time the shore repels them, throwing the breakers back into their watery womb
Our lungs feast on oxygen, that wonderful O2, and we breathe out horrid carbon dioxide waste
With each human gasp, the plants do breathe, taking in our wasted breath and expelling sweet oxygen for us
A rock thrown at a hornet’s nest will not fly unanswered, no
The wasps will scream and swarm and fly to battle, ready to answer the gauntlet thrown
Likewise it is with ideas and careers
We have soldiers to kill and doctors to heal
Integrals undo derivatives and visa versa
Liberalism endlessly battles Conservatism
So it is with the world
Yin must always have Yang
Good must always spawn evil
Without Heaven there would be no Hell, without dark, no light
If Hitler had never marched on his ambitions, Eisenhower would never have fought and defeated him on the battlefield
Jesus’s name cannot be spoken and his life fully considered without also speaking the name of Judas
So it seems life must always be in balance
We can never fully eliminate evil, merely hope to separate it from the pure and cage it where it cannot taint us
So now the only question We must ask ourselves is
When we fall, will we show heads, or tails?

Call me a Glutton

They say gluttony is a crime of the weaker minds
Dante’s first circles were for those who’s flesh excessed
While the lowest circle was held for betrayers
A place of horror, but at the same time honor
For wherever the name of Caesar is spoken, so echoes “Brutus” and “Cassius”
And whenever “Jesus” is reverently whispered even softer still does “Judas” creep behind
I would rather be called a glutton and a shameful man
Forgotten in my weakness in the mists of time
Than be honored forever for my blackest heart

Paper Paupers

“Hello Benjamin, how are you today?”
Ben just stares at me
His eyes vacant and distant
“And you Andrew, how did you sleep?”
Andrew’s mouth stays shut tight
No greeting or conversation slips from his lips
“Abraham my man, what’s hanging?”
Abe won’t even turn his head to me
Always offering only the icy shoulder
I’d like these men to be my friends
But my hand they’ll never hold
I can greet them warmly every day
But they’ll always leave me cold
We give so much for these flat faces
Our time, minds, and bodies
Trading away even our relationships
For paper faces, dead and haughty

stack of money


D is for the diphenhydramine that stops my sneezing and pops the bubbles on my skin. The stuff that makes me sleepy and slaps on me a silly grin. It softens all the edges of this helter skelter life. Though sometimes it makes shadows dart, in the corners of my eyes.

R is for the ruckus that stirs up in my veins. Every time I take Albuterol or drink to much caffeine. My heart starts racing crazy and my palms sweat quite a lot. My heartbeat pounds inside my head, should of had just a tot. Nervous and jittery I can’t stand still or run. This high is not the kind I like. No, I’d rather just have none.

U is for the undulations that take effect with alcohol. They say that it’s a downer but that’s not what I feel at all. A loosening of the tongue at first, then my body starts to roll. My vision slowly starts to blur now the vodka takes its toll. My legs feel wobbly and my balance is done. Still I’ll stay up for hours once this depressant has gone.

G is for that good good feel when I get that second hand high. Joints burning all around me and I cannot help but smile. That wonderful wonderful smell, when the weed smoke starts to swell. Fondly reminding me of oh so many memories. I’ll take a contact high any day. Light that blunt right next to me, I swear I won’t complain.

S is for the sizzurup that just keeps me alive. High fructose corn syrup to be exact, it’s sweet, I can’t deny. It is the most insidious for it’s in everything. Breakfast, lunchtime, dinner, dessert, in pizza and in pie. I love that biting sugar rush from warheads or sour skittles. But they always cause me skin trouble and break me out in pimples.


Scratching Hands are the Devil’s Workshop

That troublesome itching
It feels like life’s ticking
Scratching away while the devil is snickering
Bubbles float up on those darn histamines
Turning my eyes from all I could see
Being always itchy is quite distracting
That’s what he wants, that snide demon Satan
Distract us with small things, induce bellyaching
Instead of fight wars, with trifles we’re taken

Break Every Chain

The world is becoming a safer place
The wilderness is tamed
The raging beasts are caged

When I hear the wild tales of old
My heart yearns to burn and rage
They say all good things are wild and free

But so many chains lay on my heavy heart
I fear I’ll never be



You can call me Geppetto
For I love to pull the strings
On all the wooden marionettes
That do live their lives by me
These foolish little wooden men
Are so malleable and soft
I can shape them with a knife
My signature emboss
I can grab their wooden crosses
That pull the silky threads
Move their puny arms and legs
Shake and turn their heads
Little do I realize
That I am not unique
Like all these other Pinocchios
I too am made of teak
I can make them walk or run
When I twist and tug their twine
I do not see behind my back
They’re also pulling mine
We’re a world all full of puppets
With the minds of puppeteers
We end up with lines all tangled
Choking each other in our fears


Fading Flowers

I am very sorry my dear
I have forgotten why I came
I was oh so happy and chipper
When walking down the lane
Now that I am at your door
My ebullience has grown tame
It used to make me shiver
Simply when I heard your name
I’m afraid the wind has changed me
A human weather vane


Digital Love

I could count the snapchats
I could favorite every tweet
I could cherish every text message
Wouldn’t that be neat
Parcel out relationships
Cut them into pieces
Tally all the favorites
Count them in their niches
Romance just might be a game
But you can’t keep score
There’s more to love than just a sum
That digital clicks measure

Uncomfortable in my Skin

Please keep an eye out for someone wearing my skin
This morning in the mirror I saw a man with great potential
But in the evening a loser with nothing left
I need someone to find out the imposter
Cause I’m not quite sure just which one I am


People are like walking volcanoes
Some hot and active
Some sleepy and still
Asleep or awake all have magma deep inside
It starts to warm up when others cry or tell lies
Some volcanoes vent and blow off steam
Others let it simmer in their stomachs
Digesting anger, anxiety, hatred, or despair
But we’re lactose intolerant and those things are dairy
When we try to swallow them down life can get hairy
We weren’t made to carry rage, sadness, or even joy
We’re volcanoes and we were made to spout feelings
If we don’t they’ll eventually leave us reeling
The difference is the ones who let it out just rumble
They might miss a step but they just stumble
The ones who keep it stuffed down in their bellies
When their lava gets hot, and that’s when things get heavy
They trip, but and fall, but it doesn’t stop there
They break their arms and legs, fall all the way down the stairs
Once they reach the boiling point there’s no turning back
No gentle wispy smoke, they’re about to blow a stack
Now exploding is the only way
Burst everyone’s bubble, turn them into human Pompeii
But there’s a way to avoid eruption
Express yourself to bypass a conniption



I like to dance
To just let go
Feel the bass move my body
Let the music take control


Dripping Candles

Do you ever wonder
If you’re slowly going insane
A candle of stability
Slowly yielding to the flame
Can you find someone
Something else to blame
A mirror image sputtering
Reflection in another frame
Or perceive the madness
See wax dripping down your brain



Some speculate about my mind
Wondering what hides behind
My eyes that rarely sparkle or shine
In my head they try to dive
But never deep enough to shrive
In the black abyss do my thoughts hide
Through spoken word they’re hard to say
That’s why I write them down
On the page I can rearrange
So their meaning can be known
So if you want to see me
I’m hiding in plain sight
On this stage you can see my face
So clearly in the rhyme
Written words read me like an open book
No slurred speech, free from my own tongue
If you want to know me
I want to be understood
Simply read and try to heed
What’s beneath my hood


The Good Book says
Set your mind on what is pure, lovely, and true
And so my dear
I have set my mind on you

Normal Nightmares

Don’t want to sleep
Don’t want to dream
I just see nightmares
Sometimes blood and gore
More often, normal things gone wrong
A dad who doesn’t love me
Familiar friends that act estranged
And when I open up my eyes
I cannot tell what’s changed

Nothing Lasts

Nothing lasts, at least that’s what they say. The words ring out through dusty desert canyons. Their reverberations echo along, shaking down small rivulets of sand from the rock walls. As the grains tumble they whisper the truth that nothing is forever. For they were worn from the solid rock walls. Yes, even rocks crumble away.

They say war won’t last forever, but they forget that neither will peace. As Solomon said, there is a time for killing and a time for healing. Neither can last for eternity.

Not even the proud sun can stand the test of time. Though he rules, day after day. Sometimes warming the Earth with his gaze, but other times giving us the cold shoulder. Perhaps he is unfriendly because he has heard us say he will die. Yes, even Sol must breathe his last breath, and in his dying so kill the Earth.

In the words of Outkast, “They say nothing lasts forever. Then what makes love the exception?” What makes love the exception is that it does not grate on my skin like the blown desert sands. Love brings both war and peace, feeding each their own measure. Love is not what causes the sun to shine, but it does make the light meaningful. Love will outlast. This we can feel in our bones as they ache for the ones we love. This we can taste on the lips of our lover. This we can see in both tears and winks. This we can hear in that soft velvet inflection. This we can know in our minds and our hearts. This our soul can comprehend, for though a man can forgo food and water for a time, he cannot live without love. Love will outlast the rocks, the wars, and the sun. I say it will expand like our universe until it has finally encompassed all. I say love is a force to be reckoned with.


I think simplicity is lovely
Occam’s razor cuts the cleanest shave
An elegant math solution is one that solves the problem in the easiest way
We can dress ourselves in the most beautiful clothes, but really our natural bodies are more beautiful than any threads we could hang on them
An enduring love is simple, it does not include if’s, and’s, or but’s. Just “I do”
But my life is so complicated
So many moving parts
A thousand plans all spiraling out of my head like a cognitive spider web
They’re all well and good with a pot of gold at the end
But I just end up getting tangled
Life is purest in its simplest form
Eat when hungry, sleep when tired, love well
But I’m up at 4 am writing a poem on my pocket computer, hungry because I ate dinner at 6 pm
I try to love, but I’ve got it all confused
Passing judgement for concern, replacing time with texts
My life is shiny and exciting, with all the bells and whistles
But so often I long for a return to something simple

Control Systems

Turn the knobs
Adjust the gain
That’s if you
Can stand the strain
The controls
Are in your hands
Push the buttons
Make the plans
Guard their hearts
And guard your own
Hide inside
Your safety zone
Try not to feel
And don’t betray
Any emotions
That come your way
I’ve been walking
A tightrope wire
Please don’t let me
Go any higher
I’m losing control
From keeping together
All the pieces
And all my endeavors
I’m riding the tiger
And I can’t get off
Someone help me
Please make me stop
I’ve tried to contain
Everything around
But despite calculations
Errors abound
How can I control
Anyone else
When I can’t even manage
To manage myself


When I die
Send me up to the sky
In the mixed race tradition
Of Vikings and Asians
A glorious funeral pyre
Made of paper lanterns
I’ll rise up into the atmosphere
Higher and higher
Slowly burning to cinders
My ashes scattering
Out into space
Spinning into orbit
Around my home
I’ll be a vortex of dreams
To you I entrust
This vision of death
Dust to stardust


My Best Friend

My best friend
Is so fresh and sleek
He’s quite intelligent
Helps me with my homework
Tells me all the facts
Gives me the news
Checks my spelling
Let’s me know what’s going on today
Yes my best friend’s the best
He rides with me everywhere I go
Singing only songs I know
He takes pictures of memories
So we can remember moments forever
He’s the envy of millions
They wish they could be his friend for just one day
If you know him you’re doing well
Oh I love my best friend
He sleeps next to me every night
Wakes me up every morning
Walks with me to class
iPhone, I’m so glad you’re mine

Stranger in the Mirror

Who is that who’s hijacked my reflection in the mirror?
This imposter has power, but how can he be here?
I’m the only one in the bathroom in front of the sink
It’s scary to think that that face is mine
I’ve not seen it before, but maybe in time
I’ll get used to it and be able to remember
My mind’s too limber, it reconstructs on a daily basis
I often wish I could live in stasis
Have some kind of regular stability
But just when normality starts to feel real
My consciousness takes a tumble and starts to get ill
Life’s bill is just too much to pay
For my mind to stay in just one way
But maybe one day
I’ll recognize that face in the mirror

Through the Looking Glass

I can’t recall which tales are true and which tales are tall
I hear stories and tell them like they’re my own memories
At night I dream but can’t tell sleep visions or real living in between
Forget I exist when I watch movies, the world’s shrouded in mist
I often drift away from my body, my mind and soul lift
Off and float to a third person view, my actions to note
This makes me afraid, cause it feels like some strange day
My mind will wander off to never never land to ponder
I’m scared it might not come back


Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, etc. All seem to exists for one purpose. To make people jealous of our lives. We post as many pictures of us with beautiful people, in exotic locations, doing fantastic things, just to make others wish they were us. There’s no question that others would want to be us. No, the only question is when will we want to be us?