Resisting

I hate the silence when I wake up.

Going to bed, my thoughts are filled with running words, trying to catch one another.

In my dreams, the words find each other, dancing for a moment before evaporating.

And when I wake, the clouds of vapor have passed over the hills, and I’m left feebly quiet and dry.

you never quite know what the next day will hold

keep your chin up my dear

cuz tomorrow will shine with the same sun, i’m told

by birds with sweet songs to hear

Don’t fear

Don’t fear

the night’s almost gone my dear

each day has a story and with it, more worries

so let’s crack open a beer

make sure no body’s sober when this day is over

and pretend that it’s the new year

There is no greater despair than the desire to hold that which can’t be held.

Whoop!

Just lost all empathy.

Again.

feelsgoodbro

there’s a certain kind of sorrow

that certain people borrow

like windchimes, fountains, and prayer

and if these people wallow

then it’s because they’re probly hollow

it’s best to cook the sirloin fairly rare…

Molly

seems like we go back forever
remember that day we crossed the river?
well maybe it wasn't that long ago
guess i kinda acted like that poet Poe
but i kindly asked you t-dance with me
you took my hand and we tried to be
a little bit rowdy and a little bit randy
you even came with me when i lost my candy
and eventually, i came to see
that your swee t tongue had spun tricks on me
a filthy web of polished lies
me, just another one of your flies.
hey, the good times we had: they were great
but you said it yourself, I was too late 
i could have been a fly for you
frankly i quite enjoyed the view
Too late then, too late now,
still i ask myself how
spring comes a little sooner each time
and everyones garden seems t-bloom but mine
well
there ain't much that i can do
swell
i think it's time for round 2.

I find myself asking the oddest of questions.

Like, “Can it be perfect?” as if it could matter.

Like, “Can I be bright?” as if I could glitter.

Will I ever rest?

As if I could.

What is my best?

As if I cared or understood

What if it’s all a test?

Well I’d kiss my love

and kill the rest

we live, breathe, like adam and eve

we walk, talk, on this fruit filled rock

Like, “What if God wanted us to leave?”

Well I guess I’d tell him to suck my cock.

This is it bud.

You’re on the brink, on the cusp. 

Delectable.

You can be who you want to be, or who you were meant to be.

We’ve come a great distance together, over a great span of time.

This means little in the grand scheme of things.

We’ve realized a great deal together as well.

Things like what distance means, and how communication is inversely proportional to it.

Things like what time means, and how actions and words shape it. 

We’ve gone a great many places too.

I chased you through most of them.

I’m just writing to let you know that I think I’m done. 

The fun is gone.

I’ve been changing a lot these past few months.

I spent the majority of my waking life obsessed with you.

So, I’m gonna switch; I’ll no longer be a fanatic or a hypocrite.

I shall make no vow other than one.

I will only visit you once each day, with a 30 - 45 minute allowance for rest room and snack time. 

Control, conscious lucidity.

I might even stop smoking pot. Maybe. Haha.

I’ll end with a little message to myself.

Try to remember who you are, but don’t try too hard. Move, breathe, move. Smile. Sing, and dance, and work a little, but again, not too hard.

Good night, fellas.

We are, as it were living in the midst of the woven tapestry of many dimensions, in which the warps and the roots are all these different spectrums of various kinds of vibrations.

Imagine yourself a child again.

You look upon the adults faces with eagerness and pleasure. You find entertainment in their eyes, and their voices. The subtle ties between their eyes and their words.

As you grow, and become more fond of these people, you’ll come to recognize most of their actions as habit and ritual, and you’ll take them as you take yourself. 

But you begin to notice, little by little, that their old mannerisms don’t intrigue you as they once did. More and more, you are arrested by their attention instead. You follow their eyes, and you find the source of their happiness. And in turn, it brings you happiness. 

All down the line. As you followed the direction of your mothers eyes, so your child will follow yours. We are always seeking the source. Always pushing towards the center. 

And when the source is found, and happiness is concluded, you have nothing to look towards but yourself.