Liminality

Would you hate me if told you that the human existence
is just the eye of a spiritual monsoon?
and what if i told you that the skin of a butterfly
is just another cocoon?
this is not about death
it's about savoring your breath
until your breathing is through

To stay open
to keep your fears in isolation
from evidence
from the stimuli present
 in the very air that you breathe to keep your heart beating
The very same heart, metaphorically speaking,
that you are breaking
to keep your mind all patched up and functional.

and as long as you refuse to close
keep the midnight oil burning
you'll have to keep a gun under the counter for deterrence
Defense
god forbid, its your essence they're stealing!

You remove the lid
stick your hand in
the cookie jar never pilfers back
So much heartache
so many masks
they never quite got the definition of your distress

People can beat and bruise you, yes
but the worst pain you'll ever experience
comes from the lies you tell yourself

Permanence

I don't need a new tattoo
I left my mark on you
so my essence travels on a path
wide enough for two
when Hermes says he's out of gas
when Mercury's shoes burn through
I won't hear their complainin'
No, I wont entertain them
and you wont have to move
just tell me you love me
sorry for leaving
but i didn't get to choose
i can hear you

Think of the things i cared about
Are they still there now?
Now close your eyes, you'll feel my breath
and stop your cryin'
you'll hear my footsteps
they were too clumsy anyway
Yeah, you'd always say
someday you would miss them

That day
you put a note in the my suit's breast pocket
sorry to say
I've forgotten how to read it
and for one last time
you straightened my tie
But I don't have eyes to see it

About a Girl.

With a militant zeal 
you jump from bad company to worse
the company you keep 
is keeping one eye on your purse

if you really have to ask
the other is focused on your ass
and if he stops to turn his head
its just to survey your legs

to search for a rift
it seems to be a game
I know firsthand that man
only seeks to return from whence he came

easy submission is a back-up generator for shame
you seek approval from a machine that only dispenses pain

you've got all the guys gawking
falling behind you when you're walking
they can't stop talking

and you already know what they're saying
of course you do
that's why you act just as vacuous as they're claiming

you're holding up a veil that's as tall as the building in which you're sleeping
next to the man whose only pressing needs are eating, breathing, and leaving
so he peers over to make sure your breath is peaceful, your back still heaving
gets up, gathers his things and gets on with his evening

you rise
to an empty bed
down your cheek
tears are streaming

don't worry
it's not that your veil is receding
it's just that your feelings tend to continue on the path
that your body is leading

that prickling in your chest
is your heart, still beating
still struggling to be heard
still counteracting your cheating

but we're all superb
still people of our word
separating the stable people
from the slightly more disturbed

so you put these wooden walls up
taking trust falls with falling trust
there's a crowd at the gate
the smell of satiating sawdust
fills you up

and you make your glorious retreat

to the brink
on the cusp
now just counting down the hours
until your heart returns to dust

Stagnation

I hate this place.

This catholic college preperatory circus

Playing charades

Learning the rules to a game

but never ascertaining its purpose

These are the best years of our lives

Make sure to learn something!

Try every sexual position before you get out of high school

so that when you really start living nothing will ever surprise you

Practice following through on the rest of your drives, too.

Make sure their power matches the accuracy of your putts

Handicap's a five

Still rising

Still...

My rank outreaches the ceiling of the system

And shows me to the cellar door?

It turns out that if you shoot through the ceiling of the basement

you still have to start out with your back against the ground floor

Stagnation...

Goodbye...

Stag Nation

I've arrived

at a crossroads.

Not sure why

I hate this place.

Four years of preparation?

All i really needed was Zamyatin's brand of debilitated imagination

Plus I feel as though I'm paying a price

For what I thought was part of the process

For not fitting in with the "college likeness"

I guess I have a lot to learn

I guess.

Regardless...

the years progress...

still dying

Still...

The Social Price of Freedom

Let me tell you the worst part of being

a flirt, a pervert, a demon...

They converge on you from all sides

They need to see, to feel, to touch this heathen

They need to know that it really is possible to put a face on pure evil

To be able to crush once and for all that pest of free thinking

I think im having apocalyptic visions

That I am forever reading

Like renaissance paintings

Which seem devoid of the oppression

going on in the context of which they were made

Can you understand why I am running away?

The same reason the Earth runs from the sun

In an equidistant arc from whence it rotates

I believe, my tormentors, that we have become codependent in this place

In this courtroom full of Judges when there should really only be one

But I'll still give you all a chance to save face

Over a macrocosmic therapy session that you call your respective religions

The Wanting Man.

Whats the cause of our catharsis?

It seems that art is the best companion to cover my own emotional losses

Behold the beacon.

The majority of its time is spent within various domains of love

and its consequential blissful unrest

but every night it returns to try and solve for an empty set

{no love}

They say the greatest gift is given when the ultimate gift is receiving

However it is the ultimate tragedy that kindness is the gift that keeps giving... back regret.

Its in my nature.

The nature of which

Causes me to wonder when it is this mysterious time will give rise to something greater

When the future will look back at this crater-riddled terrain and say:

This suffering may have been cruel but its effects were clearly self-created

Do you think I'm being pessimistic?

Entitled.

I try to do as I would like to be done onto

Really, I do.

I tell the people I love that I love them as much as I can

even though I've been told that It loses its meaning

But, I implore you to see that this "dead horse" is merely sleeping

I'll say those three words repeatedly

So that maybe if choosing between living or thinking her last thought

She'll somehow think of me

And at least delay the inevitable cleansing of a mind decaying weekly

I say so weakly

Because I almost realized too late

Maybe it was the fog on the mirror that prevented me from seeing this dilemma take shape

Maybe it was the fear of losing you that caused me to half-ass your escape

But now I see, better me losing you metaphorically

Than everyone losing you in reality

If this freaks you out, then fine, run away from me

But run to a place where you can truly be free

Where you can walk through a garden

And feel entitled because it was you who planted those seeds

See? So much outward love-fueled expression.

I guess my inbox must be full or something...

I guess I need to clear some space

But yet again I hear that disembodied female voice say:

"You have no new messages."

Last time.

Go on like you should.
My emotions are going too far
To you I mean nothing but a thought.
When I want to go back to when you cared,
I think of the things I did to get you there
In this moment I am nothing.
A security policy, nothing less
A secondary front, nothing more
You are everything to me,
And for them you'll settle for being a whore.
Well, a critical push is whats in store
Blood roses, Blood roses strewn over the floor!
Why won't you look?
Your conscience will wake.
My pride? Well now there's nothing to take
Fuck you.
Fuck you for being so fake.
This is quite the nightmare,
Will I ever wake?
For each new reality seems to bring a new fate.
And, my dear, it is you who turns love to hate.
I want to disappear.
I'm not getting life,
for life without you is certainly not such
But now that it has been mentioned,
Life without you, now that is a must.

Inferiority Complex

As I walk though this damp field of uncertainty
you watch from the other side not concerned, but interested
The difference is that interest, like most things, will pass
but concern indeed stems from love,
a pest that one cannot be rid of
A pest that I would wish on you in a heartbeat.
For one beat of your heart lies so far beyond my seemingly pathetic reach
yet passes under my nose like a soft summer breeze
Begging for recognition
While trying to keep from giving you time to rethink
whatever it is you see within me.