Autobiography

I'm no lover like you've known, i won't hang on words by phone
I'm the winged and the wandering and the walking on my own
I'm the mocker of the minds, the talker of the times
the singer of the songs i write in moments of divine
invigorating ecstasy, or captivating fantasy
or simply in the seconds i spend captured in ascendancy
This seamstress seems to stress the seams of the fabric of design
The pull of truth from the lull of youth that keeps us intertwined.
Bending rules, spent with fools, I hear but can't expire
Spinning spools of sinnings, who knows what i've conspired.
Seeking light in light of dark, sparkling sights which I embark
Petals pulled, though love-me-not, the scent is gone and you forgot
Feathers drop, a sad reminder, she's long gone... you'll never find her
I'm the river, a journey to sea, forever learning...epitoMe.

Lookin' up to the sun, what's begun, it's no beginning,
I'm seeing you're light eyes, no surprise, we're spinning
through the blades of grass as they brush our skin and we

Ego

Poor baby, you're waking; while this lady sits faking
sweet emotions in your direction, your reflection is grating
like the shrill sound of drilling, but still never filling emptiness
how silly is your willingness to toss aside fulfilling bliss
under the muse of some loose fuse that catches accidentally
and reduces you to a more useless you, incidentally
the words that you speak are curiously weak and seem
to lose their mystique once I realize how paralyzed
you've become. And i feel dumb. Bt no longe numb
and unfeeling i've spent my time grieving, then some
and i've let the lies you spoke in tongues, roll off my back
and burn in the sun. Speak in your language, your words
are your false reflection and I hope my inflection of your
deep-seeded deception will take hold and some conception
of your self-fulfilling loneliness, your unwilling parsimonious
attempt at restitution. I hope you're content with soulless destitution,
it was your resolution.

Chagrin

Oh pitfall, you untidy thing. You're like riding the wing of a bird that's not wary, like a glove that's just tearing. I can't get my bearings cause i'm threatened by impending ground, I'm lost but i'm swearing still, no one's around. And I made it that way, as protection, as deflection from the problems persisting while i'm wishing they'd disappear. It's like fishing for tears. When they come, they come, and there's no going back. But the fight til you get there is a demon to crack. I can't jump cause the rope i've tied isn't taut, and I can't poison my breath with speak of these thoughts, though I try and I wish and I hope for one day, some way to remember, to dismember the frays of the body i've envisioned as perfect, yet remission has smirked and sold me the truth. No youth can survive, now we're going live, how dare you strive to find peace in this world, the dustdevils swirl and lust levels girls to that of an image on paper, some tapering wafer of a vision of beauty, persicion is cruelty. But it all comes down to one thing. One thought, some already ought to know that these seeds that we sow, well they sometimes grow, poor fruit and poor grain, like the roots are remains of healthy stems from the rain. But no more. No again. Not me, now, my friend. Can't you see how this sin has erased my grin has diplaced me, chagrin. Waterfall from freckled mountains, flow freely, unweilding, oh poor heckled fountains.