Eating Glue Because You Told Me Not To

Resilience rises
The yeast in an oven of tragic circumstance
As time cloaks understanding
Like a silent contract
To forget that two parties could easily regress
Unless there was a chance
Revenge wearing shoes marked JUSTICE
Captivates a militaristic fold
And the muted cackles of onlookers
Do little to manifest hope for the hungry
Yet this is our story
And we are the shapers of destiny
Contemplating the tree line
As we walk the marked-out path between
The utter urgency of the unfamiliar
Enough to draw us onward
Blind trust in the polarizing positivity of progress
And certain ideals etched into misplaced manuscripts
Or misanthropic mind's eyes glued to pixelated hypnotics
The only evidence we'll ever need in our vastly unencumbered arrogance
That keeps up with changing rules and keeps us playing the game
Telling ourselves we're innovators
Replacing the cogs of a machine that has outlived its usefulness
Tipping our hats to freedom (if we have the time or energy or inclination)
Yet in that same breath, almost inherently, we decree the worship of the walls
Borders made in devotion of a civilized, post-kingdom empire
The East and West coasts of our minds as closed off
As the South border would be
If we cared enough to follow through
On our threats
But as our enemies know
We are a giant in infamy
Yet infantile and obese
Stinking up our economic diaper
And using the rash as excuse to bash our toy hammer
It being our favorite toy
Against whichever bit of the playground
With which we don't pretend to be friends
On that day anyway
But things change
Or so they say
And revolutionary blood
Still seeps into the corners of our comedy
And our commentary
And our hopes and our dreams
And our leaders will play games with our lives
On the bet that we won't know the difference
Because we are the pit
And they are the pendulum
And the victim is time
But the sad thing is
They're the ones
That got the metaphor wrong

No One Left to Blame

This paint will run and so will you
The walls will dry, forgotten tears
Caught off window sills
Where you sat alone in younger years

And you thought you knew
The writing was far too poetic
It sounds pathetic
But at the time it seemed prophetic

Catch a glimpse of the masquerade
Walk the streets where the walls are made

You can be like them
You can play their games
You can dress the part
But you are not the same
You were meant for more
Much more than a name
And if you can't see that
Well, that's a shame
'Cause there's no one left to blame

We've heard this story since we were born
Replay the slogans in our minds
Hit the road for liberty or
Park your car on the border line

Re: You

And in this lonesome, unresponsive air
My eyes drawn taut by a day unresolved
The vastness of time before and behind
All the wasted attention floods to the breaking
And the only one left standing
Is just as much a part of it

With friends like these...

You play the villain
Dude, she's just using you
I know how this will turn out
What do you mean?
He said that?
Get over it
Oh THAT's your sob story
STOP
C'mon man, we're just joking
And she was like...
i'm tired of this
Grow up!
I can't believe you
But we were supposed to...
How could you...?
I'm your friend, you can trust me
Grow a pair, dude
I'm worried about you
You've changed
That was the worst thing you've ever...
Shut up!
"Fuck you!"
What are you tryin' to say, huh?
>sigh<
*HUG*
I'm sorry
Oh mr. self-righteous
I mean it!
Seriously?
See ya.
What are you talking about?!!!
Yeah, I'll definitely call you
Judgin' everyone
We haven't talked in forever
How are you?
Always complaining
I miss you too!
You wouldn't get it
You kiddin' me?
Stop feeling bad for yourself
That's not what I heard
No, I know you
It's your fault, man
Talk to me
Where'd you go?

An Insufficient Architecture

And our best efforts at permanence
Will all fall under
These crumbling halls of monuments
Our legacy asunder
Time itself the architect
An insufficient architecture

The maps by which we move
From breath to breath
Are drawn on assumptions
And subtle missteps
The sun itself a traveler
Wanders even unto death

When I was a child, I learned first to grasp
Then I learned to hold
Then I learned to count
Then I learned to hold on
Then I learned to miss
But
I never learned how to let go

- .. -- . .. - ... . .-.. ..-. - .... . .- .-. -.-. .... .. - . -.-. - .- -.
.. -. ... ..- ..-. ..-. .. -.-. .. . -. - .- .-. -.-. .... .. - . -.-. - ..- .-. .

wide-eyed wonder

i reached with a weak and shaking arm
i reached down to the old desk
to the old writing desk
covered so with manuscripts and illustrations
and i grasped with calloused and vine-like fingers
skin and bone crawling, yellowed nails
i clutched that wooden mask
as a doll is held by some sickly child
with chipped paint and splintered cuts
that mask
crude and aging
my mask
cracked and stiff
and i placed it
shoved it
scraped it
over my balding skull
like the removal of a bandage
played in reverse
i adorned myself
with the perverse monstrosity
the machination of the false
as if it were new
as if it were mine
an infant face
over my tired eyes
wrapping its leathery embrace
my bobbing head's circumference
latching itself
parasitic
my breathing catching
rasping in and out
gasps as the stench filled my nose and mouth
nostrils burning
aflame with disgust
a flooding at the edges of my eyes
blurry my vision of the whole dark space
i stumbled to the door
finally dressed
set foot into the world
in perfect uniform
"I AM JUST LIKE YOU!" I screamed
but my voice was mumbled
and muted
by my new face
a warmth as the blood dripped
down
and began to drown me
in the monotone crimson
of the world i had joined
a world of waking
a world of waiting
a world of wishes
a world of wide-eyed wonder

a facility of shortcomings

and there you are
the forgotten one
and there you are
the only son

what would it take to bring you back
from all they've left behind

so i'm still waiting, you claim
while you're debating, you whisper to her back
with yourself and only yourself
to blame

and i'm not listening
and i'm not listening
anymore

Intrinsic as the Motive

Intrinsic as the motive
There was breathing in that room
Empty, though it was
Of person or machine
A tension and release
That was the pattern of those painted walls
More sensory like second guessing
Than sight or taste or touch

The door, from outside
Was a challenge just to find it
Once through it, though
The exit became too obvious at once
And almost necessary
As if the room enjoyed
A certain solitary haughtiness
In its own bare and stoic way

The emptiness did not digress
Even upon my entrance
And though all in me called for fleeting
I pressed ignore and put it on 'silent'
My heart itself then raged against me
Speeding in increments aligned with
...what can only be some ticking
Cast by the memory of a foreign time-piece

The room itself contained no clock
No past or future
And my watch had stopped upon entering
Putting my nerves on edge
Like the pages of a mental calendar
Combusting to a soundtrack of heavy breathing
That deep and heavy breathing

It was not processed or helped along
Not pure as mountain air, per say
Or sick like a city tailpipe
Not nicotine'd or hollered out
But simply heavy in its own right
From the chest of some giant
Thought

And in its presence
I held my own breath and listened
Till my pulse slowed
Till my eye-lids rose
And I saw the room
As it always was
As it truly is
As it will always be
For those who pay attention:
Without walls

Grow Into It

Of all the times
That you tried
To remind yourself
Of what you can't find
It has died
And inside this old room
There it lies
Winded sighs
Through the stench of the morning
Your dreams let their last breath
Slip away

And cordial as it seems
These old rules are awaking
The richest of fools
And the wisest of paupers
So wash not the stains
Of their blood from your coffers
And live like a free man
Till your last day

Know where you stand
Know where you fell
These back up plans
Will tie you down deeper
To the suffering soles
On the shoes of the sleeper
Your story now told
With words wont to stain

Take heed then of heroes
Who call you to action
In boxes of industry
Gilded and light
Their ropes on your back
Will drain all your might
While they tell all young children
"Go outside and play

The adults are all speaking
Go outside now and play!"

Summer of '11

in his own singular prison cell
with every single toy
he's locked alone, the empty home
for the empty little boy
with broken strings and needle stings
the sleepless silent corpse
will disappoint the caretakers
but mostly just himself

distinctly yours

we fall down so faceless
erased and replaced with
a counterfeit copy that looks like we made it
but really
it's made us