Gazing into the endless expanse of space,

Searching forever for my place.

Seeking familiarity in mirrors, or in my face.

Still my own stranger, can't find a trace.

Somewhere; here, I used to be,

and where I've gone I cannot see.

It's drearier, darker than I recall,

trapped inside my pitch-black skull.

Moan and bitch, won't scratch the itch.

Need the change, fear the switch,

cuz I've swung and missed

On every pitch.

Nervous Energies

Static radio in my chest,

these familiar senses,

Heightened, frightened.

Being tightened; tenses.

All worn like a vest.

Vexed, perplexed,

More closely; hexed

Racing mind at midnight,

Thinking thoughts tirelessly,

Endlessly of entropy.

All comfort, except blight.

Worries, wanton woes

Woken by imaginary foes.

Problems all unsolvable,

While anything seems probable

A thought becomes awful possibilities, ricocheting.

Every scenario, endlessly analyzed. Constant debating,

Creating a cycle of decaying reason,

Grating a brain which is committing treason.

Anxiety defying me, supplying me with tricks.

Quietly sobriety subsides from me, slowly it slips.

Worsening the sitch, tonguing at the stitch.

Nervous energies really are a bitch.

Toxic Cities of Ill Repute

A sunrising through polluting chemicals.

Feral dogs giving puppy dog eyes of sadness and love.

Bombs bursting between wing beats of a dove.

The kindnesses of civilians living in among soulless architecture.

These toxic cities of ill repute that grow faster and more dense

Than any jungle or forest ever had the sense to.

Supplying less of life and humanity to their starving populations,

while these gods of wealth and woe hold hallowed congregations.

Idolizing themselves to themselves and spoon-feeding their ideals

to a population who don't know, won't know, how it feels.

How it feels to be well off, comfortable and calm;

All of earth bought and placed by those lesser in their palm.

While the seas raging and the fires blazing.

While the ground cracks and creaks, and the air chokes our speech.

All in their toxic cities of ill repute.

Remember think immortal,

while most think immoral.

Eternity wrapped in an eggshell.

Cracked open and consumed,

eternal farewell.

What Is Sexy?

You; that exquisite individual. 

Highly metaphysical, a question of the mind,

Rather more about what’s inside? 

Where can I find the meaning,

The description of what I’m seeing,

Even when you’re out of sight?

Sexy is what you do right.

Your clenched fist when you have to fight,

Or a gentle kiss on pained lips.

Sometimes it’s the tongue you bite,

Despite your habit of expressing your thoughts

You also have the insight to see

They’ve already had a cold, hard night. 

They’ll apologize in daylight, and

You’ve been there too.

Sexy is not listening when that ass tells you to shut up,

That ad tells you about your big butt, 

or ANYONE dares call you a slut.

You’ve got enough voices 

Reminding you of choices,

But you stand satisfied

With modest pride of the life you live.

You’re more than sexy. 

You are seductive, and desirable,

Astonishing and admirable.

You don’t give a damn about a single thing seen in the magazines

Because when you smile, it’s with every fiber of your being.

And you cry from a soul that’s bleeding.

You never think about how others are seeing you,

You are not here for them.  

Your ends will justify the means to your methods.

You are respected because you respect yourself,

You care like no one else, but still protect yourself.

At times a little too much, you can be hard to touch, 

But you’re never out of reach for someone drowning 

Off this beach of a life. 

You mend miseries, offer sympathies,

Yet never ask for symphonies dedicated 

To the things you do for others. 

You’re humble, but you have troubles too. 

We all do. 

Why are you sexy?

I appreciate you.

Zeros and Ones

This world runs on ones and zeroes, 

Decorated by smoke n' mirrors,

Mirrors; reflecting the hopes and fears.

Smoke; that’s the obstacles, the obstruction.

The tools used by self-destruction.

A reminder; this body is mine,

This temple is built just fine.

But all construction ends in due time.

At the number we expire

So for the moment I do what I damn well want, please or desire.

Cause I love to play with fire.

Know nothing that gets me higher.

It's not even the way it looks or dances,

I'm possessed by the touch, that feel,

The heat of chances, the burn of bad luck

And

The blisters that remind me that I heal. 

He said that’s what people do, 

We go off, on, off, on until the end of infinity,

Just like the two digits repeating. 

Zero and one, whole and none. 

Told me binary defined entirety 

But numbers don’t reside inside of me.

Like anyone else I’ve just got the message, the virus, the word

It’s been spoken, spat and spun

Rarely is it caught, got or heard. 

But I figured out why, he said figures fill up the skies

When I looked up and why did I spy with my little eye?

 Each night I see less star light

I remembered;

Stars light, Stars bright, first star I see tonight,

I wish I may I wish I might

Have the wish I wished that night,

The will to fight, the means to win

Give me childhood all over again,

So I can make the same mistakes twice,

Given the chance I’d make ‘em a third and a forth

Every time I scratch I increase in worth.

Though only given one birth,

One chance to play with flames like they’re stars ablaze

Before zero; the end of time,

Even the magic held by that nursery rhyme

Cant match the reason, time presses on and

That moment between is all we’re given

And at some points you’ll think you’re doing it wrong, 

Listen when I say carry on. 

Because even if the world can be represented 

by the two numbers he presented,

Time spent playing with fire is never regretted

You don’t forget it.

Her



When she entered the room, it was the same way a song gets stuck in your head.

Dressed like a new born nebula, blooming from a blossom few saw flourish.

She wore a gown the hue of Heart-Break and Deepest Desire.

It looked a lot like Comfortable Misery.

The same Comfortable Misery she slid over her skin, day out, day in.

But the rhythm to which she moved was Romance.

She looked like every valentine card ever bought but never sent, lost chance.

She never had a secret admirer, only the secrets.

Never sent is never seen but if you could’ve known what it would've been if she'd been able to dance barefoot without stepping on shards of her broken heart.

Each piece a jagged reminder of another side-winder hidden in the sands of days gone by.

She promised herself just one night she wont cry, one night that she'll close her eyes and finally realize

She is beautiful.

Realize that she's spinning to the music played by Dreams and dancing in the darkness of Destiny is all she’ll ever need.

If she slow danced to one more moment, she can preserve it, hold it,

until the times when she forgets how much she meant to me.

She'll remember the song, and the grace, bringing her back to this time and place

where she wears her features and flaws like medals and scars.

Some she'll tell you about while she weaves her words 'round you, holding you close in a story that makes you want to rewrite your own tale;

Triumph or fail.

Others, she wont tell.

The memory itself hurts like hell, so if just the thought of sharing is scaring her to the bone.

You’ll never hear about the girl you’ve never known.

She doesnt want to dance alone.

But that’s all there is,

a tiny dance floor called Life to call her own.

Nothing less and nothing more,

So she makes her hips sway,

Taking your eyes away from Ideas to Feelings,

She’s erratic, not ****** in her motion,

She makes Love feel like a puddle compared to an ocean.

And she just doesn’t want to dance alone anymore,

Yet she’s left like tears again on a cold stone floor

In the dark basement she calls existence.

And in this instance, she needs to see sunlight,

to see a sun that’s up at dawn every day and only dims at dusk,

Because for all things rest is a must.

So for a few quick steps we tripped the light fantastic,

and she did not dance alone.

She had a throne fit for the queen she is,

She was held through the night while tears trailed down her cheeks,

While she said that she never wanted to weep,

Because it made her feel so weak.

It’s like the tears trickled from her soul,

Draining her before her story had ever been told,

Before her flesh grew old and her hairs turned grey,

Before she felt she’d truly really had a good day.

But then she smiled,

And she said so sweetly that,

No matter how neatly she’d try to put the world into white and black,

She always had that one strange night she could come back, where her confusion calmed

To little more than a breeze she felt tickle across her heart.

And all it took was that one

slow

dance

That kept her world from falling apart.

The Skinwalkers.

These stalkers, the walkers. Just out of sight. The shadows that I keep calling tricks of the light. The familiar faces, I keep seeing in crowds. The familiar noises as it all gets to loud. The feeling of calm as the storm cracks and it swells. The warmth of the fire as it's just nearing of hells. A sinking into my skin, A feeling unknown, which I keep giving in. The Face in the mirror smiling so slightly at the deception they give me, night after night. He knows who I might be, even if different just ever so slightly...The Skinwalkers song, a pleaseant ol' mealody...

I don't know where I'm going, but I sure know where I've been. Hanging on the promises and songs of yesterday, I made up my mind. I ain't wasting no more time. I like to draw, write and generally just imagine. This is what's roaming my mind, this is what I can show you at least. Thanks