long warns.

I sat down with my anger

and folded a paper bird that

tightens and contracts,

folding into itself,

as it shrinks and becomes a

dense compacted ball

it turns WHITE

white as light

as the

white

in

the

eyes

of a

black

s

p

a

c

e

s i tt i ng,

waiting,

in a huge, cavernous room

with no light.

except the white

eyes

as white

as the

white

in the

eyes

of a

white

eye

in space

oh WAIT

those are stars

on your scars,

that stretch in every direction

as far

as those white

eyes

percieve.

are you being? or have you been,

sitting, waiting,

MY eyes are open, comepletely unaware of my surroundings.

have you found me?

Suddenly a bolt sears the skyline

it's my line

my white stars

shining eyes

searing scars across

s p a c e

here's the place!

you shouted pointing in each direction

there's nothing but

light on the horizon

the sun

and the moon

are

harmonies, out of tune

coming soon!

i shout back but my words only crack on the surface

of

mirrored reflections

perceptions

just another horizon

of stars

bright blinding stars

bleeding their light

on your faces

as traces of

the dust thats in s p a c e s

of floorboards

floating orb

wards in

floor

boards

what you find

life or lime

in the morgue mores

more's more

and there's

more

where you left it it's

right there on the floor

in the dust

makes up

space - es,

and stars,

make up face- es.

spaces?

april showers bring may flowers

with lips made of copper

and hips slick with sneers,

i slide over to stop her

and to sharpen her ears;

"watch the wire,"

I tell her, with

contempt in my throat-

"hell desires,"

I tell her,

as I put on my coat.

Shining pewter

just rusted

just...almost adjusted

adjacent lines of tin windchimes,

and of nickels once trusted

sat rotting, us watching,

as she she picked up her old metals

and, licking her lips,

picked them off just like petals,

for each one she plucked, and each one she plundered

you could hear it rain down,

roar and rattle and thunder,

and that's why do this day,

when it rains silver grey

you can hear her her old swallows,

you can watch her mouth say

pittle pattle, young girl,

pittle pattle, tin tin-

smell the moist, metal air,

feel the rain on your skin.

truth is good, and good is truth.

1) I give up. I GIVE UP. I give up trying to be something I’m not, something I don’t want to be, I give up trying to change something that is not up to me to change. I give up being empty, being void of emotions, of not looking people in the eyes, of not living in every moment. I give up lies. I give up cover-ups. I give up uncomfortable moments. I give up not being myself. If I want to be quiet, I want to be quiet. If I want to tell the truth, I want to tell the truth. If I don’t have anything to say, I give up not saying anything.

I give up GIVING UP. I give up not noticing the small things; I give up being ignorant. I give up my weaknesses and my insecurities and my negative thoughts and my judgments.

I WILL NOT, however, give up loving. Everything. Everyone. I will not give up my hope: my faith, my ambition. I will not give up my smiles, my seconds to past, my future to chance. I do not give up friendships. I do not give up on others. I will not give up what I am, who I am, or what I believe in. I will give you my artwork. I will also give you presents. I won’t give up giving. I won’t give up living. I will never ever not in a million years give up what you think I am about to give up. Because whatever you give up has to eventually come back down. So, in conclusion, I am.

2) .... ... there are two different types of people in this world. (but not only two)

people who do what they are SUPPOSED TO, and people who do what they WANT.

What's the difference, you ask? the people that do what they want end up being happy. The people who do what they are supposed to might have more money, might be more successful, hell, might even have direction and principles and ethics and schedules and parties and morals

but the people who do what they WANT know themselves. find their purpose. give what they can to the world- and hope it's enough. they listen to their soul, and do what they're passionate about.

Being yourself is different from being an 'individual'. You don't have to try to be unique if you know who you are. It comes naturally if you just listen to yourself.

most of the time, intuition is a lot more prolific and fulfilling than logic.

and if your neither of these people, and your not anything else either, and you're lost, a good place to start is to find those things that make you smile. Not on the outside, but on the inside. And do that. For the rest of your life. because you are the maker of your life, of the way you live. so why not be happy, if it's all up to you anyway?

that is all.

nothing here but shadows

the time is gone, is woven

into fabric, laced

into faces

that smile upon the glistening reflections

of shadows, rolling along, along,

to other places;

are our lives important?

are we, too, among the living dead?

or are we merely traces

of lasts night's dream,

of tomorrow and tomorrow's midnight bed

the tears we shed,

elixers, too, of skies smeared, blackened

with those glassy reflections,

obsidian, cracked, and shattered and

strewn

onto our perceptions,

we call it night;

they call it day.

"hooray, hooray!" celebrate while you're young

run around; innocence weaves silken string we've all strung

about our necks into patterns, into notes that we've sung

to ourselves and to others,

to all those that would listen

i thank you, sincerely,

and hope that you're quite smitten.

FUCK

all of this business is stressin me out. please disregard everything i have ever said.

You know, i should probably be doing something else.

come on skinny

jeans, beans, and crepuscular schemes,

let me back in to where i was

before, I got kicked out, no,

shoved out the door...

I fight and fight and fight with you,

red numbers and letters

and silent "fuck you's"

well, hey, who knew,

who could possibly tell me

that you were a fool.

all this time that i spent,

building houses of nothings,

well i guess it makes sense

that we went without trusting

each other, ourselves,

and my small, skinny dreams,

made of silvery shadows and once-purple moon beams

but thats gone, actually, it was never there to begin

and of course i'm upset, made a fool yet again

by my own thoughts, my own deeds,

guess i betrayed myself;

i thought it would fix things, i thought it might help

but now i'm stuck writing songs about two fools

on some shelf -

ish

shell fish

sell this, you piece of shit

no i'm kidding, no i'm not,

i don't mean what i say,

because if i say one thing at once

it'll change the next day

so here, here it is, for your eyes

almond eyes (if you see this at all)

i love you you fool, and i did all along;

there i said it, again, maybe this time

it'll sink

into your stomach, let it churn,

make you think

if it doesn't, thats fine, its not like this is news

i'll move on, give it time, and i might forget you

but for now, just consider, what i've laid on the table,

get up off your ass, kiss me back if you're able,

just because you've got balls doesn't mean that you're braver

than me, than he, than she, than that tree,

now i just talking nonsense

not writing poetry

so i'm gone, yeah i'm done, this has gone on too long,

these two stupid fools,

and this long, made up song.