ripping through the wind

she wore on me like a failure. i saw every let down beaming through her eyes. her skepticism of me poorly shrouded in her politeness. friendly. semi interested. she played my part oh so well. she looked much better doing so as well. refined and proper. i felt held and restricted. eeking glimpses of my inner sefl in and and out and in between my words. her focused off center. made me feel like a formality. merely made me hope to impress her more. she budged not an inch. wrapped me up, took a look, and flung me south. i felt it slip in slow motion. how did i lose power? control? it's usually all mine. the setting? formality? i don't know. it blurred to a fuzz from there. i was so outside of myself, no wonder she thought me uninteresting. i barely knew her and i counldnt stand losing the potential spot in her mind. it drove me mad and as i contemplated this sailing through cool wet air, i suddenly slammed deep into the earth, feeling the ground shutter back against me. it was over. a mix of confusion and pain shot through me as all the failures of my past added megatons of pull to the gravity of never falling in love. never even tasting it again. not even pulling up a vibrant glimpse of its pefect blue pedals and unearthly yellow stem. crashing miles away and just feeling its existence. it wasn't her. but it was. she was hardened. i saw me in her. hopeful but doubtful. she'd been hurt before. badly. and i, well, i don't know why it's hurt me so badly...

ghosts to life

was looking over endless fields. alone, but not by myself. my mind swirled with mists and kissed snapshots. you were there. you always have been. the you and my mind refuses to walk away. but that you has changed. to help me. to turn its cold sharpness a warm caress once again. almost like a hope. i wonder if i can feel you. if it's the real you. if the capacities of my mind are so strong, so keen. why can't they be. why can't our words slice through time and space. land as emotion, purer than dialect, embodied and beckoning. a translation, a hope. you come to me like a ghost. wrapped in hope and fear. cold and distant. lovely and beautiful. out of reach. uncontrollable. inexplicable. brilliantly adorned in you very best beauty. your mouth never moves but your heart does. i wonder if you've been taken over. your face has aged and the way you move,... your voice. your words. you're new

trails

for those of you without a spine i'm tired of you hanging on to mine. walk behind me; i question your committment. ride on me; i question your heart. walk beside me; prove to me i can love again

standing still with the dead

my cold feet hurriedly slap the cool ground. the moon has crested and beams light over acres of ripe harvest. all the fruits of labor. toil. worry. pain. and my back glows with pale light and shaded by husked shadows. the crisp air sinks into my lungs, an icy invasion. pumping in and out of my chest. my muscles burn with acid and my mouth breaks into a smile that explodes across my body like a long forgotten mine. unexpectedly overtaking. it all far behind. i think this is the beauty of control. knowing you escaped the pain cause you lit the match. the infinite game i play against...well... something about beating em to the punch. it's better to have loved and lost as long as you're quite comfortable with losing your damn mind as well. that's all these trees, whipping by, that's all they say. stuck. as fast as i go, my victories are hollow cause my enemy is me and i'm so deeply rooted in myself i can't shake your dirt and my mud free. i'm standing still with the dead.

Could write a summer sun set serenade. worthy of an angel's breath and bellow. the most beautiful combination of words and sounds ever released from the mind of man.

Radicals

it's like pure fucking fire and it's all i feel. like the trigger and ignition push it in and the chemicals are boomed. that's this. yeah now. i could rip their world apart and laugh in its misery. burn down buildings and slash tires. just to send a message. i can't even stand this bullshit. broken windows in the wake of my glory and a message of radicalism for those who think the left is docile and weak. i look up to the Lenin's and the Che's and the Castro's. the ones who said "your days of plenty are numbered" and nailed each letter in thick. stuck in hard and burrowed it deep. saying "no more bullshit." "We'll take it from here." Like a knife, I hope they feel every snag and rip cause ain't no blade sharp enough to cut you down quick and clean