I'll become

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the creeks and the cracks
in the blackness when you're gone
missed fragments fallen through
I'll be an ice fisher and get them out
and when they float too high
I'll become an astronaut
to keep you from floating away
when the missing pieces become everything
I'll be an artist and put them back together
turn it into something beautiful
send it your way out west
and when you start forgetting,
I'll remember not to be too much
when you start forgetting,
I'll become forgotten.


In my deepest dreams


In my deepest dreams,
It's a dance, you and I,
visions I choke back during the day,
and tell my brain to store away
The facts sit heavy on my chest,
I keep your face and forget the rest
It's April now, almost a year
my world has revolved in it's axis
my world, my world
a tide that never washed away, your tide
while the earth moved, changed, tilted
your tide never learned to retreat
as you tickled under my feet
I dreamt of the day we'd meet
My deepest dreams,
I vision a dance of you and I
And when that year marking came,
your tide joined the ocean once more

Inevitable

In your absence,
nostalgia washes over me like a bad flood,
until I am the only thing contained within
Time undresses, and eternal memory washes
after rain of thought
providing more bittersweet sadness to hide in
more delusional thought, to make me "real"
but what concept proves reality
is different than a somber dream?
a more desirable, untainted version
of who you've come to be
in regards to our dreams, have they sailed away?
have you conquered, or surrendered, with this fate?
which should I stand more afraid?
the truth cuts, digs into a coffin
which I name my Self
causing the pain to seep through,
because finially I have proven
the sweetest, most vivid self completion
can be as deceiving as the lies we've all told


Actually, I'm a tree.
You are a pane of glass,
and when the light is right,
you are my face.
But when the shadows take their throne
I see through to beyond scriptures, timeless beings.
I speak of stories, where I knew myself better
and now you laugh at my constancy to find myself so lost
Does your physical being involve my lips?
Or am I a metaphorical joke, your existence slides past
Open, close, open, close
I get caught in the middle, swelled up, suspended
inside hallow branches, that refuse to grow buds in the spring
Scared they'll fall off in the winter,
disintegrate into their cool ancestor
While you sit on the ground below, picking ladybugs in the grass
The little red wings on your finger tips
My heavy branches now lay on the ground
broken off from my structured core
In hopes I wouldn't grow anymore
The breeze cannot find me in the wind
So low to the ground
But the grass smells sweet and I lay next to
what you have left behind.


The tradgey of a hypocrite
A developed tragedy,
another stance of lack-life meaning, and speaks of romance
It's the moment the camera catches you off guard
And somehow you're trapped in that expression your whole life
If you were given the opportunity, would you seize it?
A train, to wonderland, to hopeless land,
with a gold watch waiting patiently for time to pass
Hypocritical questions, lead to
hypocritical answers,
lacking yes or no
If my naive mind could conjour, more than a sweet sounding
flow
Would you be on the next train out with me?
If my mind didn't spit out words, the stories of chemical reactions
would your body be more prone to hold me?



Cliche Stances
I'm dispensed into a place
of floating accidents and
happy mystery
I've learned question marks
are my new best friend,
because yes's and no's mark places I can't go
And the wind will start to blow
in all the wrong places so a
good time to grow wings, is
now.

My words have been said,
my mind has been read,
nothing I've stated is a statement new,
these feelings I produce are a chemical reaction
any human is prone to.

What strings me a long, is just a machine called life
which has been lived many times before
and the places I've gotten lost in
are well known.

The loves I've shared, the friendships I've gathered
are all a human instinct, for protection,
for home
My footprints have been lost and found
We've all seen this world, upside down.


Unclear

a careless cause is implicated
when the mirror absorbs any meaning
and spits back a tired ghost
any solid can float through air
but air rises higher than any complex machine
the king had lost his throne
and calls the lonely ghost of him to come home
don't you think I'd mention your majesty?
when I was once your cup of tea
a tree held beauty next to his broken cousin
the wave caps in the ocean triple by a dozen
the fog disguises any horizon we may see
I watch intently and let you tumble loosely from me
a ring, a tiny hand, any gentle feeling
falls from our hideout into the sea
along with any hope you promised not to promise me
twisting and turning without oxygen forever
muddy knees, fleshy heart
what once sewn me together, detaches and sews me right apart





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