Feelings

You have no etiquette
No frown lines
And no tears
Streaming down
Your
Beautiful
Face.

I hear
The inside of
Your lungs
And they're screaming
To be left alone,
To let go,
To escape.

I see
The first
smile line
Being born
On the face
Of a newborn child.

I smell
Unwashed bodies
Crammed into a box
On wheels, turning around
Along infinite roads
Of desire and destination.

I feel
The tips of your
Learned fingertips
Tracing down
And twirling around
The crevasses
Of my empty hands.

I speak,
Or at least I try.
I cannot speak,
All I can do is move
An inch farther away
From familiarity.

Childhood

And your lips whispered "don't move, please..."
Do you have etiquette?
No, I definitely do not.
Knots and ties, and everyone dies.
Someday, someday?
I don't remember, I can't seem to find it.
It's not like we were innocent,
But we were never bad.
Only the best of bad, and we never slowed down.

Flutter down between my lips, rest there a while
And utter what I had meant to said.
I hear him out there,
I hear him crying,
"It wasn't lost, it was always there.
Why couldn't you see it?
Where did you go?"

I still recall the days of our youth:
Two months ago, fresh and anew,
Flickering again, as if it were only yesterday
That our lips first touched,
That our fingertips traced each other's outlines.

You thought that everyone had the ability
to be a superhero.
And I replied that the only superhero I needed
Was right in front of me.

The crazy little children inside of us
Snickered and giggled away
As they toyed with our emotions
And pulled away at our souls.

Nobody ever fully grows up inside,
Something always remains there,
A child version of us,
Doing something stupid
For our very own sake.

So, child, carry me around,
And I promise to never tell anyone
About the feelings
You once made me show.

Microcosm

There's an old man sitting over there,
Playing his heart out on an antiquated accordion,
Retracing the path of his past with his calloused hands
And softening the hearts of many with his tales of hardship.

There's an old lady, on a bench with a blanket,
Muttering small nothings to the shadows that surround her,
Hoping for company, but dreading it as well.
She hums along to the accordion that's been playing in her head.

There's a litre boy tugging at the bottom of a man's shirt

Wavering lips, begging frightened eyes.
I would say he wants to be picked up,
And be propped onto his fathers shoulders,
As he used to do before that winter came.

There's a seventeen year old girl
Standing in the middle of the crossroads
With a backpack hunched on her back
Her tights are ripped, and her makeup is smudged
But her hair remains perfect, glistening in the rain.

There are pieces of dreams scattered down the streets,
Where alleyways conceal nonsense-driven nightmares,
Where the memories of the past mingle with the perceptions of the present.
Where a bookstore on the corner of two forgotten streets
Holds every dusty image anyone has ever laid eyes on.

Pass The Skins

A man resting by the tree,
in the darkness of the shadows and the moon.
A silent rendezvous.
The beat of the bass runs deep
And the lake reflects
the image of two forbidden lovers.
Cigarettes burn through the heart faster.

Deeply dosed and involved
Were we, weren't we, we were.
Highly incandescent icebergs,
Inflammable hearts and forgotten souls.
Homes of the homeless,
Mansions of sinful temptations.
Rolling hard and tumbling slow,
Tired minds breed restless hearts.
We had a supernova between our finger tips.
Jokester of the monarchs,
Guru of the spirits,
Empty spaces and full moons.
There's a naked lady in my swimming pool,
I think she's getting high
Off of her own loneliness...

Sweet sweet child you will be dead soon

The Undoing

Unlock my limits
Uncage my mind
Undo my wrappings
Unwind my heart.
Understand my smile
Underline my meanings
Unbalance my emotions.
Untie my knots
And strip me down.

The idea that we have in our heads, the notion that we've always held: Turned around and switched over.

Oh for fucks sake, what do I have to do ?
The answer is always nothing.
But anxiety gets the best of me
And the need for nothing
Turns into a desire for something.

Ugly spaces
Rotten cores
Dire Destruction
Perhaps life.

I have them too you know?
Non chalantness can only pretend for so long
I have them too
And they're dying to come out
Dying to live.
I think it is somewhat dire
That you had to try to die in order to live.

No one asked for this,
Who would have?
All the internal scrunch
And the mental fuck.
Nobody thought that a feeling
That was meant to mean happiness
In turn would bring bitterness;
A bitterness that clings onto you like a
Leech.

The answer, the means to an end,
Is to pretend.
Feign your smiles
Because no one wants to know
That that constant smile
Can often times be broken;
It is better for them to think
Of eternal sunshine.
than of changing skies.

There's An Old Man...

There's an old man
Sitting beside the shadows
Of his two children.

The children he lost track of,
The children he was snatched away from.

With a blank expression on
His phantom-like face,
He can't fathom
Where he left his keys
Or his home-made accordion.

Where was all the wood
That sculpted his hands,
That in turn
he sculpted with his hands?

Why weren't they talking?
And why are they so young?


They look about ten,
When did the last forty years fly by?

He hums a silent tune
And plays an accordion
Without using any hands.

Did he make the wrong choices?
He feels a nod one each side.


Did he left himself go?
They're nodding.
Why won't they speak?

Inside his head, it was
Always him and his workshop
Him and his music

Him and his accordion
Him and himself.
Maybe being here wasn't too bad
At least it seemed


Like he wasn't alone.
He'd been alone for too long.