i wonder if empty has always
felt like an ocean of water
still, lacking a single wave?

have i always had the ability to
(one day, when the quarter had
fallen, heads up, not guessed)
be sullen-faced and broken-tongued?

am I like a million caterpillars
struggling up a deep green bush
retiring from life to gamble for more?

i'd ask Amata like I always have
she's always held my hand from
stove tops, and other bad ideas
but she was a foster-lover and
as such, counted her days till
she could cash them
in for an exchange.

there's no morals and no stories
no happy ending no surprises
no smiles and no meaning
if you can stop one thing--

--stop fucking dreaming.

The grass is climbing
against all timing
that I could observe
or study
or see through the muddy
situations  so "bloody"
my English friends would so jest. (hahahahaha so jest=suggest. hahahahaha fucking awesome)

Repetition in three's and fours
making art into dismal chores
of counting syllables, and the
length of lines, like shores
that tease the bare footed
and sexed teens out past
curfew.curfew.curfew.

It's a trend that we follow
and the dignity we swallow
for fear of standing out alone
for fear of breaking stride alone
for fear of anything, alone.

the grass that I mention is not
in anyways to ever be caught
in uniform shape, color or
towering triumphantly
from the decomposed
(too many yesterdays)

So my young friends please continue
down the carbon-copy venue
where a million small minds subscribe
and copy and paste with such allegiance
I swear I've seen their flag before...

you can have a sense of fervor
(the kind that produces products
limited only by it's reactants)
about anything in this world.

have it about the children
who trust such broken people
to make them into stupendous
exceptions to the common rule:

students learn half of what they're taught
students teach half of what they learn

have it about the peace in nature
as it sits awaiting death
by human hands
that it gave
life.

have it about anything you want
pick it before you unveil my eyes.
let it be truthful. let my eyes stain
with drops of pain that mimic rain.

all jargon aside, simplicity made
"not you" is all I'd hear you say.

it's funny, isn't it?

how you found yourself
amongst my shelf and
the book I wouldn't pick?
eclecticism at it's finest.

moments passed when my mind fell
empty like your skull,your destiny
nourishing your e-go by not lettiiin-go.

people have seen me and that bookshelf
like my thoughts were on display
engulfing anybody who dared to look
at my costumes of hate and dread
sinking into my every sunken cavity
encapsulating my terror.

did you really think you found a home?
in a mind that's not your own?
even a slice of ham would be better placed.

I seem to cut with swords
that shiver inside your belly
afraid you're made of stone
afraid that they've forgotten
how to make one thing two.

You say my hands are ambiguous
untying what the other has tied
but my dubious hands are certain
that one more foul will fix the tie.

I'd never let you down.
I'd never break my word.
I'd keep you where you are.

I'll get to the bases
of diamonds you traced
when you were playing ball
(with me as your bat.)

I'd pick you from the ground
and plant you in a field
where sunflowers try together
to bloom as nice as you.

I'd kiss you when you screamed
and punched the air at me
I'd hold you till your hate
lost it's will to breathe.

It's true that I'd do these things
if I could micromanage
me.

love's just aw(e)ful.

it's dark and cold
wherever you are
and nothing I say
will take that away.

all of us work in harmony
like pieces of a clock
the hand tries to stop
it's ticks and tocks
but finds out it's fate
is to change the date.

Sometimes you can't hold on
not because you don't want to
but because you're not supposed to.
am I to hold you back
from being happy?
I can't remember your laughter
I can't remember your smile.

it's so easy to question
how forever became so short
and the easy questions
warrant easy answers

"carefully."

New pics posted to my photos. Of the epic reading of one of nogray's poem.................


but my brother got butthurt and washed his stuff off after all my hard work because he was a douchebag and didn't want to let me use his toy guitar. because he said "it'll look weird"...since he OBVIOUSLY didn't already look weird AT ALL.


idiot.

Anyways, check 'em out~ they're uploading!

I assure you I am indeed alive.

I am going to be doing a video or recording of a friend's poem. It's going to be nothing short of epic. But of course, you knew that, right? I wouldn't let y'all down.



hahahahahahahaha
it will be my "hey i'm alive" thing.

But I am leaving town for a month in about four days, so it needs to be done soon?

I cut you down
so thin,
you mesh with ground
slip in,
groaning your sounds.

I never meant to be
such a broken record.
When the needle sticks
itself into my ridges?
My harmony's all off.

I'd choke any words
you wanted to hear.
That's why I'm scared
of myself, my dear.

When I'm livid,
my waters cloud.
So thick with pride,
poisoned with hurt,
tinged with uncertainty,
and all I am is a blur to me.

You can't see the fish
frolicking amongst the waves
that send weightless pebbles
whirling through my river.

I'm murky and polluted
with my own aggravation
so all my emotions are pinched
and my own words betray
like "fuck" and "I don't care"
always seeming so absurd
painted on your heart.

I swear to you, on all my air
and every bone that builds me
if I could stop the quiver in my throat
I'd promise forever to you,
I'd drop my pride and to my knees--
--I'd make my stance for God, for good,
groveling, as I know I should,
for all the times my record skipped
and my waters became so stagnant
so riddled with disease and death
that you swore you'd keep
your offspring safe from.

But my throat won't stop swelling
and the chords are dancing, still.
I know what you need from me,
and if I could--if I had the will,
it would be yours in every color.