Friday, June 8, 2012

Our specialties try ring through their ears,
only to ring out tuneless spiels.
No guarantee of epitome, we all lack our own distinctions.
Distinct in the way people recognize difference.
Different in the way no one recognizes our own distinctions.

And What specialties lay waste to those untrained eyes,
the untrained eyes who gaze blankly at a blank slate,
gazing, never phazed, by what could lie in plain sight,
like gazing at a white page laced with white intricate designs;
invisible to even the most accurate eye.

What is to become of someone who stays out of the light,
who screams silence, and sings in dreams;
When all else is out of sight,
no one seeks something that no one can see.

Monday, June 4, 2012


Wish sleep would put an end to these thoughts; such hideous revelations keep creeping up.
Not sure if I should think them through,
because every time I do the thought of you becomes less appealing;
less pure.
For six whole hours the same thought holds the foreground,
with such flabbergasted reaction has completely been shadowed,
by the potential evil thoughts of one so close that seems to have been mastered.
Such thought goes into such a flow,
repetition of words I wouldn't even think of.
The only way I can stop thinking about them is if I start writing my own,
words over and over, that never touch the surface,
of the evil, no words can describe it.
So hour after hour these words will have to surface,
because the thoughts that seem to scar right above my eyes need to be flooded.
Drowned in a sea darker than the thought is,
disbelief makes me keep repeating what I'm trying to write over...
My train of thought keeps skipping to the record that keeps repeating,
over, and over.. and over, and over...

Friday, March 2, 2012


The fragments of a glitch in the system
just as the switch turns off
we start to see things,
as the lag keeps us locked up in a million moments,
surrounded by notions of colours and faces
an elaborate detailed description
of that fleeting second..
derive by and relate to everything
degrees of separation all link up
then dissipate sensationally,
split into a million circles,
that create tiny intricate patterns
that fill the pattern on your carpet
that you once again you stand on
and then you've come back to square one
a step within a step in which a step has been placed on?
It's like the egg and the chicken,
but before that there's nothing,
and nothing never means that nothing has ever presupposed something,
and to get nothing you must destroy something,
and then that's only presently non-existent
pre-existent to the future
and the things that will fill up the spaces in between it.
And whats left when you stop filling your head with everything but fear,
and the silence is just an echo of scattered thoughts that were never cleared
no closure to the exposure of experience that you've questioned
questions you're too small to even decipher,
when words float to the top of a deep ocean of thought
derived from a sense of something, yet nothing.
Just formulated noise a person taught you,
and you look to the sky and there's no language comprehensible
enough for me to understand.
So i gawk and gawk and get fat with awe,
dribbling like an idiot stuck to the ground,
where arm span mocks the petty form it's stuck on,
terrifying stars mocking the safety of a bed,
in the crevasse of the universe, hanging in mid air.
trying to think in my mind,
what it would be like, if my brain was projected into the stars,
how little it would match up.
The brain waves and thoughts crashing in my head ,
don't even register a million miles in the air.
Being so nonthreatening against the expanse,
yet seeming so unbelievably massive.