a common ground

I run to you when my heart is scared

I hide when my mind is cold

I miss the air when I can't breathe

I hate the way it feels on my skin

I am an open book

Far too graphic 

not enough pictures

I count the miles in a memory

I laugh at the thought of time

I long for salvation

I am at my worst unkind

I am an open book

Dog eared pages

hard on the spine

I fall bastardly in love with life

I hurt inside

I want and want and need to want

I stay inside

I am an open book

Sleeveless, untitled

resting on a shelf 

I am my mothers eyes

I am my fathers worried mind

I am a savage heart

I am all shapes of life and death

I am an open book

A smell that fills your belly

a sentence read again

a sentence read again.

What The Mirror Reflects (Page 2)

A thought arrives in the form of realization.

There is no truth to be found in an "unrelated Incident"

She was barefoot, dancing in the morning light breaking through the old window shade. Turning, shaking, free of all doubt, They would all be judged against this moment. I knew it then, even as it was happening, a rare moment of clarity for a thoughtful mind. I think I wanted to keep her there, forever frozen in time. She became a sculpture living under glass, preserved but out of reach.

I thought of Her as I stood outside her window waiting for something to happen, knowing full well that nothing would. They can not all give you what you need. Nothing is as freeing or dammed as knowing. 

Existence is now your favorite song passing by in a car driven by someone you will never experience, someone you will never know… unless you shop at the same supermarket. 

I miss all of what I couldn't see in the moment between the past and future of a memory. During the time in which it was "happening" I was thinking of myself, weren't you? There were never any roads, or forks to give the illusion of choice. A train grinding on it's track does not stop to enjoy the scenery.

Four Hundred & Twenty Push-ups

There is a certain underhandedness to all of this life.

Each one of us goes in with an ace up our sleeves,

detailed files

the skinny… on ourselves.

In quiet moments We find it easy to think and hard to be ashamed. 

If a frustrated man sits alone in a room and kills himself does Baby wake up from a dream in which she was an ant?

We are crippled by the most inward of things, Fear at the forefront , Vanity close behind… Doubt bringing up the rear

Slow and steady… The Tortoise.

We need so much approval from the others while pretending not to care.

While long glances are shared, meaning more than books, movies or fashion trends. 

Looking out the window there is a nature sitting about

above us

in spite of us

It's life attempting to remind us to stay alive

We will not control the ending and keep our dignity intact.

Trust.

A third eye and two thumbs should straighten us out.