In The Eyes Of The Blind

i no longer am
allowed to have emotions

only symptoms

not seen as a person

only a victim

of circumstance
caught in a gothic romance
handicapped, a hysterical burden

i can’t grow in this soil i’ve been buried in.



if I don’t think about the fact that I’m in solitary
pretend to not see hellfire in the skies
ignore the accusations of heresy


to say otherwise would be blasphemy
‘cuz this is the best day of my life

if i ignore that i feel half as free as before

flipping through several volumes of dictionaries in desperation
to find a way to define the deep down dark icky leaking & splashing about inside
blurring the world upsidedown, spinning the wrong way ’round
feels like a bad case indigestion at the very least.


for i declare



where is the cure?

that’ll make you see me as pure
that’ll take all my ugliness
& plunge it into space

maybe it’s because I’m the wrong race
maybe there’s too many imperfections on my face
perhaps my very being is a disgrace
forget about the past, I’m done with that place

but now I can’t seem to hit the right notes
what key am I even in?

it’s anyone’s guess
when did it all turn into such a huge stinking mess?

it became such a charade
a fantastical shit show parade
may as well make a toast with expired strawberry lemonade

where is the cure?

to stop the tears from my eyes
from falling upon what was once a daily beautiful surprise
but turned out to be merely a guise

tears, turning the Earth’s dirt into mud
caked under the crevices of your black Adidas
with a final, sickening thud

Love Seed

There are days where I don’t particularly feel anything
More days than I care to even fathom
Days where any sensation seems to pass over me with no bearing
As if I were merely a phantom

Drifting along in space without a suit, no oxygen to breathe
You’d think that would be cause for alarm
Perhaps it would
If it weren’t one of those days

More days than I care to fathom
Makes me wonder if Time is actually passing at all
Is it like smoke?
Does the inside of Pandora’s box simply not care
or is the punchline missing from this big cosmic joke?


These days are not everyday
at least I’ll tell myself that while I continue to be
& squeeze my eyes until they’re ready to bleed

letting the tears water my Love Seed


the night feels darkest at 3am
no moon hangs in the sky

when the night gets this dark
anyone outside won’t get in alive

it’s a balmy autumn breeze
yet I can see my breath hangin’ in the air
the cloud flowing gently over my fading garden

maybe the morning sun will make me feel better
maybe it’ll be blocked out by the night,
continuously veiled & out of sight

the night feels darkest after the first tear fall
and it makes me wonder if there’s someone out there who really cares,
really cares at all
someone up there to let it dry up right

cuz this night feels so dark
darkest it has been in years
through the tears all I feel is The Fear

I can hear The Fear pumping through my veins
I wonder if through the thunder & the rain
so quiet
I wonder

 if I’m going insane

Coping Is A Joke (I Hope)

when coping stops being coping

do gentle breezes kiss your cheeks rosy
do aviary songs chirpping about begin to make sense
does a higher power guide you without precedence

when coping isn’t a constant existential war

will the crunch of leaves under my feet make me laugh again
or will I lament the end of a fallen glory

when coping is merely a sense of being

will I know if these are questions
or statements mixed with a deeper brood

if coping stops being coping

will it matter

will I even be in the mood

if coping stops being coping

I’ll No

In Due Time

Banshee Screams from the Pacific Coast

What is this desire to unsucceed spectacularly in every way, burbling in the underbelly of my being like a cooking teapot, scorching hot to the touch & an ear-splitting high pitched whistle?

The way it reels my soul in, leaving me gasping & flopping about like a common guppy….something in the air does not compute…

And what’s so strange, so scary, is that this sensation is a haunting from a specter causing an unsettling disturbance in the force from a source of which time has no bearing. The ghost of past, present, & future together in a cataclysmic bang of the forever beforeandafter

…temporal curses…

Ain’t that a bitch?

Less a question of ability, moreso a question of fortitude. A quiet quandary of epic proportions. Raging like the Great Red Stain of Jupiter.

something in the air does not compute…
there is no air

& I’ll suffocate under the weight of a thousand unanswered questions before I have time to wake up