The Celestial Face

Sunrise is the success
of the enlightened eye,
unaware of undeadliness
to motivate the mind.

Tell Me What You Want to Hear

Stand outside yourself.
Watch each self-sabotaging idea you've had in life circle the drain.

Say goodbye to each idea of not being enough:
To the mentality which brought you here to begin with.
To a blackened backbone, charred and weak.
It's not you...

Trust me.

You aren't what you imagine yourself to be.
You're born with the ability:
To overcome the ashes you've set yourself on fire to be.

You can stand outside the drain.
Say goodbye without letting yourself go down.

I Wrote This at 3 AM

Insomniacs;
being over medicated,
abilities underrated.

They're everywhere!

Each hour they lie awake;
a rattle, thoughts of what to do in head.
"I could be more productive at night,
but wide-eyed, I lie awake in bed."

You imagine the banters had today,
how you plan to discuss them tomorrow.
Chatting yourself into the thoughts of disarray.

See them tumble around the brain like laundry.
But one overload and suds spill to the floor.
You wonder how clean, clean can be...

Or when does clean become dirty?
Will your house fill with suds to mop?

Sounds like a fun endeavor, no doubt,
to the most chaotic living creature.
And a word to the wisest souls,
we live to be the creature chaos makes.

There's one detail you should know...

Co-operation acts as the burly key
to tame insomnia's scattered blow.

But hey, what do I know?

Who Cares?

Get the feeling you’re on the wrong planet?
Feel like a perpetual lost puppy?

I’ve been told I took the look a time or two. 
As someone who’s realized
I’ve been lost my entire life.

I know exactly where I’m at.

Somewhere drifting between
this question I ask myself, "Why am I here?"
And this other question
loves to riddle me,"How did I get here?"

As if it wasn't hard enough to exist
without needing a reason!

My mind seems to love giving me a hard time.
Perplexed by an odd anxiety
of feeling like I don't even exist.
I'm some strange vessel of a mind
asking itself useless questions.

Thinking. Thinking. Thinking.
Am I even thinking at all?

Oh boy!
Here comes another brick wall
of impossible answers.
And sometimes you have to say
something to yourself.

Well, I say several things.

No One Here to Help You

My heart needs to catch up with my body.

A slow beat,

a sudden arrhythmia.

I find myself blind and deaf for a moment.

A beautiful idea I had in my head.

This gift of foresight,

clouded by ringing in my ears.

A tone I'm too familiar with

eating at what used to be.

Ambition is what's left of me.

Wishes of what could be.

My head pounding heavy,

my breath shallow.

A feverish breeze of fatigue blows me over.

I,

overcome by an early sense of self.

I once thought I could achieve anything.

As truth has it,

my body won't allow me to achieve what I once could.

What does truth truly know,

when your health forces you to listen to your ego?

It starts with,

I can’t do it all.

And ends with

nothing I can do.

I'm Better For It

The rain chooses my path today.
Whether I stay or leave in its midst.

And this somber feeling,
I overheard,
was a lack of shining sun.

So I give into the weathers' grief
and sob a little story of my own.

Shining sun why have you left me?

I can’t help but ask in such a daunting time.

With puddles to wade,
why would you allow me to drown
in the power of my own thought?

I have no hypothesis,
no account, no answer
for being born so desolate
on such a strange earth.

I apart from pretty near everyone,
draw a blank and accept what is.

This is my fate.

Uncomplicated

Modern life-
born of flesh,
the bodily fluid in our lineage.

Intelligent design
isn't about a higher power.

Our creators-
we know them as;
Mother, Father.

Simple, imperfect as us.
Created in their likeness.
We rise up to,
and exceed their greatness.

Misuse of a phrase can cause much confusion,
making commonplace difficult to catch.

Simplicity could be our Savior,
if we could simply be.

Don't Drop Heart

A humanitarian heart
has a hard time
saying no to the needy.

At the expense of a person's sanity,
no's a serious word.

Knowing when to say it,
how to give a gracious negation.
Learning how to turn
a "no" to a "maybe later."
And a "maybe later" to a "no."

The importance;
of a break,
of a breath,
a nap,
a nifty book.

A humanitarian heart
needs itself most.

I’m About to Drown

I have become unknown to my “self.”

A simple conception-
What I hear of my “self” inside my mind
sounds much different from your perception.

My head, pounding, run down,
my body starts sounding a bit off.

Everything's an illusion,
a simple light, glaring on a shelf of flour.
Seems divisive, out to get me.
Panic on a shelf in harmless powder form.

Well that’s schizoaffective for ya.
Finding a way for plain objects
to become panic attacks in little packages.
This run down, droopy eyed sense of self
became sick of caring.

Desensitized by the realization-
This is a hallucination.

So my fear subsides,
but I know this won’t be the end.
Try teetering on the edge of reality
and what your mind wants you to believe.
So when it spoke of suicide. I said,
“For me, my ‘self’ is worthless in the grave.”

The point when my sense of self crumbled,
not sure when I witnessed it
turn to mud before my eyes.
Hey, I could’ve told myself that was an illusion all day,
wouldn’t’ve changed how real, it really was.

Yet I sit, and explain my disdain for Bukowski-
meanwhile I listen to myself sounding
more like him than I’d like to admit.

“Be what you love.”  They say.
Well, I’d love to be something I’m not,
I can’t be an Emerson, a Dickinson, a Tennyson.
While I, used to be a “son” myself.
I’d like to be anyone but me, while I’m waiting
for this mournful moment to pass.

This unbridled hurricane of emotion
outweighs me pound by pound.
Toppling over me, is an ocean of the obscure.

An Internal Idea

It’s easy to give in to a push,
knees on the ground.
Within my anger,
a bit of evil slips inside my head.

I clenched my fist.
Then in my mind,
turned around
and aimed right at her jaw.

Well, how bloody a mess
my hand would've made.

Reality focused on my breath.
Sad, the confusion
of what I’d done to deserve this.

The truth taught me, I’m passive.
I slipped out, hid in the hall.
Leaned against a wall,
and slumped down
till my head hit my knees.

I couldn’t give in to my anger.
So I suffer from my own
mind games in one hand,
hopelessness in the other.

So long as the end's near,
it could be any day out of the blue.

I don’t need a push.
My days are numbered.
I won’t be here forever.

Life’s not long enough
to be a war with others,
if  I'm at war with myself.