Home Is Where The Heart Is?If Home is Where Your Heart Resides,Tell What Would Happen When,Your Heart Has Lost It's Size,Never Fitting Correctly Then?Shriveled Up and Cracked, Broken Into Many Pieces,But Piled So Neatly, Stacked,All Folded Up, So Many Creases.
Where I Come FromWhere I Come From
I come from a long line of diversity,Where to each is his own,None the same, yet none totally different.I come from a long line, never straight,Always curving to Destiny's will.Forever running.I come from a long line of dreamers.Dreamers and SchemersWith tricks and traps on their mindsA long line of deception and misleading
Why Me?Why Me?Why is it that they pick me last?Why is it that every time something good happens Something bad follows?Why can't I ever catch a break?Why me?What are these feelings?Why does everything that comes to mind refer to my only way out?Why do I have these feelings?Why Me?Why is it that I feel alone?Why is it that no one is there?Why hasn't anyone been there?Why Me?Why am I alone?Why Can't anyone help me?Why don't they understand?Why Me?Why Can't I be me?Who controls life?Why can't I be special?Why Me?Where Is God?Where are the angels?Why can't they be with me?Why Me?
We all are beautiful!We all are beautiful!The problem is on our eyes!
PhoenixI won't be your phoenix,your death wishof maudlin wordsstretched across this failing light.I will not wearnew wings for youthat crimson youwere born with -a mother's final wishto keep out the winterand weep.But I will wait,the flaw and beautyof your youthpainted across your palmsas you hold upthe moon to meet me.
Authorshipyou’re the authorof this story - and yetinsist on playingthe role of a foilwhen you couldrewrite the pagesas you wish.
DownfallAnd in this dark harvest of seasonMy life has completely lost reason,For which or against to decide.All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tideIn sadness and in kindnessIn light and in darkness.In a boat made of hopeI shall sail to tomorrow,In a winding hurricaneMade of treachery and sorrow.There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...Piercing, slashing though my head.Starting somewhere in heaven,Ending somewhere in hell.Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.Are the armies within.In my head they are all thrashing.On the heaven's and hell's whim.To be light or to be darkness.A perpetual array.It's not merely my choice,But the choice of the way.It's an option of the voice,It's a thin line of gray.Is it a choice forced by fate,Is it a pre-set time and date?Or a choice to which I myself sway?But here's our story anyway
."Nothing that I do will matter.As all things will merely shatter!"All my hopes thus darkness scatter,As it shoves me a decree.As it si
spaceshiptwoWhat's leftafter the explosionare these suns,a faint projectionfrom an unreachable darkness,flickering.And then everything is simultaneous;the entangled mess,the crowds.*And maybe it's all about editing and being edited-The pilot painted across a desert,A desert painted across the pilot.*Or the holographic drift, a surface reflection-The expanse outside echoed inward,Jagged orange treelines over the firefly black like someone holding onto a woman(or the memory of a woman).*Or maybe just the T.V. relayas I struggle to sleep,the newscasterfrom both dimensionsglowing and whispering:The horses of your apocalypse/the apocalypse of your horses.
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead. It isn’t true. It’s said the stench of hell infects the earthand healths of heated blood are downed. But Hamlet lied. The dead know nothing, the living less. There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.
Solemn TimbreMy heart is the rotten,exposed-beam,roof-ripped-off carcassof an ark;that once protected,nurtured, savedbut now is a mererelic,a remnant,of when there was hopeof things gettingbetter.
shearing sheepcrouching in the bathtub,knees-to-chin;a humming begins.above me, myparents dance -even harry potterwould say mybathroom is small.they fuss overmissed spots.dropped pronounbombs roll overmy feet.(i slip in a whiteflag reminder duringconversational lags.)ten minuteslater i amnaked and cursing,plucking piecesof who i used to befrom the drain.
I think of youAs suns set afar and mountains flameAnd eagles, turning, turn to fireAsh cold, alone I lieAnd think of you.