11:20 am

You leave me confounded

in a volcanic desert of blue and pixels

And I can't even hate you for it

I like to say that I have

seventeen different ways to view things,

17 ways to think.

But how to think about this?

Can betrayal occur when no trust exists?

Or ever existed?

I guess that's the problem.

I perceive when nothing exists.

You know, that condition goes by many aliases:

imagination

paranoia

blind hope

It's the latter here.

Signed in red crayon.

A Lost

Heave that backpack

you've got someplace to be

I know it's cold

take my gloves

I want to show you this

Hop the stone wall and land heavily

in the laden earth

leave the books down here

and I'll race you to the top

Here among the gnarled fingers

you'll find Peace

like melting snow in a hazy afternoon light

Today

My hands smell of fire,
thumb calloused from flame
lit in the darkness

The echo of fast-strummed guitar in a gym hallway
makes me feel it in the corners of my face
that thin smile I wear as I lean shyly, slyly against the pastel wall.

I was so high on caffeine and
homespun music
and the love
of friends and strangers.
I think I could love everybody here,
but I'm a stranger to them.
Their lives outside these halls are like a shattered mirror in a heavy blue summer rain,
and as I peer deeply into them
all I catch are shards
of past and present

Still, I say, I've got to say,
"Fuck people. People suck."

Shades

You're the coldest red I've ever met.
You fizzle, like a pot unwatched.

Will that anger and pain you keep scab over,
desensitize,
or bleed freshly?

I can't pretend like some of this
isn't my fault,
but like I said,
you are the coldest shade of red
I've met.

11:39 pm

I must say,
I rather like the way
my left hand looks as I type.

Veins like subterranean rivers
beneath the skin. They're almost overflowing
in my left hand.