you are here.

the future is not mine
to see
now is all i know
and i know now
that what i see
in front of me
is exactly
where i want to be.

snow angel

i see snowflakes sparkle
drifting downward
are they really all that different?
to me they taste the same.
i melt them on my tongue;
they disappear.

circling in spirals
left alone they fall in place
make beds of thick blankets
and everything seems so bright;
(heavenly)
i keep forgetting this illusion
is created by the sun
of which there's only one.
yet i am blind and overcome
and so i fall...
the landing is never as soft
as hoped for.


i realize im no angel;
i still want to play.

pinches

reality
is only a figment of imagination;
our wildest dreams
manifested.
what is real?
only perception can tell.

dreams, it seems
come true.
be careful what you wish for

hard to swallow

the girl opened her eyes
as bare feet touched ground.
she walked to the cabinet
and stared with a frown.
gazing at bottles
of yellow, blue, red
choice of daily emoition
she weighed in her head.

its a sad day for me
if my choice is blue
moping and eating
with nothing to do
i'll cry and i'll sleep
no visitors; no calls
depressing thoughts
and bare white walls.

if i choose red
i'll be filled with rage,
bitter hate and fuck your way.
i'll smash and break
i'll scream and yell.
i'll damn the world.
its my personal hell.

if i choose yellow
im sure to find love
its the logical choice
and its been long enough
i can fill my mind with butterflies;
joyfully be hypnotized
as i float through the day
in a lovely trance
i'll sing
i'll spin
i'll hum
i'll dance

the girl couldnt decide
and so she took two;
one of the red
one of the blue.
i feel better with purple right now
she said
'cause when yellow wears off
i would rather be dead

rush

its the rush
that stops us
dead in tracks;
two hearts attack.

heads in clouds but
rips through silver linings
like lightning,
we bolt.
tearing at the speed of sound;
never even left the ground.

life happens backwards;
craves new beginnings
spins perception into thoughts
like hurricanes
funnel through mouths
spitting rain

captured by the rapture
of premature infatuation
or is this calm before the storm
of something real
of something warm.