Voices in my head, two foot icicles piercing my skull.
These images burn my thoughts like an uncontrolled brushfire.
Memories, fantasies, nightmares;
sometimes difficult to distinguish.

Voices in my head, a glimmer of who I really am?
A roller coaster of emotions explode inside my mind.
Temporarily tempered by sleep;
sometimes difficult for me to wake.

Voices in my head, ripping life from my weakening grasp.
Second guessing the meaning of everything.
Does the sun really shine;
sometimes difficult for me to see.

Voices in my head.
Wish they were dead.
Pray for silence.
No response.


in the end

I do not want to be something I am not.
Do not want to pretend to be something you want.
Seems like I have ears but I do not hear.
Like I have eyes but I cannot see.

I practiced using the right words.
Practiced all the trivial acts of kindness.
I reinvented a more comfortable you.
Something more like what I want.

Your words are still on my lips.
Perverted into weekly therapy.
I changed all the difficult parts.
Reassigned my own improved meanings.

I can justify my every action.
Insult for insult.
An eye for an eye.
A lie to warm my heart at night.

Who am I becoming?
Where am I going?
Why am I here?
Will I find you in the end?


Branches sway in an evening breeze,
as we walk in comfortable silence.

How soon will the season change?

Freedoms no man can understand,
sacrificed to prove their reality.

How soon will the seasons change?

The blessing of absolute choice,
and I chose absolute separation.

And the season begins to change.

A picture of your perfection,
rejected for perverse illusions.

And the seasons begin to change.

Still searching for ways to blame you,
for allowing me to choose myself.

Everything has changed.

Drink, Mourn, Grow

Like a raging thunderstorm your word approaches.
Light drizzle grows into a sheet of glass stretching from heaven to earth.
And the thirsty land celebrates.
The storm continues.
We drink.

Lightning illuminates ominous clouds like a camera’s flash.
A large field ignites into dance.
Yellow, orange and blue melt into white.
The fire is raging.
We mourn.

Scorched earth lives among the quenched.
Destruction mingles with restoration.
The rain’s punches subside and the lightning ceases.
The storm is ending.
We grow.