sonnet

for you i'd tear the sadness from my soul,
we writhe abed and never lose our way.
though loving ways have turned a heart to coal,
i still can hear a friendly whisper say:

our lies are just a way to never hear
that crying burns and never really heals,
and sighs are simply echoes from a tear,
and you are really all of my ideals.

so now i sit and stare upon the stars,
to dream of who i wish i might become,
a night so dark it makes me see the scars
that never scream their cries 'till i succumb.

and if, dear friend, the monster turns out real,
i'll look to you to find a light to heal.

which begs the question

i cannot ask it.
not now, for fear of the lifeless eternity i suffer.
not yet. i would will the fear of god into me,
to feel such things as you have.
this immortal lesson we have taught,
it has rendered our smiles far less vivid than i remember.

for there was a day-
there must have been, else my damnation has led me astray -
and i remember the lilies upon the path,
and the field in which you played.
but i spent those days hunting my fortune,
and only now i realize that the game we eat is our own, lost love.

love.
the tales have given me horns,
a tale,
boils,
a limp...
all that the pupils may think. for that is the curse.
and yet i will ask the question for you, one day.

about cain

to a field,
come to a field that i may rid myself of this sorrow.
to the forest stream and let me bathe there,
for days, until i have washed your blood from my eyes.
-
they say it was the first of its kind,
and that forever i shall wander in misery.
but misery loves company, or so they say,
and love is a powerful thing.
-
it is the other side of the story i never hear,
what makes the hate and kindles the fear,
and breaks the bonds
i'd kill to make.
-
so come to the field and feel my hate,
that i may later find a place for fate
and lie you down beneath the earth,
the first i've loved since our birth.

here is a secret:

i write poetry
about what i've never
really
done.

and i speak about things
that i've never
even
seen.

i'm just a boy in the end,
afraid of the things i'll never
ever
do.

and so i yelled back,

is there more to those words you said?
it's just that i am so young,
and you are so sure,
that i can't help but think
maybe your words cut deeper than i thought.

and maybe i am not the man i thought i was
and maybe the lake will disappear
so i can walk home dry
and realize what is to really be high.

cannabis

and what things might i do while i lose control?
what provocative,
unheard of,
debilitating habits can i find?

the odors of demise are in the air,
and here i find
a simple solution
to all the problems i have ever faced.

if i could escape for just one day,
and live it all in the only way -
my way -
would i end up

well,
this way?

growing pain

part of growing up is realizing when things are going wrong.
to know is just one step away from to do,
and i think nobody knows what to do with you.
can i just ignore the part of you that makes me fly?
or do i leave my preconceptions at the door,
and lose myself in the waves of perversion that murdered my friend?

i'll grow into the man i want to be one day not so far away.
and the forces that keep me going,
they will find a way to keep me going ever on and on.
will i ever meet the man i see myself wanting to become?
but it's all so muddled in mute,
so do i let the silence show me how to live in the solitude i'll always fear?

knowing when to stop is knowing when to hit the gas.
the man leaves the boy far behind,
and the car speed farther and farther away from hate.
can you smell the odor of burnt sage and experiments?
the ideals you left years ago,
coming back to show you that everything is always there?

part of being who you want to be
is being who you always were.