0 Draw a Blank Poem

My heart is too occupied, my mind is too blank
I sit here at a canvas: without any words to weep
all I have is- a heart without words and a mind without a brush
therefore, I sit staring beyond myself, into the distance and around the bend
down the dark alley ways, into a world of sin
where Gothic shadows taint- oh, so beautifully
and the world can't keep up or contain it's heart beat

My heart lives in a void, that nothing can fill
it craves to empty itself and splatter itself all over the world
out of my chest, bleeding into the gutters, away from my dreams, away from the whispers and mutters
until I'm in a place, where I no longer need to feel
as if, I need to be running while standing still
that I need to paint, in order to be real

0 My Absence poem

Am I but a dream, tainted by life
destroyed by the knowledge, that I'm just- but a dream
that I can never exist, become what my heart aches to be
is this- the real me

I see this world from beyond themselves
beyond what is, out of sync and incomplete
and there is no similarity between my heart and this
life hides, avoiding me

Under covers upon my bed is where I belong
my head beneath a worn out pillow; my eyes closed out to the light peering in
and my mind occupied with thoughts, too busy to comprehend
my departure, my absence as a man

0 Cherry Blossoms and Gray Poem

My soul is the wind, blowing her cherry blossom heart
petals whirlpool around me, her kissing lips, I can see nothing else
I stand beneath her in awe, contentment
bound by the force that, there could be no one else

Birds chirp upon the branches
summoning angels down from heaven
down, underneath the foliage, within the soft light of gray
upon the green overgrowth of grass, overlooking a world of dismay

0 My Broken Heart Poem

My broken eyes
gaping holes
rocks ascended, never to come back home
shards like claws, like tree branches outside, reaching across my life
peering into my- ever so private abode

The cold ice numbs, it glazes blue
that blue tint, the color of a sad melody, musical notes upon my balcony
frozen angel wings, smoke colored breathes puffs like a train
and I'm so accustomed, I don't even seem to care about the pain

Inside the cloak of velvet black air
where mirrors aren't mirrors, showcasing my despair
where shadows aren't shadows, walking between here and there
do I exist, where there is no light to see

Still, oh still, I quiet my thoughts
I try to erase them from my mind, erase them from my mind, erase them from my mind
I try to tell my heart to stop beating, stop beating, oh ever stop beating
but I can't seem to get them to listen, can't seem to get them to care

Therefore sleep calls, sleep softly calls to me
softly steals from me- who I am
steals away the curtains of whats real from whats not
buries me under sheet after sheet of existence until...
until nothing is left of the real world or the real me

0 My Boo Poem

I say this without dismay
boo oh boo to you on this very day
boo like a ghost in a haunted house
boo like the wind creeping up on a mouse.

0 The Life-line of rain poem

The thunder pounds like a god's heartbeat
shattering all other noise
wrenching the rain from the clouds
and taking away the world's poise

And the streets become shallow rivers
full of reflections and shimmers
displaying a darkly broken world
falling off the edge of life

Into the gutter
deep down the oil covered walls
beats the patter of toxic waterfalls
and lies the dark catacombs of pipes

1 Her heart spilling over, poem

Forever one second til,
one heartbeat from, stuck in time,
an eternity of moments undone.

In lyrical footsteps or shattered glass,
slithered pieces of a blue moon reflecting fractured paths,
falling off of moments gone by.

His heart tipping over,
upon glass, teeter-tottering choices,
one soul traveling one path, one page half mast.

How many angles in the ocean,
angels numbered on the sand, seashells crushed,
until a dream makes it unto land.

0 Like a painting, poem

She's lying inside her own world,
on the floor of an earthy ocean,
hidden in the antique wheat fields,
dazing into the storm brewing overhead.

Waves of wind gallops through the golden rows.
Loco-motions of fury and rage grows and grows,
screaming songs to the daydreaming maiden.

Her reality drifting away,
slipping away from her like the string tied to a balloon,
traveling upward like a moth to a flame,
carrying away with it her soul.

She wears a Victorian-style dress,
thinking of how she would look from the angle of a treetop;
Perhaps like a painting, drying on an easel,
In the blurry distance, on an impressionistic hill,
no longer interested in what happens next.

Oh! how she's like a painting, waiting for the rain to fall...