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1. Pick me up with your boney fingers, and wretched compassion. I could lie there for hours, nobody would understand that I don't mind the puddle blurring my vision and clogging my oxygen. I won't regret doing anything or saying anything. You can drop me, stop me, kick me in my tracks, while forcing those evil acts. I rarely lie nor can confide in your loveless shame of a game that makes me shake every day, rather than play along. Go back to start, I'm a work of art, that can possess and caress an audience of love makers, not afraid to be caretakers. Shut the door, and let me return back to the floor, because I could lie there for hours upon hours. Watch me cry and realize your worthless presence as a man who thinks he can pick me up with those boney fingers.



2. If I opened a book and looked at all the words and pages displayed before me, I would quiet down and focus and not notice my muffled mind relaxing. My eyes would ignore the LCD glaring and sharing its careless opinions that fool men and women and focus on the driven and given human words of peace and love. Without you and me conversing in the extensive unspoken parts of our mind combined to form a unison of our path to tomorrow, we would be lonesome unspoken bones covered weakly with no touch.
To just shut up and stitch our mouths closed shut is ignorance and the way of the Republican mind not mine. How thoughtless today we say it's time to make a change and selfishly weigh our wants and givings without blinking. If I stood legless at the edge of cliff with my limb swaying right to left ready to progress into an uninviting hole, you'd be there writing a scroll of what a good person I used to be. Instead of using your limb as my savior as a favor to mankind and all we represent. Don't stink just think of how without the other we would reek and ignore the meek whose words may in time change your mind and reverse the curse of today's petty ways.


3. I lie awake starring at the ceiling crawling with spiders that fall from their web into my bed. Their legs tickle my face as they settle in their place. right on my eyes to disguise the pain I feel in my chest. Not allowing me to rest. I feel panic to scream about all my horrifying dreams that keep me awake. I can welcome the spiders as a companion to my stress in my struggled mess of no sleep. They force my eyes to close to which they propose a darkness of imagination. To dream of a place with infinite grace of green trees. I fall to my knees and stare at the sky and clouds that sore by. this should be my dreams, silent of any screams.