blue skies fly by as i wonder why
whether what i do is worthwhile
or if its just my
way to cope with the past
or to avoid being mad, it's sad how

gray skies stand still forever until
i find a reason to climb hills
and find the one whereby
i rise above gray skies
and clear my gray mind, and yet

i rise and i fall, too often it seems
sun beams through clouds not often enough
or... maybe i'm wrong
maybe it's the way i wear shades all day
to stop the sun flow

i miss my brothers. i miss my sisters.
i hide behind walls of silicon
anonymous my name, forgetting my game
reason to live is to escape the flame
hide from what is, deny what exists

but this is a mistake.

i shut you out with a smile and a nod
a friendly motherfucker, but by god
you try to get close i clam up in shell
i feed you information to bring us together
i can't help it, but i can't decide whether
these bits are true and if thats what i really am

everybody knows me better than i know myself.
why, then, am i not letting them help me?
i'm just a blind person performing surgery.
it's a lonerectomy, trying to remove the part of me
that gives up, that hides away.

tomorrow brings another bright sky
bright sky hangs high as i wonder why
whether what i do means something
or if it's just my way to move on
or if i'm just standing still.

relief

i write to avoid
i write to distract
i write to get away
the days pains strain on my brain and otherwise keep me from being able to maintain my
stream of consciousness. my ability to think.
the migraine worstens the longer i'm away
i put pen to paper and it just fades
i write on a time release like a capsule
just pop one and watch it go.
it doesn't stop, it feels like it flows through my veins
good lord there goes the pain
i'm leaving the night and entering a new day
to put pen to paper makes the pain go away.

pen and paper are my ibuprofen, tylenol, and bayer.

water

[jon, you invited me here a long time ago and its time i finally did something abt it.]

a freewrite on water.

why does it seem that these creative flashes
stem from a rusted, leaky faucet
drip drop
another line falls down the drain
drip drop
another line lost in a day
a cloudy sky filled with monotony

when the condensation of the concentration of the juice from the mind is finally too much to bear...
the lines just fall from the sky,
from the clouds on up above,
the concentration of creativity and love
rain on a sunny day.

when it rains, it pours.