Food for Thought

he's not even paying attention
his headphones pull at his thoughts..
he doesn't even try to think anymore...
just losing his mind to the sound.
but who can blame him.
we all seek escape.
we all find it in some sort of release.
an outlet......... isn't an outlet so,etching that gives?
it gives electricity, light... answers.
maybe all this time our outlets have been what has powered us.
just food for thought......
a head resting in a shoulder...
on the shoulder of someone ignoring the noise with more noise.
on the shoulder of someone i saw at the airport...

Numb

You're sitting in the drivers seat. 

Cigarette between your lips.

I'm breathing through the window.

Aching for you to let me back into your arms once more. 

Why do I do this to myself? 

Why do I keep coming back to this..... this mess of a person barely hanging on to reality. 

Maybe I should give up or move on but something keeps me here... 

something in your eyes keeps my gaze... 

I want to break into your mind. 

Let me see your thoughts... 

let me feel your blackened heart... 

your whisp of a soul... 

come back... 

please.... 

it doesn't have to be like this... 

not for you... 

I thought I loved you, but 

now I know I do... 

and I am afraid.

d r o w n i n g

lungs begin to spasm.
aching for air.
haughtiness and pride keep their cries from being heard.
no sign of letting up.
diving deeper.
deeper...
until they refuse to try... my lungs.

these lungs are me.

i am drowning.
i was drowning.
and these waves have me believing that i will continue to drown.

drowning. deep down in your twisted words.

i am drowning. 

and robots, as far as i am aware, do. not. drown.

N. Y. C.

I 

miss

my

CONCRETE

canyons

Airplane mode

They make you turn everything off.

Phone signals and smoking urges.

I guess that isn't everything...

They can't turn off words.

Words.

Can.

Be.



Always.

I can write them, think them, draw them.
I can breathe them, smell them, tell them.
I can throw them, know them, blow them away...

But eye never can seam too fit them inn just the write weigh.

Popcorn

"I'm sorry" he said, resting his worn tired hand on her frail knee. "Oh yeah? Tell that to her." She said sassily, pointing to me. I was kneeling down cleaning up a spilled cup of popcorn off of the floor. What must it be like to be old? It must be very similar to the way we all started out this life. Helpless, messy, and fragile. "Good show!" She said as I finished cleaning up the popcorn crumbs. I hope I never get too old to remember the days when I was young.