Doth I Protest too much

Doth I protest too much? doth I address to much of whats left on a broken conscious and shattered heart that beats in broken pieces. doth i protect too much every secrets ive been dying to share every whispered words ive been trying to yell.and so ill always shed tears that you will never comprehend and make love to these fears that you will never try to bend or break me free from as deed done in dark light and blind light give birth to my silent pain tell as i write it all down, Doth I protest too much?Doth I love too much? Like obese doves bathing in obscene love, surviving on raw emotions. Love?? I think im a bit too immature for it, think im a bit too insecure for it or may a little too impure for it and as inpour these over flowing feeling into an imaginary heart heart tell me?Collaborating cleverly with these confined feelings I fear I've only been dangerously on the edge of loving love.

Freedom from unique

Unique in my ears sounds the same as outcast since the pain just outlast every word of deflection that came from those lips, came from lost tips of this ignored cerbral confession that left me with one question What is this heart used for?when will this pain do more then hurt and less then damage the memories of a space that was once meant for the heart? When words meant for heart break only fall on hollow spaces does this evolution of fornicated pain and progress elevate me to a god.Wise words to an inconcievable perception is only as useful as a picture of food to this starving thing I've become. I'm afraid to be alone but I'm too afraid to trust anyone. Tell me, someone what is this heart used for?  how is this art useful? to bring glory to a god just as lonely as me. My fears have become the only unique thing I see through shed tears and savage manuscripts ripped out of the lost depths of my soul.I want to fade into the background, I want to be dissolved by mediocrity and enveloped by meaninglessness. I want a chance at normalcy without the effects of complex thinking or being. Evaporate this ever so pointless me classified as unique and replace it with the common and mundane version of me because im too afraid of the truth locked within this "unique" destiny. Tell me, is there freedom from the unique?

new poem

I think im too self-conscious to speak on the stuff that keep weighing my conscious.And I fear that I'm too far removed to find a way to improve on my own lost art form. And my old soft heart still remains torn by the memories of lost yesterday's mistakes. Like scared hearts that take flight on the wings of Icarus,I watched as these lonely feelings melted on the roof of this callused world.I think im addicted to falling in love with heartless girls and this scared heart just curled in reflex to the pain of another superficial emotion. Renew, review and rescrew the lost knowlege of this unhinged mind binged in sublime lines that once defined the insecurities of this new born soul. Im afraid all i have are the conversations in my mind.I think I'm afraid of intimacy because of the inner me that i see.  Tell me, how is it  possible to feel this alone when alone is all I've learned to be.

new stuff

I've spent so much of my time confining my tears/ so many years spent dividing my fears/and every time i think about it all my heart disappears/Into the old poetry of  these lost yesteryears/and if i go in on these  lost verse's I'm afraid you would think i rehearsed it all./Now im here thinking about these old feelings and how i just repressed them/thinking bout old flames,and how I wish I could forget them/forgive me i just sinned, forget it ill just blend it all in/to this acoholic drink whose name i just forgot again/the memory's/ to tomorrow's pain/to this lost heart in the rain, looking to gain/ love in the rain/shit, im in love with pain/cause its the only real thing I've ever felt/before it all came crashing in/
to the memory's I can't help but mend/ or atleast try to/ find the depth i lost that was alot like floetry/ hoping that my flow tree grows to reach mars/ and drops three bars to remove each scar that i have had to endure/
lately i been on that spoken word shit/ tryina spit that invoking verb shit/ i got family members i aint on social terms with/i got some friends i cant imagine my life without/lookin for a spare life line/thinkin bout some of the one of a kinds I've met in my life time/and I'm only talkin bout the past ten years/holding on to every one of my insecurities/fearing they could reveal an impure me/and im just hoping that this pen and paper can cure me..

My attempt to flow

sittin here kickin old wisdom like my last name was aristotle./And this college life style's slow tell me where is the throttle/  avoiding any solution I find in a bottle /cause when its empty/ im left pen deep in this invisible ink shit./ staring at the bottom of this clean sink shit/ tell me where the hell did all these dirty tears fall from /oh here I go again pretending like could never release a tear/. then i let go, of these feelings ive never felt before /someone tell me where it all went wrong,/ cause i seem to forget every mistake that ive made/. Remembering every price i havent forgotten to pay/ tell how many more hours could be in this day/ wondering who's gonna be here to catch the bouquet/ and i just need someone here to tell me it'll be ok./ i guess im just lookin for someone to lie to my fears/Guess just trying to salvage these tears/hopin to make make rain on tomorrows flower/ this cosmic string is such a beautiful thing/ and this heart string never cease to sing/
Maybe if i could go back in time
change when i lost this mind
find all the peace inside
maybe then i can find that love thats so hard to find 
im just too lost in this cosmic rhyme

I am afraid

I am afraid , afraid that sometimes I feel too much. That while lost in the intensity of these feelings, I could be wrong. Diluted by the need to hold on to these intense feelings, I fear they can never really fill me. The passion is pointless and the pain is painted on empty eyelids that only reveal the pupil in me. I am afraid of the complexion of my own complexity, afraid of the complexity of my own complexion. Revealing a reflection of my own lost vanity, I questioned this sanity without hesitation. And only an uncertain fear that gripped my heart, the fear that there is something I should be afraid of. Here in this purgatory where wonderland and never-land collided, I found my philophobic nightmares waiting to embrace me. I am afraid of these feelings, to which the words to express them seem to escape me

Metaphorical false smile

If I can smile in pain, then can I write about love and peace when all I know is conflict and hate. If the rain never stops in my world can I write about sun rays and bright days. Watching this false smile drain down into these metaphorical lies tell me am I wrong, if it's what the people want. Tell me? What am i to do with these feelings that are too strong to accept, to ferious to withstand? on this journey through life i met a dandelion in search for a home, I met cast irons combs in search of the stone from which is created. I've watched as these metaphorical false smiles kill philosophical hearts that wonder in dark. What is wonderland if its dark? and when false smiles fade from jaded faces tell me?, what will comfort the pain

False Pretense

I've pretended to be things that i am not, pretended to be something and someone that i am not. so much so that i fear that its diluted my very experience of living, making it impossible for me to give any part of me not damaged by these false persona's. I've played this dangerous game in areas of my life to which i fear no recovery can ever be found. I fear that even in this fractured heart Ive created that even my own fear could just be another pretense.

there are things i wish i never knew, wish this human heart never desired or struggled screaming despartely in the dark for, wished this game never existed and althought i understand, categorize and analyze every sectioned off part of me i know the real me  seen its face and i know that i will alway be alone in that revelation. Maybe that just another lie i us tocope with the nature of my reality.

Lately i find myself whispering what could be deemed as sinister things to myself in an effort to queit this irritating need for human connection. Is it all to coop with the truth of my reality or am i simpl another diluted and polluted sould seeking clarity. Im beginning to understand that contact without connection is the same as sex without love, merely the prostitution of ones presence in oder to fill some void that cant even be reached.Maybe im just a whore of company in fear of the obvious loneliness while the subliminal torments me silently. Even this is all pretend....Nobodys gonna read this

Beyond human conditions

Tell me, what is this path that lies beyond the broken human condition sparked by mental ignition. Should I fall to depression at this soulful remission to my own headless confession.Beyond this human condition found useless expressions to an emotional me that could never reach a soul or touch a heart. To the edge of all feelings begins the end of all reason and now I'm wondering what will become these lonely emotions.

With nothing let but solitary commotion, these lifeless confession breed only heartless connections born in the dark. Looking for art, looking for parts to the jigsaw of this pictureless existence. We fight the resistance of all fertile things once thought to be futile we are left with this bent tile path and gold maps leading us beyond the human condition

A soul bought, a life taken

Here in the darkness of my own ignorance I stand corrected, no I stand erected into the fact that the human heart is not a philosopher stone, dyed to the bone deeper then gold the goals of false gods and shining suns burn the memories of her, the past mistake, no pass the steak for which my beating heart was on and she did eat.

And as I think with the sun in my eyes and moon in my heart I thought " I think I would have sold my soul for her" I think I would've sold my goals to hurt and alter future with her misery, excuse me I mean mystery that figured me or atleast I thought it did and yet I never knew it. Now as reasoning kicks the chair of doubt for which I stood on I hung by my own rope of hope screaming in silence "I think she took a piece of my soul with her"

Rhetorical confession

I am frustrated to my soul at the fact that I can't find the right words to define or describe it. I'm self-conscious of my appearance but more so my words. I'm a poet that feels nothing like a poet or maybe I'm a self-deluded imposter pretending to be a poet. I have exhausted almost every once of energy in search of depth without ever having voiced it's complexities and so it is in that nature that I am shallow. I am every word I've written and it's opposite without ever in the slightest way contradicting myself. I neither betray nor portray my character but I, in these words, have given you all of me. I guess to more accurately put, I'd say I am the constant thought of suicide pushed to the back of your mind.

Read my poetry

She says she want to see my thoughts...I think she wants to see me rot from the outside in as this vacant heart caves in,I was told by a wise man with his heart in his head and brain in his heart that only a heart can fill a heart. Only a spark can destroy that darkness that is in this art.

She says she wants to read my parts piece by piece destroying the peace in me. She says she wants my life in words and my actions in birds to take flight from the memories of those ones and things I once held dear.

She says she wants to read what's in my heart and I tell her " hold up, only the heartless can understand these words" leaving her puzzled to the verbs she heard. I told her start with my poem then we move on from there.

False Ambrosia

Lying here in the fake arms that held me these whispers reminding me that my ambitions will never se light. Here in these cold arms where I rubbed them thinking I was god enough to give them life. A fools god I am drink off the nectar of that false ambrosia I bit into roses thinking it was good for the heart.

Thinking I was good from start I weaved magical strings of self-delusions, mental-illusions that brought out the pain of this physical conclusion. False ambrosia, springing life from the stories they told you, of meek gods and bleak pods we call the human soul that all reach for their counterparts. Living with dirty hearts and clean minds our empty lives only seems to beam lies into the eyes of our guilty conscious.

From false ambrosia to the lost arms that hold us, tell me did we really become gods or something more hopeless?

Is it greedy or virtue??

Is it greed to want more? I mean I don't want handshakes and smiles I want embraces and laughter. I don't want riches I want wealth. I don't want your friendship I want your loyalty. Tell me if I were real would you be able to feel the pain sealed within these lost chambers of my soul. Would you understand why I held such sinister goals? Or would you call me greedy all because I wanted more.

I want more then just your heart. I want your mind, body and soul. I want your goals confessed to me on moon light nights. And as these tears take flight only to be renamed as stars, the scars from your thoughts of my avarice intention leaves a question for the sky. Tell me, was this want for more greed or virtous intention?

Invisible Me

Invisible me,am I too transparent to see? Tell me am I too clever to even hold an outline in the the space of your mind? And as I sit here alone I watch you popular, pretty girls as u overlook me
With hairs braid and empty brains or maybe they were simply filled with vain things.

Invisible me birth from despicable trees sparking the skeptic in me, tell me is it natural to question all that I see? what goes into sanity that makes it insane? maybe the same thing that makes wolves howl in the rain.and as i sit in solitude I watch as crowded hearts masterbate to the thought being able to congregate. And like the soundwave inately echoing within within me reminding of pain I question if I'll always be this invisible me.

I want to live.....

I dont wanna die looking up at another endless sky that my voice could never penetrate, I dont wanna die holding another frozen heart unable to thaw out the pain pumping through its veins.

I want to live.... wrapped in silk strings,swimming in milk streams of paradises predecessor regressed by human contact into its present form. I want to live in bronze skin and inkless pens cause truth flows from lips and delicate finger tips.

Yea, in clear thought on unclean days I think "I want to live" so why do I keep dying?

Struggle

Here lies the struggle, here comes the trouble of bombed hearts sinking in rubble. And as I shovel this broken soul into the coffin of regret, I reminisce on how I once held dreams too many for the stars to represent.

And as my rep resents the essence spent on nonessential thing, I'm leftto crawl on scarred knees,all because the lie in these potential wings.

My life?

I live it insanely jealous of the things I could never attain. Calling them vain I curse theirs names in rage

I am in saner states of mind to which I recognize the pain Im in but tell me? Is this my life or is it some hollywood production of a pain I've grown to love. Sitting in this broken mirrored room I whispered to my reflection "do you love me?" and it whispered back "the answer lies above you"

Are You Not Entertained?

Stand here between the grains of this cynical rain I watched sorrows drain from what seemed to be never-ending wounds?

Wounds that bent spoons in front of that audience of fools and as tears feel from lost brain stems I leave u with this final question: Are you not entertained?