So close, yet, so far.

Props on a busy day
of moving roses and staying
close enough, just out of the way


Twinging midway to midnight
from safety pin stabs
and closing windows
and doors that stay locked


Bleeding to death
and never the same
drunken stupors and listening
as you cry under the shade
with one last cigarette

describing thing so close
just far enough away
the ridges of my skin couldn't
under stand how far
the anger of my eyes has resented
the part that resides in the lies of youth



its in disturbing dreams
or fear of sleep technical names cease
often it creeps in the creases
but I hope you come back


Teen years are disappearing
and I already feel old
but like a child
in the negative clones of time
essence of telling when id die
but that was long ago
and I could barely speak


its radiated in silent still's
like a photographed caption held with time
that set near sunset came alive in fiction

its not in my hands
as sky's glow
and I grow old
if I die young
or old is the last question ill answer
spend my whole life
and every breath till the explanation point

as on and on the clocks tick
till sensory depravation kicks in
and the wall paper catches fire
in a constant loop of unstimulated senses
flashes back and forth as the pendulum
till I awake to a cold room
and no ones even around.