meta






conflict

new poem up at let people poems.

my poetry is at all times one of the following three:
a) self-exploratory
b) based in memory
or
c) pure fiction/fantasy being used to depict a moment or feeling that may have been real, though the story surrounding it may be made up.

fortress of solitude

you
enter
casually,
cautiously.

step
     by
        step.

walls
protect fear
of vulnerability;
each stone delicately lain.

you
     are
         inside.

reluctance,
vague uncertainty -
but it's hard to turn back
while the garden's in bloom. 

i am so fragile

sleep, dreams

last night i had such an intense dream that i came sprinting out of my bed fleeing towards the kitchen to take on (what i thought) were intruders in the house. i was filled with an animalistic fear of death and a call to action. i ran out in such a hurry to take on whatever force was at my door, stopping only to tell my sleeping roommate that he had to come help quickly. my roomies had come home from the bar and spilled drinks on the ground and were yelling because of it. somehow that got into my dream and it became the sound of people screaming for help. i remember nothing of my dream except that i felt absolute fear, myself dying, and others that needed help - this was all presented to me through (seemingly) geometric patterns in my head.

i 'came out of it' after everyone in the house was staring at me like "what's wrong?!". i felt as if i was on a hallucinogenic drug for ~ 5 minutes, watching everything go by in a blurry haze and asking those around me if i was still asleep. i drank some water and retreated back to bed.

later i woke up with an intense start again, this time in a cold sweat, feeling the same excited fear but not as intense. this is wholly new to me. my mind is operating in ways i have not felt in a very long time...

f(x)=love me

write to me
tell me you
x

i've
become a painting
in
a sea
of dark blue blanket
my eyes
mould
transform
and swirl

i don't
burn in you

blink
look inward
the storm
is here
inside me
only

eleven months

nature's first four seasons with no 'her'

it's the fall 

that i stood up from

i learned to walk again

the people disappear from the streets

the wind comes around from the north

a chill sneaks into every grain of sand