wandering;

i met a homeless man at the coffeeshop.
he told me he was ready to jump off the tallest building in town
and just get away from it all:



unsure of
where to go from here,
unaware of
which way is up,
which way is down.
and who does he tell?
the little girl
at the
coffee house.
all of his problems,
like theyll
suddenly
disappear
if someone else
knows.
here-
hold my problems
real quick,
ill be right back
for them.
and he never returns.
running away,
from all hes ever known,
he doesnt care
what he loses,
as long
as
this part
is gone.
alone since 16,
he doesnt know
who to go to.
used to not having
anyone.
and at this point,
its normal
for him
to be his own
best friend.
im listening:
i cant help,
though,
if you keep your guard up,
if you dont let me in.

perspective;

they see
and so they think they know.
oh, pure oblivion.
oh, sweet confusion.
sweet complication.
i saw the whole thing,
along side him.
and he told me later,
the entire story
had changed.
glorious misconception.
i know you hear me,
but disregard what i say,
write off the truth
if it doesnt agree
with you.
youre beautiful
as you look
the other way.

everything she ever said;
but what does it even mean?
just words.
and what are
words?
what do they mean,
what is the value of the things you say?
is it equivalent to the way they make you feel?
and what do those feelings mean?
do they really matter either?
how do you measure them?
in more words?
cause the feelings don't last,
they quickly fade,
just as they came,
and are hardly remembered for long...
its like this for everything, when you break it all down.
the farther along you go,
the less it
matters,
until it means nothing at all,
and you begin to wonder why you're even thinking about it.
and life becomes so plain
and without point.

perfectly
imperfect
mistakes.
are you
aware
that
you weren't meant to be made?
beautiful
creation,
for an
accident.
your flaws are that which define you.
they make you
who
you are.

currently untitled;

she never had too much without having too little.
i saw her, holding on too tight.
she wasn't doing any good being kept in her box.
hiding from the world what was on her mind.
i was there with her the day it fell apart.
and right by her side when life lost its spark.
mine was the name she addressed her final letter to.
and to me, the words were written:


"when they say
they can relate,
and that they
have the answer
to your problems,
dont accept what
they offer you.
for when you do,
you lose the
true meaning,
and it becomes
your life.
who wants to live
a life based on
something you only did
because of someone else?
in this, your life
is no longer yours."

ON SELF (and some pity)

breaking down,

just to build yourself back up,
just to break back down.
the viscious cycle
that
    NEVER
         ENDS.


it sucks you in,
        swallows you whole,
        spits you back out.


and you really dont know how to do any of it anymore,
best to keep your mouth shut,
keep to yourself.


but sometimes,
     you collapse.
the words stream from your mouth,
the cries, the lies, and coming out your eyes,
and leaking out every pore,
so everyone hears,
     and everyone sees,
             EVERYONE KNOWS.


and the secrets you've been holding in,
the ones you really never told
    anyone.
it all gets to be too much.


and back to breaking
down,
and you cant even build it back
up,
and you look for some help,
anywhere,
                                         and you pray.
              and you know hes not even there,
no ones really listening.
  but talking to someone, imaginary or not,
is, after all,
               better than nothing
       better than having no one at all.


RUN, RUN, RUN now,
        away from it all,
  i'd rather be weak when i fall,
and sink,
             than just dissolve.