Daffodils pose prissy
Before a faded neon yellow sky
Chances of rain they said, iffy
But the heat is sucking poor daffodils dry
Get yourself clean she says, spiffy
But my nose tingles, aching for a good cry
As daffodils wilt, no longer fresh, pretty
No time for a proper goodbye

The parlor decor is kitschy
But I haven’t got feeling to mind
The back of my brain is itchy
Whith my tears that I’ve set aside
The life in his eyes is missing
I have to wonder if there’s any in mine
While I wish I were back in my kitchen
Unafraid of what it’s like to die
 

You wander 
through a wasteland of subconscious thought
who are you to think twice 
as you round each bend 
going in circles 
each second you try to befriend 
slips away like sand 
and you're alone again
always losing to the timer on your breathing
always pacing around imaginary walls
stuck within a labyrinth of your own creation 
going ever crazy 
until reality calls
you back into this world we live in 
and plunges you deeper into the depths of your own fear 
sending you back to the start 
but each time you begin again 
the walls change ever so slightly 
and there is never a straight path
out. 

 

Hours click
Clock
Tick
Into each other
Like gears always shifting 
And kookooclock concerns 
Popping out of the little window on my forehead 
At the top of every anxious moment 
As my insides swing 
Back and forth 
Vermilion secrets burning a hole in my stomach 
Counting every second until im free of this room
Reality is a fallacy 
To the mind 
That be confined
Within the depths of an imaginary clock
Maybe i am melting 
Painted plastered to a table edge 
Salvador dali style 
Dripping from the dying tree branch of my memory 
Who am i becomes lost in the monotony 
Of the omnipresent clocking clicking shifting 
Of my world moving against me
Rushing pushing pulsing 
Time is relative 
They tell me
Yet i feel it pulling me slowly 
Farther from the bright eyed boy who used to stare back at me
In the foggy glass 
Now he’s older 
Sadder 

Hello 
You wave at me
Gently like a swaying blade of grass
Seconds drag on
And moments pass
Before I can think to lift my hand in reply
The regret will now linger
Crawling in a hot shameful, many legged entity 
Up my spine
And across my cheeks
Because before I could think to lift my hand in response
You had already passed me
And I was too deep in my own frustrations to pay mind 
To the fact
That to socialize fully 
Would mean to wave back.

 

soft in waves
she comes down from the heavens
tethered only by a fraying strand of moonlight
caressing each memory
she holds in her hand
your sleeping heart at night
still beating as it will within her silken purse
as she alights on downy pillow stairs
to a land of subconscious realizations
sometimes she begins with a gentle smile
and a saddened gaze
and leaves in a faded gesture
with the ringing of an alarm clock
other times she comes creeping teeth pointed
and eyes hardened from too much to process
she'll depart as quickly as she came
leaving you in a cold sweat in the darkness of the early hours

she is the dream keeper
who in tiny bottles made of star dew
collected in the nebula fields
holds onto all the dreams we forget
and holds dear each little memory
each sliver of childhood innocence
we lose touch with as we strive for maturity

Colored pencil on mixed media paper
 

I want to pull the ribbon of my emotions
My thoughts and feelings 
Out through my mouth 
And tie it
In a beautiful bow 
But each time I reach
Into that well between my chin and collarbone 
All I pull out is tangled string 
That’s unruly and thin 
It’s the kind of string
You can’t tie bows with 
And I am infuriated that my tongue stumbles 
Over the knotted syllables 
And fumbles blindly 
With the mangled social skills 
I wish 
To tie a bow with my words
That I want to flow 
From my mouth 
But all I have is a heap of intwined threads 
That lie at my feet 
And mock me instead.
 

Words 
Adorned by graphite expectations 
Fingers gripping tightly 
To the chipping yellow nub
To the hopes and dreams
He’s afraid will dry up
Colors
Surge through his head
Washing gentle waves upon his brain 
Gentle are not the words he wishes to convey 
Nonetheless he lets the silence envelop him 
Fantasies of freedom 
Gone along with the sunkissed inspiration 
And will to rise from his seat
Choking on the dread that filled his lungs 
It smells of anxiety and highlighter ink
many a homework assignment late or incomplete 
And of the many many people who may have sat 
But in this silence too, sink 
Wishing much like he that they too could be gone 
In just one easily mistakable blink 
He raises his head 
But all he can see is chartreuse and honey yellow 
Sharp circles and soft triangles 
is the cast of all his troubles 

Here is a couple drawings I did in low light so I couldn't see the colors of the markers very well, It was a fun experiment and resulted in a drawing I'm actually pretty proud of.