Words Needing Music

I feel like I can't exist without you I know I possibly can I feel like I'm worthless without your approval I know I'm trying so much to be worth I feel like I need you in my life  I know I just want you there I feel like I lost my only friend  I know we weren't friends  I feel I was telling you the truth  I know I was scared to I feel like I could be a dear friend I know I've hurt you irreversibly  I feel so so sad  I know it won't stop tomorrow  I feel lost without you  I know I'm somewhere  I feel alone  I know I'm next to someone  I feel everything I do, everything I try, everything I accomplish, everything I'm doing better, is for you  I know I shouldn't  I feel I was just drunk and silly  I know I was hurtful and toxic  I feel I was ready to be your friend  I know I was  I feel like saying I'm sorry  I know there's no point  I feel like dying  I don't know how I'll go on living  I feel all these things I know they're wro

Nietzsche said a true philosopher is measured by how much truth they can handle. So bring me truth for I intent to know myself. And only through truth can I dig deep enough. What did Nietzsche know though? Did he ever find himself or was he ever just discontent with what Salomé showed him? So protect me with what you think I must now know. The opposite of a lie or the absence of truth, is not truth, though. So disregard all lessons you think I know because I'm still searching. I'll ask for what I want. Yes that's it. No... How do I ever come close to know what I want? Do others tell me? No. Does morality? Which morality. Does myself? He won't answer. Addictions will. Passions. Insecurities. Sentiments and feelings. Readily. With a loudest voice. Drowning me. Forcibly, brutally, 'guiding' me. God I'm so young. Will I ever get old? Will I ever conform? No I don't want that! Hmm there's a 'want'. It seems genuine. I'll humbly take it into co

Let me talk now to my steps.  The lucky ones close to my voice but also to the old ones who struggled to help me. To the future ones who beg me to be taken.  To those fast and close together hanging out with my sweat. To the drunk slow ones making irrational lines next to yours. The first one with my dad's exultation. The last one with my daughter's tear? Let me stop and wait and speak,  for they won't. They just count. Existing or oblivious, from zero to plus one. Firmly planted, to draggingly aloof. I'll tell them of my fear for their actions. I'll show gratitude for where they got me. I'll show hate for where they got me away from. I'll tell them the only non-changing thing in life is change itself. Inform them of their pain. Ask for forgiveness since I'm resisting them. Never promise them a thing. Because a promise is, taking things for granted. And they don't understand stillness.  Their life means motion. So I'll take them on my journeys. O

Mama tried to make it seem nice.  This place of people.  This cacophony of beauty and ugliness.  This glass of colours.  Mama tried to paint it easy.  Action reaction type of deal.  This is good and this is bad.  Be calm little one, she said.  This is truth and this is lies.  But then I grew up.  The nest was warm but outside, the smells were drawing me.  I went and found you.  So unconventional you.  And then you left.  To enjoy the world.  The beautiful ugliness of it.  And I am here letting go.  Of mama's words.  Of standing pillars that hold, a Parthenon in my mind.  A sea is crushing everything I built.  And I feel weird.  My paintbrush in my hand.  An empty canvas in my chest.  I like this ugliness of it.  The painting that smells and drips.  The buffet of image.  The awe.  The aimless junkie next to the Gucci girl.  The awkward smiles,  the bravados of pretention.  My naked nerves exposed,  to the immature jungle.  And me finally. Swinging from tree to tree.  Ugly. Beautiful

A thousand poems this one not even a glimpse Struggle impotent Pushing against me pushing The hero The villain One and the same Filling a void soothingly Solving the problem it causes Robbing me of life Robbing me of innocence Turning me into a monster I am not Then leaving me alone  above your stabbed heart  with bloodied hands. Screaming it wasn't me knowing it was. Will I ever be free? Last line  Hilariously not When it's truly written, I hope it'll be I won 

The corners of the wall in my room  stare at me.  I am a boy jumping on the bed.  I am a teenager listening to the radio.  They're there.  Same colour, same shape, staring at me.  I'm anxious over a girl I'm crushing over.  They're still there. Unchanged.  Are they hoping for me?  I brought her home.  I'm kissing her passionately.  We fuck.  We're in love talking about being old by a fireplace.  They stare.  Are they happy for me?  She's gone.  I'm crying my destroyed soul out.  They... They've not changed a fraction.  They are staring at me.  Ever the same.  Always there.  Staring... Are they judging me? I'm gone.  They're still there.  Do they miss me?

She A match unfaltering amid a raging storm A hand, extended, right before the touch Between thoughts of pressure a sigh of smile and calm Her dance, in absence thought of Her face, in front, admired and pitied Her absence, void life,  the only death that is and isn't For if hope is there, all trifles are pale All past and future light up All possibilities lost or possible beautifully reside in the mind Calm, with a book in their hand Some understood Some not yet written

Options Forests of trees of branches of saplings Galaxies in droplets of oceans vast Excruciatingly easy to choose if missing Peacefully hard to select if there And you Lovely you sitting there With billions of lives and trillions of stories before you and after Trying to stay calm while you fit yourself in this puzzle infinite Life demands and others Sure. Of course. Makes sense. You must..  But you Lovely you lying there It's hard I know and endless So stay a bit before you go Let me hug you and help you decide and tomorrow you help me