I reverb and rebound off of myself like shrapnel.

the concrete comes closer.

the legs of my body, the things always holding me up, unconfused, they crumble.

My eyes watch as my head falls down...

I seem to have lost my head.







Can anyone help me find it?

Eclipse

I have un-natural eclipses of the mind and soul. Eclipsed from life, from love, and from music.


At this moment, my world has no light.

Sacrifice

I see them both, on the street, every day. The petit son, with flowing hair in the shape of a sphere, and the dad who mimmicks his looks, but carries with him a pair of crutches. I see them everyday, and I think about them every day.

The boy's probably around the age of six ripe years. They walk down the boulevard, whilst in the midst of things, the father's struggling and in pain as he walks. Despite that, walking his son to school isn't a chore, it's his duty and what he loves he must protect.

I have an honest question. Does this little boy know that his dad's a hero? I see them everyday, and from what I see I know he's one.

I've seen these people for two years.

In twelve ripe years, that deserving boy will know and understand what I know about his father.

Toy

In graffiti, both black book and on the streets, there are toys, and there are the experienced few...

A toy is someone who doesn't know what they're doing, they don't know what they want to do with their art.

I don't know if I want my life to be dark or light, fluent or jagged. I don't know what I want to do with it...




I'm just a toy.

Soeur

I hear it,
feel it,
it's icy,
complex,
web-like
pain in my brain,
and my heart...

confounding,
is my affinity,
to inflicting verbal grenados at her

despite that I feel pain as well....
all I feel is pain,
and confusion

I know I have to stop,

but it seems impossible...

Tears

Tears strangle my cheeks.

My freckles wail,
while the sour,
pungent,
disease ridden tears,
drug me to death...

I can't,
just isn't possible,
for me to get away from it,
my anger,
my sorrow,
my confusion...

the tears speak,
but they speak water-colored dialects,
why...

what's to cry about,
love...

love surrounds,
confounds...
and kills...

me,
but I still love,
tears can be allies...

Pere

I call, or speak everyday with him. He guides me, but he never asks for help. Why?

I called him. To tell him how my day was, he was still in the city...

I spoke to him, and I hear cars wailing. It's seven, you've been there for twelve hours, I think...

He says he needs to go home and have dinner.

By himself.

By.

Himself.

Why?