Broken Pedestals

Don’t lose sight of the light.
I close both my eyes, but
Leave the third one open-wide.
Absorbing and Transforming,
Life is a canvas already been painted on; which color will you use to highlight the accents?
How many ways can I contrast the madness?
We are often too busy adding structure to the broken pedestals that once seated those you placed highly.
Deceived if depth can’t be seen without views of the horizon.
Still can’t hear me yelling – only seeing me naked.
This one really speaks to me…
Eye can’t teach them to listen.
Splatter paint like emotion wherever I go.
The world is my canvas. I create in the shadows.
Wash that mask, under that mask, beneath the skin.
Peel the flesh back like old pages.
This book is blank just like the canvas.
Invisible ink disguised as experience.
Squeeze the color out my veins, and witness the light ooze through pores.
Decorating the pews they are glued to.
Stained with the truth not illustrated on the glass.
Looking out the window is living in the past.
Breaking that window is living.
I’m breaking my silence how trees uproot sidewalks.
I belong in the street.
Driving myself crazy, playing hide-n-go-seek with self-identity.
Don’t be lazy.
Chasing my tears to the waterfall of my dreams.
Now I’m glowing..
I stay woke.


Motion Pictures

I’m stuck in between writers block and a ticking clock; there’s not enough minutes in an hour to cherish a day.

My eyes stay glued to the pages, that’s how I stay awake. I sit up in my bed and contemplate. The second I close my eyes, I lose 4 hours out the next day.

No breaks.

I’m speeding on the train, trying to beat late to work. They say you work hard then you play, but I sweat a little more on the playground because that’s my job day to day. When night creeps around, Im waiting for the sandman with my A.K.


Pen also known as my artillery. I’m breaking and entering in the memory bank of my own mind, Trying to ditch the reoccurring visions of what I thought was love at first sight. It took one night, to lose sight of who I was. So Ive experienced being blind.

That’s may be the reason when I recite these lines I have to close my eyes. I feel a pain in my chest, like I overdosed. Instead I keep going line after line after line. And realize that pain is only that feeling of wanting you when I coming down.

From this high. I’m sorry. My hearts a bit tender. Im soaring trying to catch up with my pride, whose trying to catch up with my ego, whos chasing after my mind.

See its not the fame I want; I want the audience inclined. I’m satisfied with being well known. They haven’t yet gotten the message, I’m ahead of my time, but behind.

I live in the moment. If my piece doesnt make your heart skip a beat, I dont own it.