Icy iris’ drawn
In ball pointed pens
In the blues of knowing.
Azure spite filled eyes
Filed in failed attempts
Of how my feet barely
Lifted off the unkempt,
Of how I kept rolling in
This same narrow lament.

Accusations that freeze and burn
When what I wanted was
To be free to run.
These watchful eyes, they burden
And forcefully surge; I swell. Feebly feeling
My make-believe golden wings warping,
Bending from the slightest bit of pressure
As they tell me how I had promised
Those naive fickle numbers.

I know what I said.

But while these eyes,
They bite and blister,
I know that I need them.

I’d stop



The Best of Situations

Blindly building
Buildings by placing
Brick by brick patterns
Of cemented lined spaces
Of fate in action;
Catalysts and pathways
Purposelessly fervent
In purposefully moving
In subjective motions
Of duty and justice
And purpose;
Hell bent
On self injected