walking the precipice

It is healthy to suggest balance, no lean to one side. This is a rational approach to the exploration of the self; experiencing a middle ground, the best of both worlds.

On a more personal note, should you choose to lean, risk slipping, sliding down the teeter end of the totter, you will be made stronger. You will learn to bend your knees, keep your balance; spend days awake, nights awake, until you may walk the precipice.

And think, what a great new world it will be, to see it on it's side

approx. 6300 nights

Remnants of what was, burning images and odors and sensations,

long forgotten amongst what is, and what might be

it's what we label memories, and justify as experience
Yes, tomorrow is a new day

but only if I fall asleep

if only the season could change such a thing

the winter's dry, and dreary; she's cold and full of
death

but
somehow, when the summer dawns, I'll instantly forget
the mounds of snow, the body count, the anger in
these walls

because outside,
beneath the sun, I'll smile, and forget it all

running blind

my words are lazy and unreliable, my eyes heavy

I can't trust my tongue

and even in the fog
these thoughts refuse to slow
running blindly, they collide

scratching and peeling

we scratch at the surface

with words and tears and smiles

and wish it was so easy

as to cut deep into our gut

and watch in front of us, our soul

pool at our feet

we wish not to be alone

to have someone

to want to cut as well

this is the dream of lovers

and the catalyst of fighters

to have someone

who wants to cut you back

an eager crawl becomes a walk

"From around the age of six, I had the habit of sketching from life. I became an artist, and from fifty on began producing works that won some reputation, but nothing I did before the age of seventy was worthy of attention. At seventy-three, I began to grasp the structures of birds and beasts, insects and fish, and of the way plants grow. If I go on trying, I will surely understand them still better by the time I am eighty-six, so that by ninety I will have penetrated to their essential nature. At one hundred, I may well have a positively divine understanding of them, while at one hundred and thirty, forty, or more I will have reached the stage where every dot and every stroke I paint will be alive" - Katsushika Hokusai

Now, I cannot give you anything of value

for life beyond this remains beyond me

so I cry, as I am no more than

a child playing with words

and crawl toward the years ahead

an eager crawl turns to a walk,

which soon becomes a run

and eventually I'm sprinting

now I ask you, what will happen

when I've left my breath behind

and I find that I would rather know of nothing

maybe in my head, maybe

we'll meet under the mattress, you and i, not in love
you'll tell me that you need me, that i'm not supposed to be here
and i'll believe you, but only if you take me with you

we'll meet under the mattress, you and i

to draw plans of revolution, for another planet

not that here is lost, not a cause

just a place i'm not supposed to be

what i feel is like a butterfly in someone else's stomach like i've waited a whole lifetime, only longer, maybe two
and the worst part is, i don't know for what

i could see the way you look at me, in my head
like the way i'd look at you, if i'd ever seen your face
but it's nothing like love, the way i need you

you are nothing, not a man

though, perhaps you were, once

i could paint a picture, if i'd ever seen your face

we met once, not in person, in a dream i think

i was laying down, at least

i remember, you came in on a breath,

and right then, i could have lived forever

but you wouldn't let me say your name