Thursday, April 13, 2017


the sea is stretched out
like a rubber band
till the horizon
as far as the eye can see
it's taut, ready to launch
a missile towards an unsuspecting target
the sea is
waiting for me
but I can't go yet, no
there is a quicksand traveling with me
hands and feet stuck in the mud of my fears
i keep the mud wet with my collection of tears
all the anger, all the rage
i stick fingers down my throat
vomit poetry on this digital page
while my head is engulfed in a jagged cloud of pain
a little piece of my heart remains
in some forgotten mountains
as a hobby, just a hobby
i build pieces of my walls with my quicksand
just a man dealing with strange thoughts
thoughts no one can comprehend
and if my walls are not enough
if these bricks are much too rough
i'd build fences on top of them
trust me when i tell you this
these walls are not for keeping you out
they're here for keeping me in
i sit here in the prison of my making
silently rocking, smiling, shaking
my masks are wearing masks
and the man in the mirror always grins back at me
asking me if i'd ever see the sea

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