There's a crack between "perfect" and I've stared at it's colors. It's a dream to be marveled and all, but it smells too familiar.

And yesterday I bit an apple and it tasted too bitter, but I chewed til I hit the core and I even chewed further.

When I start seeing you, my friends tell me you're fiction. That you're not a beautiful absolute, but a mere fabrication. But you're just as real to me, and maybe more amply. So if I had to make my decision, I'd choose insanity.

Sometimes I play house for hours, but your fort is better. And even when I'm happy and all, I still dial your number. When I finger paint my walls and when it dries, I'll leave room for your picture.

Anew an Old

I bare the yoke of a scanted heart and I can see it in my mirror.

In love with crashed cars, burning piles of literature, crippled animals, and the under appreciated human beings.

With the sat upon.

With the spat upon.

In love with the hopelessly smitten.

With the haggard and also the abandoned.

With the used up, torn up, and left behind.

With the tarred and feathered.

In love with their rescuer.

I know the smell of old pages of books.

I savor every property of flavor in my mouth.

Shelve the apple too beautiful to eat.

Embarrassed that I eat it anyway.

I sense the departure of every wonder.

I know their greatness.

My dime is in a well somewhere.

I die for damaged vines which prove pure love.

I remain for those who abused them.

I fight between the depths of cause and action.

Appalled by pride.

By polygamy.

By ignorance.

By abuse.

Appalled by self.

Dwell in the beauty of others.

Live in the battered home of what has been.

Lodge in the breast of sins.

Sleep in the stare of the awkward smile.

Find rest in the unwanted broken households.

Anew an old.

Love an unloving.

Cherish charity.

Write what must be written.

Believe in something misunderstood. 

I am clothed in the fibers of empty promises.

Washed anew in the deluge of humility.

My grace is in my thrashing to the floor.

I bare the yoke of my future.

In love with the broken hearted.

Built

Break or make me, depending on your mood.

A stone is just a stone is only what you build with it.

And I guess we'll smash it all to little unreasonable pieces.

Good longing to the chest with too many key holes.

I've gotten lost and I've gotten lost again.

My rescuer lost his right side of the bed.

The baron, the bred, the broken has the job of my judgement

and my cheek has turned.

I never let the bird free; I never let the good be me.

Bare none, I've more to carry.

Take what you must, but leave me with my burden.

Better is long forgot and merry is far fortold, but reason is real and built is blood and sweat and stone.

We both bare the same heavy cross that you're nailed to.

Only, I carry on.