His Fault

See the man in the corner
With a sad sort of shape
Keeping hands in his pockets
Like he’s keeping them safe

See the man in the corner
With the monochrome eyes
Little shadows beneath them
From the things on his mind

I know what you’ve heard
But stories get told
He’s not quite the person
That I used to know
They say that he’s guilty
But I know he’s not
He’s the man in the corner
And it isn’t his fault

See the man in the corner
Playing hide-and-go-seek
But the world never found him
Like they never found me

See the man in the corner
Staring out at the room
Like he sees what is not there
Like he’s looking for you

I know what you’ve heard
But stories get told
He’s not quite the person
That I used to know
They say that he’s guilty
But I know he’s not
He’s the man in my mirror
And it isn’t his fault

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Visiting Hours

The windows are clean
The pillows are soft
The sheets are pristine
The TV is off

I miss you so much
Won’t you come around
We haven’t heard a whisper
We haven’t heard a sound

If can hear me
If you are awake
I came to see you
So you don’t forget

I don’t have a lot
But I brought you flowers
I’m only allowed
For visiting hours

The medicine is stronger
The treatments are longer
Than we could have dreamed

I know that you’re tired
And you don’t belong here
But I still believe

One day the doctor
Will tell us you’re better
And you’re ready to leave

But I will keep coming
And sitting beside you
Until you revive

The bed is adjusted
The magazines placed
My fingers are warm
On your quiet face

I miss you so much
I wish you were here
Just wanted to say
There is someone who cares

Arts & Crafts

My arts and crafts
Are hearts and masks
Cut out of thoughts
And glued together

Paper faces
Lines I traced
From other smiles
And other places

Take a razor
And a paper
Make a face that
Suits me better

Crude constructions
Simulations
Of expressions
I can’t fashion

Take some scissors
Strong adhesive
Bend the edges
Shape the pieces

Lips for smiling
Eyes for lying
Skin like armor
Just to hide me

My arts and crafts
Are hearts and masks
All colored neat
Inside the lines

If there’s mistakes
We can erase
And start again
With better pens

My arts and crafts
Are jokes and laughs
To cover scratches
Fresh and bleeding

Paper faces
I created
From the things
Left strewn about

Something About A Song

In the stillness of a small enclosure
An indulgent marriage of will and surrender
Provoke me to invoke a melody
From unfeeling devices
Spanning the depths of my soul
These merciless strains
All but rip the very sanity from my brain
Frozen here in some fantasy or fear
Or soft, warming loneliness that comforts and burns me as a potent drug in my veins
How can such wave forms transmitted
Across polluted airways and twisted wires
So thoroughly embrace me
As if the world were a myth that exists only beyond this painted plastic frame
But in here there is only me
Me and this…
Entity of sound
This invasive little parasite sucking the life from my heart and flooding my thoughts
And I love it
Something about a song
A language that at times seems too advanced for our primitive race
The blood in my veins
The pulse in my wrist
A melody
A sound
A door out of places with walls too think and air too stale
Something about a song
And I sit here at ground zero
The full impact absorbed in the fibers of my structure
For a few minutes raptured
For a few minutes at one
And then it ends
Life fades slowly back
Reality resumes
I reluctantly revive the engine
Wake up the roar and hum of this foreign land again
Breathe long and release
And drive away