Discolored figurines
line up, one by one...

Feelings coupled with winters chill
Upon an early morning, I rise...

Ten twenty pm-
laid my pen to rest...

I suppose
this journey...

I stood in the corner
of a pitch, dark room...

Finished with ink stained hands
smearing elusions onto faces...

Catastrophic events plague
a mindful spirit with confusion...

I'll Return to Mother Earth
toil my hands within her roots...

Sunshine, shadowing
as moonbeams struggle for air...

If I ever need you
to understand...

At the age of seventeen, I justified
my thoughts as opium...

I made a silent confession
when dawn kissed droopy...