dreaming of colors

I salivate at the thought of atom lasers and waves of splattered rainbow

the way they collaborate on a acid halo.
technicolor schemes, that i’d envy more than me.
oh, what it is to be, a color never dreamed.
enactment of life, elapsed by the clockwork
collapsing of time. facets of ‘why does it all hurt?’
a village helps a villager, if the villagers hurt
do these pills help the piller if his pillars are burnt?
his bridges are burned? his highways corroded
how do I ride into the sunset if I can’t shift out my motor
road to hell is paved with gold embellished shades
it’s so subjective. wave hello to your soul in separate planes
i don’t know.
stuck in a layer of concrete. put flower petals to the metal
a gentle giant so powerful, yet afraid of his heartbeat
accept what we think we deserve-  excuses for bad behavior
human nature to constantly be stuck in reverse
it gets worse. “but it gets better” nothing to learn from forever
the souls dark. wholeheartedly wrapped in fatigue
thought of happiness being something that you have to achieve
awkwardness. my bed cries with me when I’m sad in my sheets
trail of tears that supersedes the native retreat
i create a path of logic built on a mountain of lies
mountain lions call me out on my pathological lying
fake it, till you make it. hate it, till you love it
love it that you hate me, it jets the fuel i huff in
was taught to cherish things that were romantically scenic
sucked nostalgia dry ’till nostalgia was bleeding
drank the blood from a chalice, and soaked up its privilege
youth gave me a run for my money when i was broke to begin with
a loner with dimming hope, so dull it begins to show
a biography of my life would expose darkness over light
like an eclipse, with a plot twist most would think morose
eskimos have 50 words for snow, I acquiesce 50 words for hate
most manifest themselves, in bloody knuckles. bloody gauze and tape
learned to roll with the punches, but humans werent meant to roll
a ball inside of me, that snowballs bigger everytime its cold
everytime i hold, myself when im at home.

im a droll, dry-amusement, type of guy with nice intentions but with bad conclusions, soft witted, mild human, sophisticated tall thinker. with a soul that’s sly and stupid, controlled environment. spry delusion. im told, it’s tiring, to expose your entire being in poems, and in higher reading.

i never said goodbye once, cause i believe in good karma endings
nice guys finish last but you learn more when you’re not as condescending