I see the feats of the human mind and pale in comparison.  I shudder at each letter scribed and word made whole.  It is with fear I construct each sentence, precariously balanced on ledges of grammar and punctuation.  Within I bear only hope.

Short story part 1

I was in 5th period, just after lunch.  On this hot spring day where students boil in their seats, the weather foreboding summer's freedom, the world changed.  At least perception changed, or began to, I began to question myself.  I began to question the authenticity of my role as an observer.  Mr. Thomas discussed the fallacy of singular perspective, in this case in relation to historical analysis.  How national history is a sham.  Here, read this article from Cuba on the Pay of Pigs, see how they felt.  I was in the habit of glancing at the clock, freezing time.  Each glance only slows times passage widening the flow until all signs of movement are beneath the surface, the current far below.  In the midst of this eternity the lecture loses all meaning.  Beneath my palm a quarter sized pool of black ink rests.  Staining my skin, globbing between my wrist and the cuff of my cotton shirt, the ink laughed.  As I moved my hand across the desk a long brush stroke formed, a comet's tail from the original pool.
           "Mr. Thomas I broke my pen, may I go to the bathroom" I said while raising my hand.
           "Andrew please wait to be called upon. Yes hurry."
           But where did this pool come from?  MY pen was fine, I examined it from all angles, still fully intact.  With my remaining appendage I rifled through the bottom of my backpack finding no evidence.  Fuck it.  I glanced at Alex.  I glanced at the clock, 12:43.

Have we not yet outgrown rhetoric of old?
Perception is NOT reality, and the world we make
is our coffin fashioned, rather a grave dug
whose white sepulchre is sure to be a bed snug

I still can't stand this constructed coffin
Often it compresses
Thoughts, lost, because
We slow the flow, the mind
Into time, meter, the speaker
Must measure the weight of a feather
Between syllables, subliminals hide
I chide those who miss the point
I'd rather just drop words, absurd, confused, abused, worked, stress, best, chest, heart, stop, start, plot, point, eye, I, end

i thought that you were more, but you became much less
and letting you go, helped to relieve much stress
now im not upset but this aint happiness
when you left my heart there was much absence and
i cant seem to find a way to display my thoughts are all grand im just hopin for another day
to prove im not what you chose but much more than freestyles and prose
ive been thinkin since a young age, and ive been watitin for the world to turn a page, get up on life
and youth behind, cause ever since i was a kid ive been livin rhyme

one morning you will open your eyes and see that all the faces of your childhood have faded, replaced by new souls, none the better, left searching grabbing at the smoke trails of purity passed.

She shivered, arms stuffed inside her black pee coat, the cold rain poured an undeserved echo of the bitter winter passed.