Paranoid Landscape

Paranoid Landscape
By: Bryan Olson

Riding the waves of this paranoid landscape,
He deciphers the messages,
Like a surgeon with his scalpel.

From shore to shore,
Hidden in oxygen,
Carving its truth.

New Blog up tonight

I know I haven't posted in a long time, but I have a lot of ideas and one will be up later this evening. I promise.

never whispered

never whispered
By: Bryan Olson

Ghost bombs implode,
Reimagining forgotten fatal flaws in forbidden silk.

How can this way be right?

Before the death of lackluster love, symbols emerged in my blind foresight,
Warning me to move to the left to find what was right.
Headstrong I resisted, and now only count the scars in my once fractured vision.

There can be no peace with the leftover remnants that follow these steps, like ribbons in the sky.
Pick through colors left in the mirage of my confusion,
While I do nothing but expel energy in the only place I am free.

Bringing the aftermath to paradise only functions to confuse supportive thought.
All things go to the darkness that I keep by my side.
Pursuing foretold falsehoods,
(ends cut dead before my arrival)
Beautiful futures unavailable,
Due to distance of life, rather than warmth.

Apologies do not drip from these lips, for they were never whispered from yours.
Now only visible to you when you reach Saturn.
By the time you arrive, I will have become someone else.
And the idea of you, will be ever set in stone.

False guarantees from that past gorgeous shell,
Still weigh the shame on your once ringed tongue.
Nothing for me is as stagnant as the failure that became from our becoming.

For your ignorance of humanity, and the lack of grace given,
I pray for black and green to haunt the memory of this disaster.
Every Sunday for the past seven seasons,
The truth has shined clear through stained glass panes of deceit.

I now live with a warning etched behind these hues.
A caution,
To never let decay cross the threshold of my flight.

No luck bestowed.

I was always a lifetime ahead of you.
Forever foolish, to think that you knew how.
That you were capable,
Of offering up pure affection.

So Many Times

So Many Times
By: Bryan Olson

So many times we stick where we are stuck,
feeling like that cartoon quicksand has finally swallowed up our foot.
Yet through all of the intricacies of our difficulties,
self-rescue is always an option if you remain calm and unruffled.
Sometimes you need to take those lead balloons off your feet,
and just MacGyver that shit.

A Twist of Red

A Twist of Red
By: Bryan Olson

Bring me the lyrics to those songs
That the hues in her cover silently sing.
A twist of red births the brightest of lights,
Followed by a scattering of waves.
(I fell)

Follow roses into the color that shelters heaven.
Shadows resist the path to this contorted circle,
(bouncing off the shared essence that connects)
Though she transformed her white canvas,
(welcoming energy)
Yellow has never looked more fantastic.

Spilled Silence

Spilled Silence
By: Bryan Olson

Give me that raven haired goddess reflected in my rear-view.
So many years spent with others behind the wheel.
(taxing)
Multiple fractures have extended to the outer layer of my mind,
Causing an incomplete understanding of the impact surrounding this unique conundrum.

Suppressed like oxygen
(trapped in jars)
I could hear the pop resonate throughout the tainted glass.
Without worry of sound levels in my universe,
I drift on the fields that flew between the buds that taste.

Thoughts float outside my sill of that face, and those eyes that spilled silence into my ears.
(few remaining have seen the magpie dance)
Those encounters that left me hollow.
It is not what did or did not happen,
But rather the entire ironically irrelevant yellow spin thrown in my direction.

I remember those months vividly,
(like a dream within a dream)
Laughing with a furious passion (just as contagious as Ebola)
Falling onto each other, before every time felt like the first.
Now I walk in an avalanche, receiving the echo of a mix-tape that blackouts my heart.

Piece Of Time

Piece Of Time
By: Bryan Olson

There is an underlying thread that rides the wind passing over my frayed lips.
If you have a day open, I invite you to sit with me.
Share the essence of life with another in an effort to expand the perception we both possess.
Just stare into these eyes and offer up your silence if you feel that is all you can give.
Twenty four hours.
At this stage it is nothing close to a lifetime.
You may find me dancing on the tips of your eyelashes, or swimming in the water left in your ear.
A minute only lasts as long as we look at a piece of time.
In doing so, we find that there is only enough left to take on what we must.

The Greatest Of Slumbers

The Greatest Of Slumbers
By: Bryan Olson

Somewhere in the air between my fingertips and my feathers, an epiphany is born.
Next to the polls on my sanity, detailed lines are drawn.
(run to the tattooed light that cleans blackened nails)
Ropes of energy wrap around like a full-body halo.
Driving until the dawn is reflected in the falling life before me,
Absorbing their stories into my essence, I float on to the next.

Overflowing eruptions of systematic thought,
Break through the layers that came after the greatest of slumbers.
They flow into the ether,
And like lightning,
They strike,
(charging air and swimming in skin)

Fearing the fearful,
(for they have devised the most unspeakable devices)
Walking in reverse, to cover my tracks.
Yet every autumn I fall into the pools I have been so careful to avoid,
(an Aquarius swimming with the koi)
As thoughts wonder into the clouds that shower us with traffic.

Sixth

Sixth
By: Bryan Olson

The flagrant fragrance of those formidable foreseers,
Facilitating the forecasting frequency of foul forbearance.
Fitting in fractured fights and fickle frowns,
Flawlessly feeling facts found from facing forever.

Graphite

Graphite
By: Bryan Olson

The way thoughts poured out of me, I knew something big was happening.
A question.
Memories long forgotten and words lost in graphite.
Teaching lessons in the most graphic way possible.
Bound by wire and stiff cardboard
The scent so familiar, with time only grows stronger.

The magic I held in my hands
How clear my visions became.
I still read this token from my past.
Pages full of wisdom I was not aware I possessed.
Flipping through my past brings a certain coolness to my soul
That black notebook and the secrets it still holds.