Each turn of my life
is a play for thrills
remnant of the games
we'd throw our dice:
a couple of chance,
hoping for the jackpot
but settling for change,
living for the spin,
'till it's our role again;
a crap shoot fallen,
two die alone.

I don't calculate, I experience,
Mapping a constant circle
Of endless enlightenment;
Your line of logic runs tangent
And I need no proof that
My limit does not exist.

Love is between
Those too blind
To realize that time
alway ends.
The eternal moment
Lasts forever
With ignorant fervor
defending ideals.

Ever dreamers
Stuck on a notion
Ignoring emotion
for a feeling.
Validating security
By blissful mistake
In order to make
each stronger.

Light crept through my window at dawn
Illuminating the shadows of the creases
in his old imprint on my bedsheet.
That sun had set, but in the darkness
shadows fade, gradient into null --
the knowledge I ignored, now
trembling as golden rays
kiss my arm and tempt my mind,
Awaken the ruffles that remain
and highlight each cotton peak,
each contrasting up & down
rising further, rushing more,
'till the sun falls upon your face
when you open your eyes,
and I forget those fabric cliffs
that kept me from seeing
a new brightness you shine.

They say the future artist
lives a privileged life.
Well you can't blame
little Ms. Thing
or Mr. Has-it-all
for inventing problems
Mommy & Daddy already solved.
If it's human nature to be discontent
and your life is full-fancy,
then our luck winner of life's lottery
has no choice but to create
a world of fiction,
expressing the problems
the middle are too busy to notice.

We all have a past,
We all hide it well;
We all forget that
We all hurt inside.

I'm obsessed with recreating your hit, that natural high. Even with this unnatural stimulation, I'm not filling a void, but hoping to flood the same inspirational channels that have since run dry. You made me wet, dripping with emotions I thought I reserved for paper. But with you, the ink didn't flow from my pen. With you, the black words shot and swirled a world of white: each and every color imaginable. Now that you're gone, I'm back to black: a lack, an endless void of ink blots and crazy talk. And, now, back at my desk, these strokes are the gospel of a hollow man.