After looking back on the last few years with depth and hind sight. I've realized that I never really took a look at myself and what I was doing to the people around me. The selfish glut is over and the stark reality of the bed I've made is terrifying. I'm slashed deep and wide and my emotions are flowing out and my most guarded feelings are being shared with complete strangers. I've begin to cry infront of far too many people. I met a man today who's wife just left him also and in one look we shared the shame of what we've done to those we adored the most. We fought back tears in control of our composer tripping slightly at the raw we couldn't hide. The insight I refused to use could of saved me the love of my life. Instead I hid in our time of need the emotions I felt because I lost a child and couldn't deal with the consequences that my actions brought me. I realize now that I hid my real self from that moment on. The fears and sarrow that I had felt before were paled by light pulled to the depths of this black hole in my heart. I tore myself apart and threw the vulnerable parts to the bottom of my soul. Inadvertently cutting off myself emotionally from everyone around me. I weep at the relationships I missed out on. I just swallowed my aderals and drowned myself in work. Telling myself that success at my job is what my wife needed. More pay, more things, more happiness. The whole time I was snubbing those around me in brash strokes. I look back on a version of myself as a scout tilling and planting a yard for an old lady and compare that to a man who wouldn't open the door for his wife. What did I think I was doing? On the way home each day after long nights at work, I'd drown my stress in a couple cigarettes, deep breaths of sweet death, just to get home and hide my life in a bowl of pot. Letting the white clouds engulf me in the sparkling mess I didn't want to face. Stripping myself from the crutches was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I remember following a co-worker all the way to his car for a cigarette, after I vowed to never buy another. After that my resolve was strengthened and I stopped getting high. Little did I know the darkness just layers beneath the skin that clawed itself to Alcohol. In gulps I drowned out my sanity and made way for demons within. I write as if this was the first time, and I wish so badly this was the last. The demon downed a bottled of aderal, trying to finally wipe this disgust from the face of the earth. At the same moment failing completely and letting another demon in. The birth of "Paranoid K.C." My drunken rampage was the beginning of the end. I accused her of cheating losely based on texts I can't remember, forever ending the trust we shared, and losing the security that I would be there for her by trying to kill myself. Those were the moments my acts smeared the hallow ground that was our first home. The place my wife so beautifully asked me to marry her. The hearts still hang in my room. The socks I wore wrapped in the elastic that she wore in her hair still lays hidden. Secret relics to the religion of our past. Three days straight I was awake after swallowing that bottle. The first I lied awake jumping at every sound within our house thinking that someone was breaking in. The second was bad, the cars that drove by were people attacking. The whole world a nightmare. I had a class at work that day, regrettably I attended. I knew full well my eyes were dialated like two endless holes gaping into my black soul. In one long gaze with eyes dramatically pronounced the teacher acknowledged he noticed without alerting the rest of the class. Or was that just, "Paranoid K.C."? I felt such shame. The third night, we drove all night while the imaginary people followed ready to attack us. From that moment on, they stopped giving me the aderal. Thats when I realized the addiction it had become. Picking up the pieces of our life we made best of the waste I had left. We moved again not able to stand the terrible memories I, K.C., had created. We moved and bought a third of my parents house desperate for a third chance. This was our new hope. Our fresh start and it was looking good. We'd well mended from our wounds and the foundations of trust were in the horizon. In flippant disregard to who and what I am, we celebrated our new found haven. The Alcohol poured forth and we partied at our new found luck unaware of what was comming. Two nights in a row I let the demons back again in three bottles of bitter bases. I remember nothing, so Alyssa filled me in. Not only that I hurt Alyssa but was verbally abusive. Yelling and telling her that I never trusted her. Making fresh wounds of old scars. Finalizing her grabbing enough confidence to let me go. She left because I was selfish, and I have to live with that everyday. She says its her fault to, but that's something I can't believe from a faithful wife who stuck with me through all that. I feel like I have brain washed her without either of us knowing. LOOK AT WHAT I'VE DONE!!!!

I am from the strangers,
from questions and wonders.
I am form the un-seen, lurking in the corner,
secrets wanting to be found.

I am from the light bulbs,
the consuming of energy,
variety of flavors, the good and bad both locked in cells.

I am from the past and the present,
from the twinkling light and dreams of sugar plums dancing in my head.
I am from the truth,
the key of the universe, step by step instruction of you and me.

I am from the pillow fights and jumping beans unable to contain the joy,
transformed into flushed faces and thundering storm clouds hovering over heads,
the every so slightly music of broken glass.

I am from the I-hate-yous', there I-love-yous'
the faint flashes of faces, the sketches of new ones.

I am from the dreams, the reality checks, the laughter, the crying.

I am from YOU.
Molded and shaped, chipped and torn,
assembled a thousand times better.
I am from those memories, these moments,
the seconds we gain from living and the time we lose from dying.

I am from the particles in the air, the dust and the ashes.
Nothing is truly lost, looking beyond the looking glass.
Mistakes are not mistakes.

I am from me. Me, myself, and I.

I want to be eternally young as the old wolf,
bearing color of the artic sky in the coat.
gray from birth, and gray on dying day.
with clouds of coal,  mist from the bay.
and that double fur, for seasons harsh,
bespeckled to red, with thawed out marsh.

If I was to die, as my old wolf did,
forever young--in whisker solstice.

Cast iron clouds call their brushed allegiance to the age-clad masonry.
Whilst the mangled percussion of the infants' school bickers
with the soft tones of the older boys' band.
Still their sound is drowned by the whistling wind,
carrying parents' pleas that it's time to leave,
as the small groups crawl through the churchyard.
In a mossy corner, the window-man clatters,
with his brushes and buckets at the side of the oak shaded vicarage.
A scarf slides from an old man's neck
whilst he motionlessly salutes the monument;
his medals are dull in the lacklustre light.
But for all that's here, there's one thing not,
where I sit by this silent 'here lies' spot.

I will start with a hello.

A handshake, an introduction, a beginning.
Then it will grow,
from an exchange of names
to playing mind games and discussing our fames.

You've always been the talker,
the initiator, the instigator.
And I; the listener, the adviser and friend
to give you a silent prod in the right direction
when the sidewalk comes to an end.

I take no form; no shape, no size.
I'm not the truth, nor the lies.
I am not a human, or a living creature.
I have no body parts, or any features.

But I can think, sure I can.
And I can act as any other man.
The reason why I still exist
is not meant to be a mystery
buried deep inside your inner abyss.

In fact, it lingers right in front of you
and dances before your eyes.
It isn't meant to be shocking news;
or an unforeseen surprise.

Even if you can't see me,
I'm always here as company;
the guest that never leaves.

And even if I wanted
to pick up my shoes,
get up and move,
my nonexistent feet
would stop me in my tracks
and I'd be heading back to your street
fast, fast, fast.

I'd be back before the count of two;
and if you wonder why,
let me ask this question of you:
why is it that we've never parted,
or even said goodbye?

Here is my answer to you:
We are bonded together by super glue,
joined by the brain, the heart and soul, too.
If that sounds confusing, I'll give you another clue;
you live in me, just like I live in you.

I am poetry;
metaphors and similes,
dotted i's and crossed t's.
So fill my cup with the wine of your words,
swallow me whole and be free as the birds
flying through the endless sky
as clouds and airplanes pass you by.

Stanzas and rhymes will flow down your throat
like that of a current, which carries a boat
and takes it to its destination;
the end goal, the aspiration.

They'll travel down with ballads marked in cursive,
with scribbled sonnets and haikus and verses.
Then when they finally reach the heart,
you'll know that it's no longer just words but art.
Because your poems are colours that brighten the walls
by splashing blank canvases and bathroom stalls.

I am poetry;
the pencil and the paper.
But you are the hand, the thinker, the maker.
So paint the world a picture
through your beautiful literature
because your words are your wand
so show us the magic and create the bond
between the fixed and the broken,
the sleeping and the woken,
the written and the spoken.

Pick me up and let me scrawl
down your words and then install
them into the minds of everyone
and they'll be stunned by the
brightness of your sun.

You'll shine with radiance and glory
so keep on telling your story
because your words are your life,
your victories and your strife.

You are the creator, the teacher, the reverend;
but this time, I will subside
because you are the guide,
and your words are your legend.

Midnight Skies
The sun enveloped in a black shroud
The dead of night hardly makes a sound:
Hopeless with silent cry's of the midnight sky,
The reproach of lost souls ;
Dark and misty, the clouds just an outline,
Of the glare eyes of the night .
Vague twinkling stars, in the dusty moonshine;
An eager bright star showing its position
Or else be lost in the misty cauldron.
Passionless grief of despair with no one who cares ,
Lost in the wind , One knows to never cross
The road's at night on foot .
The hooting of the night owls crying out
To the lighted moon ,
Distant frogs croak in shining black pools
A lonely dog howls;
A thud, a bump, a scrape on glass to get away
From what is hunting with anguish grief for you and me;
Is that  foot steps I hear on the stone path?
Those creaking roof timbers,
Sure gives one the shivers , cold wind's ,silent stars
Of the midnight sky's ,
A time for quiet reflection ,deep thought and introspection;
The conscience magnified something hurtful said,
Rash actions and regret.
A sad love song that taken the heart deeper in with more
Pain with glaring eye's like you want to die ,
Sleep comes after midnight with so much on your mind ,
Respite for the weary intellect
Until the great yellow hope rises in the sky ,
Spreading its cheerful warm ray
Heralding a promising new day.
Hopeless , and grief moved on with the midnight sky's
Lover's song's of a nasty goodbye's
Passionless incredulous despair , half taught anguish Midnight air,
Another day and another night moved on why your heart
Still hangs on to what was and not to what is .

Lilly Emery

I count the days when I can see you again,
I miss the times when your golden fingers ran across my skin,
So warm,
So reassuring
I miss the times when the clouds ran through your ocean blue hair,
Like boats sailing across an endless universe,
So calm
So beautiful
Oh summer, please return to me with your radiant smile,
Never let me go as your warmth kisses my neck.
So lonely
So kind

The morning breaks through the clouds
and the sun hits the green in the hills
so right,
like a scene from a foreign movie.
The main character embarking into unknown,
captivating rocks cradling them
as they ride the train to new lands.

Steam from the heat of day
rising and mixing with the wind and the breath.
So full but so silent,
only nature's stories.

But it's not far away
or a place I've never known.
It's home.
And I can't believe it's mine.

Even now, as we lie here, heartbeats like a metronome for the coming storm, I write songs in my head for you. And though my voice will never sing them, they are the soundtrack of your kiss. Each record scratch on my heart like a pressed vinyl love letter. Shaping my sinking chest into drum skins that my pulse beats against.

If I were covered in magic dust, you would be my happy thought. And all my childish notions of what it means to be romantic would be written down the sides of Chianti bottles in melted wax, like an oak. And in that bottle we would keep our hungry mouths.

And still I find my heart adrift. Ripped sails and ropes leading skyward like veins. Split and tattered and stitched haphazardly together, waiting for the lightning to strike twice and bring it to life. My throat a bricked flue, leading to an open mouth, spitting smoke from the torches my heart fears but always seems to carry.

And I stretch my spine skyward. Trying to wedge my head back into the clouds but manage only to cast the shadow of an orchid that has begun to lose its color and wilt at the edges of its wingspan. Coming to terms with the idea that it may never be picked. Not even its petals, even numbered like a deck stacked against it that it might lose in a game of being loved and loved not.

We want for a little more time. Arm wrestling clock hands into submission with god like fury. Ticking tongues to dampen the prophecy of false mediums. We practice fighting so we may fight for each other. Fight for the greener grass on the other side of the pavement walls we draw our chalk hearts on.

The clock tower is a lighthouse. The lighthouse is a windmill. The windmill is a giant. The stories never end.

Even now as we lie here, heartbeats like a metronome for the coming storm, I write bed time stories in my head for you.