To my dear —,
Today is the day
where the heart breaks.
Today is is the day
where all emotions of
all I can do is sit back and take it all.
I'll pretend saying goodbye is the easiest thing but it'll kill me.
Today is the day
a dream dies,
there are no more ups,
no more downs,
Along with it goes
is the last day...
Today is the day
where we say
goodbye and good luck.
Today is the day
I let go of love..
Today is the day
I stop believing in love.
today is the day
the very same day
when you stopped loving me.
Christmas was the one day of the year when the guns died away...
There were soldiers from two different sides and two different worlds,
But we all spoke the same language on Christmas.
December 24th, 11:50 pm
There are only 10 precious minutes until Christmas.
I can hear gunshots BOOMING and BANGING on all sides around me...
The sky is like a piece of black velvet.
It looks simply stunning when compared to
The snow that is marred with blood more red than drunk, bloodshot eyes.
All around me,
I see men gasping, gulping, and grabbing for air.
I can see the heat rising from their decaying bodies.
I have been instructed to not help them.
They're just gooks after all...
They don't live, breathe, and bleed just like you and me.
They are monsters who crave American blood...
December 24th, 11:59 pm
The guns are more heated than ever.
My adrenaline is racing.
The crisp, frosty air is kicking my ass right now.
The tears that I have shed are now frozen to my face.
My legs are numb and no yet waking,
My frigid pate is aching,
My blackened heart is breaking,
My blue hands that hold my damn gun are shaking,
And I can taste blood whenever I swallow,
But I cannot stop running.
I've been told that I'll die if I do...
December 25th, 12:00 am
Guns cease to fire...?
"Why have they stopped firing?"
I shout to my neighbor.
He just grins like the little boy he truly is, and simply responds,
All over the battlefield,
Men hoot and holler with joy and glee.
Each man is a little boy, once again.
The only guns we know of are plastic and squirt water...
But in the adult world,
The guns and insults stop.
In their place,
Men sing praise to the God they often curse,
And remember Rudolph, Frosty, and the other childish characters who used to make them innocently smile.
December 25th, 12:10 am
Every man who has not yet fallen has found a place to rest his head for the night.
We temporarily become friends with our enemies.
Friends, obviously, meaning people who agree to not shoot at each other for a mere 24 hours...
My buddy pulls out a flask from his sack,
And he spreads a little "Christmas Cheer" around the trench.
We all act like camels, and retain as much cheer as possible...
We'll need all the cheer we can get if we're going to survive for more than five minutes in the next round of hell.
December 25th, 12:00 pm
We take the time to sleep...
We take the time to quietly talk about our girls back home...
About the families that we've left behind...
About the food, activities, and places we miss most...
We make the most of every small, yet precious, moment that goes without a shot or kill.
For a minute,
I forget where I am.
I am actually happy for a moment.
December 26th, 12:01 am
We remember that we're supposed to kill each other,
So I let my gun do all the talking for me.
Christmas is the only time to be friends...
Any other day is a day to kill.
Christmas is a universal language.
Evidently everyone can understand it...
I guess it's just mutual that we take the time to NOT kill each other.
So are we going to kill each other until there are no more men standing?
If it were up to me, every day would be Christmas...
Then I could actually go home.
It's funny, looking at my hands after all this time.
They do so much for me, they are the tools that allow me to do much of what defines me.
So here they are, splayed out in front of my face.
And I am trying to convince myself of something.
That maybe if my hands were just a little bigger, a little wider, a little stronger I could stop it.
I could catch all your tears as they fell.
I could hold you up when you fall.
I could point you in the direction where things wouldn't be so damn awful.
I could grip the fears and terrors of our day to day and
I could beat back the sadness.
But I have only got my hands.
And they seem a little inadequate for the job I need to do.
Because my hands only have so much surface area
And jsut like sand in an open hand
Sadness slips through my fingers
I want to carry the weight of the world on my hands, and give your shoulders a much needed rest.
I have tried.
But fuck, I am sorry.
Because the results seem to be a little lackluster.
I know that I can't stop the sad days, even more than I can create the happy days.
Just know that for you, I will spread my hands like the wings I was never meant to have
And share your burden.
You are not Atlas, Job, or Cain,
And I love you because of that.
I have been longing, waiting, and yearning
for someone to come into my life and pick me up.
Someone who would tell me how much he loved all of me
when I looked at myself in the mirror with sad eyes.
Someone to listen and speak with kindness
when my mind is crazy with doubt.
Someone to hold me close
when I feel alone.
What I haven't realized is that he has been here with me all along.
He has told me how beautiful my flaws make me.
He has listened and spoken to me so reassuringly that I no longer am afraid.
He has surrounded me with people that comfort me and has sent his spirit to calm me.
He will never leave or stop loving me.
He is my Lord, and also yours.
Sick and starved for genius
He pushed harder than anyone has ever pushed before
Day and night
Night and day
The gods be damned...
No one can stop him...
Maybe I am a crybaby. Maybe I am the person that feels twice as hard because she has a father that doesn't feel anything and maybe I love too much because I watched 2 parents that didn't know how to do it but they pretended because l talked to myself since I was too young to understand why the sky is blue and maybe the things I said scared them. Maybe I made up friends, not for the sake of having some, but for the sake of knowing that at least they understand and at least they won't judge me because I scratched my legs until I bled and they don't know that I'm making up all these happy stories of vacations I've never been on so I don't feel so sad in school while everyone talks about what they did over the summer because all mom and dad ever did was scream at each other run from their problems while I drew in my room. Maybe I grew out of my imaginary friends because I'm not even worth their imaginary time and their imaginary presence the imaginary way they pretended to care. Maybe I called my dad even though I know what he did because I still loved him because he's still my fucking dad and he loved his son and he wouldn't tell him that it's wrong to break baby birds' necks and it's wrong to sneak into your sister's room and hurt her. Maybe he hasn't picked up on the fact that life is a big cycle, but you can't let your child hurt because your father let you hurt and his father let him hurt. Maybe I left long voicemails talking about one day being able to see him without a supervisor because I hated the way she wrote everything I said down, including the time I cried because he wouldn't stop prying me about if my mother would let us go out of state together. Maybe I don't need razors and cigarettes because my body isn't even worth the pain at this point. Or, maybe I'm just a coward who can't face death or who doesn't want to hurt more than she already does. Maybe I love too many sick people. Maybe I love too many normal people. Maybe everyone's sick and I just don't realize it yet. Maybe I self-loathe too often, maybe I shouldn't have said those things to people I thought gave a fuck,; maybe it's a dream and I'll wake up and be five again. Maybe I don't want to be five again because being five was more hell than being alive. Maybe we wish some people we love were dead because it's too painful to know that they are somewhere loving some stranger when they couldn't fucking call their own child back. But I don't know. I don't know a thing. Not a damn thing. Maybe my ghosts sing because they've got nothing fucking better to do, because their fists just slide through every wall they try to punch. Maybe the dead don't rise because there's something about this life that makes Hades look like paradise I don't know. I don't know a damn thing. Maybe the wolf is howling at what the moon took from him. Maybe the stars are self-conscious and don't like to be stared at. Maybe we're always alone. Maybe we're always fucking alone. But I don't know. I do not know a damn thing.
you can't fix stupid (but why stop trying?)
I'm not burning bridges, I'm cutting ties
You start with pity, and then you despise
But, it's only because you now realize
That this pack of white lies and alibis,
These stories by which you were tantalized
To no surprise were just fantasized
By a mind over-worked, projected through to cold, pale, eyes.
I'm your cherished childhood plaything, barely given a single thought
Toss me with the rest of your keepsakes in your souvenir box
Just a container filled with the memories of the days you smiled a lot
Used to make you laugh more than anything, now I'm just where you stash your pot.
You bet your ass I cared alot, I loved you twice, you loved me not
It's sad, but true, no more flowers grew
I hope next season something blooms for you
But, for now I've given all I got, I've grasped these stems until the petals rot
I'm digging up the roots I grew and movin' on to soil another plot
don't try to chase me
now that the pace is changing
from a crawl into a trot
please, stop lying
don't say you're trying
when you've barely given a shot
my silver tongue did shine so untrue
every time just so I could protect you
from the worries that would plague your mind if you knew
exactly what it is that I've gone through...
but here's what I plan to do:
Grab a cup, drink it up, soak up the Sunday news
The end is near, you're the last one here, what have you got to lose?
So, just fill your lungs and laugh all night long; put on your dancin' shoes
Play your last song it'll not be long before your soul walks out on you
I just close my eyes and let all pass by; begin to pay my dues
Time goes fast, so I took my chance, dancing with my devils to the Pale Moonlight Blues.
I'm under cardiac arrest, tried two times couldn't pass the test
At least when I'm at worst I can't be any less
At best my brain is pained by songs of protest
And you can bet I did my best to forget
I went through solitary confinement, momentarily confident
I'm impressed I haven't died yet, on the contrary, I despise it
Why do I kick myself for providing the ropes by which my hands are bound
When I should just strike out and bite the hands that tied it
it's time to go...
I bet a fiddle of gold you can't save your soul; can't solve a mystery if you don't have a clue
Try as you might, you won't win a single fight until you learn how to lose
Oh, you'll never know until you're on your own what it's like to have the Blues
I've been there before, I can't take a second more, that much I know is true
So, just close your eyes and kiss all goodbye; it's time to pay your dues
As time burns to ash, so does your final chance
To dance with your devils to the Pale Moonlight Blues
I look to the sky, screaming this isn't fair.
These tears soak my face. People stop and stare, rarely do the care.
Tara, my angel is still with me here, gliding through the air.
Walking through crowded halls.
Tears in my eyes.
All that speak to me is the walls.
Lies after lies.
Telling me to move one, say goodbye. Why?
This isn't goodbye, but so long.
Reality is wrong, dreams are for real.
I love the way you always made me feel.
Knees weak. You were the love I was sent to seek.
You brought me to a new peak.
Of it all.
What now? Now I'm stuck in limbo, suspended in free fall.
On my hand and knees, like a baby learning to crawl.
Like a hungry baby, I start to bawl.
You were the star that guided my path.
Now I wait for the day I can feel God's wrath.
See you again my friend.
This is only a beginning, not an end.
The beginning of something beautiful.
A perpetual. Love, to last eternal.
This still isn't fair.
Much love, to my Wifey, my angel upstairs.
You are the meaning of perfection. I swear.
You were the only one to truly understand. To truly care.
I try to eat
but calories consume me
just looking at them make me feel full
why did I look at all of those calories?
stop looking at calories
and don't eat a thing