It’s strange the way people fade into your past and become a memory. Some leave a permanent mark on your psyche, while others will dissipate into obscurity or be forgotten altogether. In one moment these people help form the very essence of your life. In the next they hardly provoke a chuckle or a singular tear. Love decays like rose petals and some friendships only sprout for the spring. But in the now they all mean so much to me. I write this so one day I can look back and remember how feverishly my heart pumped in their presence. How my exuberance abounded with each word that flowed from their souls. But I know such passion only existed in the moment and it will eventually wither into particles of dust. Yet for now my heart crumbles at our severance and my soul weeps, knowing we may not meet until the life after next.

Time has become much more important
All the numbers now have purpose
And whole fractions are devoted
To a task I have to do, that must be done.

Time has become much more important
Time is such a joke
All the numbers now have purpose
As if some random numbers can determine
With whole sections allocated
What I should be doing, how I'm living
To a task I have to do,
I'd rather cling to every moment, wring each one out for all its got.

Time has become much more important
Time is all but worthless
They say life is short
All the numbers now have purpose
As if some random configuration of hands on a clock
But when it comes down to time consumption
And whole segments are converted
Has anything to do with what I'm feeling
There isn't anything else that even comes close to it,
Into activities that must be done
During any given moment
Life is the longest thing anyone will ever do. . .

Art is an extrovert.

She goes out clubbing on Saturday nights,
scotch in hand,
indecisiveness plaguing her mind,
dancing ‘til her feet are numb.

She rings the tune of a
possessed conductor.
White dress, black collar,
I know her face,
but not her name.

From the bar I watch
her obsidian silhouette expand
as her skin becomes rose petals,
and her hips conduct the music.

She looks like a drunken mess,
arms flailing, heels bending,
but to the peculiar mind
she paints
an alluring picture.

there are so many whats you'll encounter,
and limited whos you'll love.

the wheres are infinite,
while the hows are arbitrary.

but the whys
they are so **** hard to answer

why must i choke on the truth
why must i be like this
why why why?

why are you the way you are?

Do you ever want to go back to the days in which your biggest concern was if your shower would be the right temperature?

Most days
My energy is spent
Entirely
On putting one thought
In front of the other
So I don't stumble
Over my words
As much as I do
Choke on them

A discomfort that manifests through a plethora of delusions
Torturous thoughts brutalizing my mind like brain contusions
Causing an endless cycle of suffering and confusion
Sifting through the lies, misunderstandings, and illusions
Chasing the light in the darkness praying for it’s diffusion
A razor blade or a bullet are the only solutions

I’m sailing near the fringes of happiness and despair
Along the river of misery where our souls are stripped bare
On the border of the ignorant who live life without a care
And the knowledgeable hanging from nooses painfully aware
It’s a tumultuous journey to the light bringers lair
And should not be undertaken lightly so you must beware
Of all the deceit, misinformation, traps and snares

Self reflection is a dark wooded path filled with lynched souls
A forest of decaying dreams, aspirations, and goals
Endless entrances and passageways to endless rabbit holes
Demons feasting upon children without restraint or control

They say on the other side there’s sunshine and pastures of green
Crystal clear waters and ceremonies where angels convene
Blue sky’s and warm weather where everyone’s just peachy keen
But all I foresee is warfare, cancer victims, and ruptured spleens
Genocide, systematic **** and all things obscene