Life is too short not to bet on the long shots.
Which is what I'm guessing you see me as.
Now I'm not saying forever.
Hell I'm not even saying tomorrow.
But tonight lets make a bet.
And if we don't feel the same when we're sober.
Let us go on with no regrets.

People seem to forget they can't steal from me what I could never own.
She'll leave you with broken bones.
While I stand above you and offer a shrug as I say, "I told you so."

Lately my life has felt like the passing lane on the highway.
Everything is going so quickly I barely get to enjoy the scenery.
At least I'm getting better at talking to the people in the car with me.
Except sometimes I still feel like they barely know my name.

I think I'm running out of gas though.
But I was going so fast I didn't catch the last road sign telling me how much farther till the next station.
All I know is I'm too far ahead to turn around.

I guess I could always get out and push.
Maybe the people with me will help me out if I ask.
Maybe I'll get better at asking.

I think I'm afraid of getting comfortable.
Both around my friends, and with myself.
So I end up holding back so much of who I am.
Which is unfortunate because I'm not even sure if there is much in me to start.
I like to think there is.
At the very least I think there is more than this.

Fireball whiskey and cinnamon toast crunch.
Laughter and stolen glances.
That could have turned into stolen kisses given half a chance.

My biggest fear is that I'll go back to who I was.
Fall into a rut of self-doubt and self-pity, too afraid of the future to crawl my way out.
Everyday I threaten to breakdown.
Because all I see are my own mistakes.
So I keep my safety blanket close to me.
In the form of coffee in my cup and a bible by my bed side.
It's not always a perfect peace of mind.
But when my biggest enemy tends to be myself.
It helped me survive.

Coffee at 2 am and Arctic Monkeys ringing in my ears.
While I let a world pour from my fingertips into a document writer.
Fueled partially by a smile from a blue eyed girl.
But mostly for a hunger to cause a real change in the world.
Only to wake up late for a class the next day that's supposed to "prepare me for my future".
I'd like to talk to the first guy to ever say those words.
Just to ask what I'm supposed to be preparing for.

I don't know if it's really much of a statement.
I guess its just letting go of another thing that was holding me back.
It's something I've been getting better at.
One thing I haven't gotten better at is getting this girl off my mind.
Because I know she's bad for me.
Probably way more than the smoke ever was.

I wish I could remember how to have a conversation.
One where I could say what I actually felt.
But until I do I'll stick to my corny jokes, and sarcastic comments.
Because if I can't make myself admit how much you mean to me.
At least I can make you laugh.

I'll put life off till tomorrow.
When so I can have a better shot at whatever I tried to do today.
Maybe I won't trip over my own feet.
Maybe I'll manage to speak to the next person I meet.

But not everything can be pushed to tomorrow.
But those are the things that'll I start working at late.
And by the time I'm finished it might be tomorrow.

But for right now tomorrow can wait.

I often get knocked off course.
Stuck in places where I don't want to be.
And no matter how many times this happens I never seem to catch on.
Because these are the places where I tend to find the people who end up meaning so much to me.

I'm glad you got stuck with me.

That's all I've ran on today.
But I feel refreshed, and alive.
Last night I was blessed, I was surrounded by people who burned with passion.
I wrote until my mind ached and my eyes refused to look at the screen.
And I fell asleep with a sore back and blood on my hands.
And yet despite my mind and body drained I feel so awake.
Maybe it was just seeing the smile I managed to put on her face.

I never used to feel comfortable in my own skin.
If I wasn't hating the way I looked in the mirror, then I was feeling ashamed of the way I could never manage to speak my mind.

But now when I see my reflection I've learned to smile at what I see.
And when someones trying to shove their hate down my throat, I've learned to spit my own right back in their face.

Blame it on the girl, or blame it on the *****.
It doesn't really matter to me.
I'm just happy that I can finally fill my own shoes.

I gave up chasing after smoke that I had no chance of holding.
But there is something about the way she hold's herself.
I can't help but sneak a second glance.
And my friend did his best to warn me,.
That she's the kind of crazy that you can't get rid of.
The kind that sticks in the back of your mind so the doctors can't treat it.
But in all honesty from where I sit.
I wouldn't mind a little insanity.

My favorite thing to do, is to pretend I'm a writer.
When reality I only write so I can sleep at night.
Sometimes I pretend my old friends still care about me.
When I already know they would rather get high than hang out.
I used to pretend that I didn't care about anyone, or anything.
But as it turns out I care about almost too many things.
I used to pretend to dream to have everyone know my name.
But I only dream of having a enough people know my name,
and that maybe something I write could help someone else get some sleep at night.

Is there not something beautiful in the idea of being alone.
I don't mean being lonely because believe me I know.
That's a feeling worse, than broken bones.
No  but there is something about being alone.
Going 80 down a back-road in the middle of the night.
Window cracked, and music full blast.
And you don't really have to worry about tomorrow.
Yeah I would say there can be something beautiful about being alone.

A year ago today it was me and her.
That girl who inadvertently started all of this.
I remember walking down her street talking about Oreo's I think.
I remember I was happy I think.
I remember a few weeks later when she tore my heart from my chest.

I remember a few months later when I finally got over her.
I remember it in a fit of yelling and rage.
I remember being able to see clearly.
I remember I was I happy I think.
I remember rekindling an old flame a few weeks later.

I remember sitting in a field by a pond.
I remember dancing in a kitchen.
I remember saying "I love you"
I remember I was happy I think.
I remember a month or two later when I had to leave her behind.

I remember starting fresh.
I remember hot coffee and long nights.
But I also remember teaching myself to sleep.
I remember the first chapter of my first book.
I remember I was happy I think.
I remember the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.

I guess today is the day for remembering the year, and looking forward to the next.
I look back and I see pain, and tears, and some minor alcohol abuse.
But I also see joy, and new friends, and the fresh air I so desperately needed.
I ****** up a lot in 2014 and if I had the option to go back and change it.
I would decline.
Because right now I'm happy... At least I think.

I left with no money and no girl.
But I came home with so much more.
Friends worth more than gold.
Stories that still amaze me.
And a passion that drives me more than any lover.

Like the fire spitting from the tip of my lighter.
Like the way it feels every-time I write a new chapter.
Like when I finally let go of the things that made my mind tear.
Like the passion of the girl with the white flower in her hair.
You see intensity is not new to me.
If anything it's addiction that has since become a part of me.
But tell me what's wrong with living a life that actually makes me feel **alive.

I woke up high two days in a row.
My leather still has the faint smell of *** smoke.
Stuck back in this town surrounded by hills dotted with snow.
And I know for sure I'll never miss this place.
I said it everyday this week
As I try to slap myself awake.

I wanted to text her, but I couldn't think of the words to say.
And I could always blame it on the beer or the smoke.
But in reality I know it wouldn't have mattered either way.

But she'll still give me that sarcastic smile when our eyes lock.
And I'll say something to make her laugh.
With my tongue refusing to release the words I feel she wants me to say.
Because my mind is too busy getting lost in those Icy blue eyes.

I smile as I taste the blood in my mouth.
Not a lot nothing to be worried about.
Just pushing myself too hard again.
It's just what I do.

I had three chances to talk to her today.
All of which I blew.
I think she actually likes me.
But I'll probably over-think it.
It's just what I do.

I tend **** up a lot.
From not calling home to friends or family.
To getting drunk to the point where I almost got arrested.
It's just what I do.

But tomorrow's a new day.
And even if I have to work till everything hurts.
Till my pens all run dry and my brain goes mad.
I'll become more than what my parents dreamed me to be.
I promised my self that.
And I always do my best to keep my promises.
It's just what I do.

Once in awhile I like to pretend that I'm more than what I am.
I fall asleep and dream of my name on awards and of people lining up so I can sign my book for them.

Once in awhile I like to remember the past.
And I fall asleep and dream of ****** ****, cheap beer, nights filled with laughter, and kisses good morning.

But everyday I shake myself awake.
Because I still have to write that book.
And it's time for me to make new memories.

Because once in awhile is not enough for me.

I can bring worlds to life with a pen or keyboard.
I can tell stories that can make people laugh or bring tears to their eyes.
I can stare into the eyes of death and smile.
I know this because I've done all these things.

But why is it that whenever I try to make you notice me.
And I look into those icy blue eyes.
My tongue gets tied in knots.

I like the sound of the rain bouncing off my leather jacket.
I like the smell of the *** smoke in my hair.
I like the burn of the ***** in my throat.
And I know that this will get me no where.
But right now I don't care.

I sometimes get the urge just to pick up everything and disappear.
Leave no trace cut all ties to the life I've made.
Run to some foreign place and become so famous that the whole world can see my face.
Or maybe I'll vanish into the woods and become nothing more than a story parents tell their kids at night.
I just want something more than this.

My lack of confidence in myself is a weight I feel I'll always carry.
Its not like I don't have courage, but its like watered down whiskey.
It still has the burn, but it takes a minute to hit me.
They say if you work hard enough you can do anything you want to.
But every time that I try something new.
It always has the same outcome, ashes and smoke.
Like my attempts at creating something to be remembered by, are nothing but a ******* joke.
So excuse me if I'm not as confident as I try to appear.
Sometimes I guess I just get lost in my own fear.
That I'll end up like my father with no job and no life.
To be left with nothing, but two kids and a ******* ex-wife.
I once thought love was the reason why I wanted to write.
Now I realize I do it just so I can sleep better at night.
Because pixels and pens gave me a confidence I've never had before.
I might not be ready to make that jump yet, but I'm getting closer that's for sure.

Its so easy to say someones wrong.
To call another out for all their faults.
To look down on someone because they wear all black.
Or because they sit on the corner and talk like gangstas.
Its so easy to judge someone just because they don't believe in a God.
Or because they're unashamed to walk with their lover, even though they're the same gender.
Its so easy to fit these people with labels.
Instead of looking at them as they are.
As Sons and Daughters.
As Mothers and Fathers.
As Sisters and Brothers.
Yes its easy to hate.
And you'll be at church every Sunday morning....
But the party every Saturday night.
Because while its easy to hate its hard to look for the wrong in yourself.

Now don't get me wrong I believe that Christ came and died for me and you.
But if you actually read that book you love to quote so much.
You would know he came for them too.

So who do you think will go home with him when our eyes finally close?
The atheist that preaches love?
Or the priest who preaches hate?
I suppose only God knows.

This is all I can think of as I lay in the bed I grew up in.
Home to visit the few friends I kept.
But how can I call this home?
I gave up this place, I've spoken out on my hate.
And already its starting to get late, but I can't close my eyes.
Because if I fall asleep those mountains might move and block my escape.
And my family keeps telling me that this town is my fate.
But I believe I can be more. I have to be.
Because right now laying in this bed I grew up in.
I just feel like a puzzle piece **that doesn't fit.

I look in the mirror and what I see looks nothing like me.
The bags under my eyes are nearly gone and my acne is replaced by stubble and razor cuts.
I learned to sleep, but I prefer to stay awake.
Because when I dream I see faces that I miss, the girl that I never kissed.
And possibly never will.
So I take my coffee black just like the ink in my pen.
And I wander through this new town which was kinder to me my first day.
Than the one I came from was to me my whole life.
And I think about my future and question where it leads.
And I look back at my past to look for dots to connect that lead me to my present, but all I see are jagged lines going no where.
At least its good to know one thing never changes.
That I still don't know where I'm going.
But that's okay, because if college has taught me anything yet.
Its that no one does.

My breath reeks of coffee and my hands are stained with ink.
I can't remember the last time I was this content.
But I would like to keep it this way.
For now at least.