If I am waiting, why not now I ask?
Must I receive your elegance in a slowly introduced doses, simply not to overdose on that of which is your perfection?
If I am waiting, what defines my love to be that of the tangible,
an idea shaped and distorted horribly in my own head?

I’m always that of a time keeper, counting the intervals between the dials of each millimeter between the second markers on the grandfather clock, stretched into a string of ever-expanding infinity.
A line that over laps beyond comprehension, builds that of dimension, time and space, we come colliding!
Yes we do, we always do, if one thing I can count on, it is this.

We are that of every love, repetitive but never stagnant, ever shifting, ever changing, just… beauty in the bell jar.
Captured mid second, frozen in time, in a place
where we meet simply by chance, I will live that of a billion lives, if not for anything more then just one single chance.
I would put my mind in every living creature that has echoed before me, along side me, and will continue to do so long after I depart.
I will short end a fuse to a bomb there for springing a chain reaction, surging convulsions of electricity that only then could even conceive to recognize that of which is my own consciousness!

The purity in the moment of coincidence that takes place when we meet.
That of a flutter of a butterflies wings, the rippling effect of said butterfly.
We are and forever will be locked in sight, because I believe, oh how I believe-

And does my pinky hurt so with the tug of this red string leading me to that of which is you.
It was never a safe path I admit but one for the likes of the profound and the brave.
To build me up, to break me down!
I follow this red string and endure every challenge the gods deem fit for my conditioning.
Because on the other side of that red string is you, and when I say.. It just had to be you….

Theses lives we live, these perceptions we carry, the sounds of music pleasing to the ear, and the books we read that make our eyes soar.
I find myself here in a pool of my own tears dabbed with a sense of poetic justice and as this unusual shade of blue, oh that unusual shade of blue that car bared that day in it’s paint.
The whoosh and whirr of the engine roaring so silently but valiantly, if not to be a that of a last act effort to simply warn me of the moment I’ve been waiting for only my entire existence.
That sound it couldn’t reach my ears in any plausible way but somehow I knew when my eyes were lifted by that passing shade of an unusual blue that was that of a fleeting glimpse of scenery.
My alerts were called to attention, if not just to gaze and check the progression that time has had around me.
So tell me what is the chance of a million chances if not one but of infinitely shifting possibilities and interchanging ideas, what is the chance, that my eyes met with yours that day?
When that car that was painted an unusual shade of blue passed on by in an explosion of fate and destiny.
I bet you the driver of that car didn’t even know how important his role in fate & destiny was that day, what leads me to you that of which was of an odd and unusual shade of blue.
My attentions were called to this date, this second, this very moment, and as I become aware of my shifting surroundings, in the fog of the overwhelming take in of absolutely everything…

I see you, with a voice soft and elegant, hair stained with mystery of time, a face, oh she has a face! with eyes the ones I dream only to stare into until the ends of time, a mouth with lips I can only compare to the soft touch of velvet, and the skin I rub the back of my hand on to check if you have a fever….

For time is not that of restraint, because some part of me knows the whoa of your ever lasting echo.
your existence is so potent with fragrance.
I could smell you since I was in the womb, and when I cried for first the very first time fresh out of my mother’s womb, I cried with the worst feeling I had ever felt, to be born into a world where we have yet to meet.
Almost as if the Angels of oblivion “shh”ed me of the knowledge of the love I will come to know, but I am left with this eternal void with a depth so great it is beyond any means of measurement.

Oh the sorrow that moans, alone and riddled, all the time that is infinitely expanding, tick tocking, and slipping into the future ever so slightly.
Between my short spark of existence and yours was a magnet that chose you and I to be intertwined in the fibers that are the forevers of time.. When I found you.
Because some part of me knows the whoa of your echo, I’ve always known.
Your existence is so potent with fragrance, I could smell you since I was in the womb, and when we first touched you awakened me with the familiarity of that fragrance which I already somehow knew, but never really could put my finger on the idea.
The “I’m home” that rushed over me, the forevers in beckoning, chiming to a melody of birds singing in joy, with the hormones of spring in full roar, an ode to the time keeper himself when I say.. I only want more time with you….

The beauty that lies in that moment is the realization, that I can wait, though I rather not.
Because I can feel you echoing in the fibers of my existence crying out to be found and awakened, and oh am I searching in the eyes of every love that ever fell short.
Only in failed attempt to capture the essence that is you.
Because you just know, you’ve always known, our souls calls out and little do our increasingly limiting minds know, the storm you will have on me..
The desert inside me screaming with drought, and your existence quenches my souls thirst.

I know my heart strings would snap if my life wasn’t that of a mosaic to be built upon just for you.
The time I spent in solidarity, the desolation grew inside me, so I seek, I look, and sometimes I make mistakes, but my heart belongs to you and only you, the women with hair that is stained with the mystery of time….

WHEN will you come out of your shadows, WHERE will I be, WHAT decisions must I make to perfectly aline my life to one day run into you by that of simply chance, and oh I’ve said it a million time but WHY must I wait?
It is nothing short of crippling to know that of which is on the line, I can feel your vibrations more than ever now if not before, and I see the flame that lights the wic of this candle burning method that is my soul.
I let go, and I trust fate and destiny because they hold something of great important to me, and dare if I forsake it, they might just make me not be able to find my keys the day I’m supposed to run into you by that of chance, and I need to be able to find those keys oh so desperately.
So I say “praise the lords of time!” and I swear on my existence if that of which is not meaningless, that you give me meaning, in every way, shape and form.
You are that of winters mid day, you are that of a summer sunset, you’re the smell of a never before opened book, you are the melody that catches my ear every time.
Because you were always there for every single living being if not just me, you were always there, and I will meet you in all the lives I live, because with hope there is a way, and sure there may be dead ends, and forsaken ending, but where I survive, where I live another day, where I see through the eyes of which is mortal, I will devote my effort to search for you my love…

The unspoken beauty of always knowing when I say.. “when I get married” “when I have children” “when I die she will be the last face I see” we and myself including say these things these silly things as if life is to viewed as a promise.
With ever so fragile existences, we die a thousand times if only just to meet once.

Even with our own fragile existences thrown in the balance reality forces the idea that we are a pointless specs in all that is nothing, and I spit at that idea, I spit to it!
Because when I say those things I’m putting my trust in the fact that some day I just know we will meet….

Maybe we will be lucky and find ourselves in park as children and form a love in the shine of innocence that grows like a hundred year old oak tree.
Or if we meet in a place as old as time itself with that smile only to be lighted with a hint of embarrassment showing on your rose red cheeks and that look on your face filled with rush and panic, only to be becoming of you, a sense of urgency floods when you say, when you always say, what you have said so many times before, and will continue to say in the whoas of forever… “I’m sorry I was late.” And I will always return with “it was worth the wait…”

I got lost in a feeling, pried myself open to be understood when every part of my nature said to conceal. I wanted to feel human like the rest of them, I wanted to stop feeling so alien. Distance had become me so I exposed myself and now I’m faltering. My deepest crevices of thought are now known, this openness that kills me has also served me. I realized I was raw art, that the strokes of a paint brush within the walls of my mind were defined by complexities of thought echoing so loud until my lips sung my soul once again. I realized that not everyone could simply understand and I wanted to revoke all I said, I wanted to close myself again but I couldn’t erase the damage already done…
Well I got lost in a feeling, I became slave to it and did all I could to serve this unquenchable thirst that my soul holds. I grab at my heart with both hands and clench so tight at the restraints of this suit of skin that keeps me held in. I felt like painting the walls with my brain and it wasn’t for my disdain towards this life I lead, I was actually fond of life but that’s the thing. See I was so devoured by a moment, that I couldn’t bare letting go, and I knew time would shift and the faces would change but I was so loyal I didn’t want to adapt. I was in love with everyone I knew and life was tearing us apart, breaking us down and I saw the light behind so many eyes that used to burn with the intensity of the sun, fall so dim it resembled an empty void and one by one iron wills were broken.
I felt like crying in rooms full of people, when the alcohol was long gone and everyone escaped but I just sat there absorbing the fact that I was the only one present. That I got so lost in this feeling, in this very moment, I could no longer run. So I waited patiently for intoxication to leave my mind and I walk outside to my car, I put the key in the ignition and drive. The sun is now rising and there’s a baby blue fuzz surrounding me. I parked in front of my house and thought about the hell that awaits for me behind closed doors. So I drove, I broke free, I gave myself away to the bohemian screaming to be set free. Reality was sure to crash upon me, I looked at the sun while it caved in and I called up an old friend but was reminded of how desolate a moment can be when the answering machine fooled me...
I looked out the window and everyone was going on with their lives in full acceptance. The man walking to the grocery store, the people gathered around the bus stop, and I fell slave yet again. I parked the car in the parking lot behind the bus stop being sure to lock my keys inside so I wouldn’t turn back and dug for some change and I walked up to the bus stop as the bus was just arriving, this moment I can only describe as fate. I dreamed of a clean slate and it was right there in front of me the whole time, my life became centered around riding the busses and people watching. I dug my head in a book in fear of being noticed but somehow I feel as if my deepest fear was my only hope now.
So I was waiting for the right moment, a moment to set my mind free on some poor individual and then the bus stopped, it was late and I was the only one on now. Some of the bus drivers knew me by name and I didn’t know whether to feel proud or pathetic about that but as the bus screeched to the stop before the last one. I saw a leg extend, and pull up a person of slender figure, it was a beautiful woman around my age, I felt sorry for her because the only stop after this one was the bus station and that’s where the bus driver awkwardly kicks you off and tells you to go home.
This is the moment that got me, I was in complete and utter submission as I buried my head into an upside down book, the title read “I am the messenger” and out of all the seats she picked the back corner next to me, she sat too close and I couldn’t focus on my book at all, I was too caught by her presence, I didn’t even realize my book was upside down. She looks down towards my book and doesn’t say a word as she adjust it to be right side up and pats the book twice, almost to assure it will stay upright. I looked over to her with my empty cold eyes and starred dully and she smiled a sweet, closed eye smile.
The coals in my head must had found the furnace again because in that moment I was relit, the fire behind my eyes roared and my soul was awoken again. I felt so very human but I also felt so very human, my shyness lead me to falter and she linked her arm to mine and said “do you mind?” I hadn’t spoken in so long, so very long, I almost forgot how and I said “uh-uh… of course” I clear my throat immediately after and say “I would introduce myself but I don’t believe in names” she smiled with understanding and told me to read aloud and I did with no questions. Two chapter later the bus screeches to a halt and the bus driver gestures for us to leave.
The girl grabs me by the wrist and guides me away, we start walking to a diner that you can see the light to in the far distance. Nothing existed besides for us as far as I was concerned, only the path beneath our feet. She starts telling me how she’s seen me before that she’s been watching me from a distance, and she knew I road the bus all the way to the end and that she wanted to ask me why but I couldn’t tell her why exactly because I didn’t know myself.
So I said what I felt “I fell out of existence and the bus helps me feel like I exist” she smiles again and we are just now sitting down for stale coffee and waffles. She starts drawing on napkins asking me questions, the first one read “why did you fall out of existence?”
I scribbled down “I didn’t feel human” and slid it back to her.
She flips the napkin over and writes a simple “why?”
And I scribble down “well that’s hard to explain”
and she writes “well I can understand”
and right as she slides the napkin over the waffles arrive and the sun is rebirthed as it rises and she looks at me and says “it’s a baby blue fuzz you know?”
As she stuffs a fork full of waffle into her mouth. I’m breathless and overwhelmed by a moment that can only be explained by fate and I feel like crying but I disguise it with a yawn. I write down on a new napkin “I think I feel human” and I crumple it up and put it in my pocket.
She asked what I wrote and I respond “the moment."

I want to know of the pain that screams from the inner depth of what you call a soul.

Black and tangent, the painfully mundane, selfishly masochistic… This nature, you hold.


Now I am asking not as a friend who picks you up and fills your head with mindless affirmations,

But as a teacher who guides you through tragedy, hear me!

See it is somewhat of a skill of mine to lend hands to the hopelessly hopeless.


An animal in the corner that bites when you get too close!
We are desperately thin with skin not so tough.
Our hearts are racing and we'll never know what to make of it,
When the loss is so great and pure with potency.
Certainty bares a concrete I am not ready to cement together.


See I am not a friend but a teacher who guides you through calamity, hear me!

Lash at me as you may, I will forgive you every single time.

See I have been you in my past selves and I exercise no superiority when I say… I understand you, I was you.


The questions we ask ourselves are all dreadful in contempt,

We do not know where to place blame so we self inflict.

Our hearts are far too heavy and our passions are burning out quick!


We always say things we don’t mean and accepting this as our human condition was an awful task, I do admit.
But here I am again not a friend in the moments that matter the most but a teacher of cold nature presenting how to grow through such despairs.


I’ll walk through your personal hell and feel as you feel,

I will do all of this asking nothing in return.

For you are a rose with thorns I allow to sliver into my paper like skin.

Aged far too young but I stand infinite!

I often think theirs not a tragedy that makes me of a resenting stance,

Hostilities measured and I don't want any part of it!


See as dying is an art , so is living I now see to full fruition and if you’re bright you will take sail upon the majesty of the bigger picture that guides you into the world of possibilities.

The sacrifice that must be made to open the eyes of those not yet paying attention is far too grave of a price to pay,
I now repent...


See living is an act and we all must participate,

But I bare words far too heavy for the likes of the dull mind.

So proceed with caution-

And when I have my way with you, you will no longer be the same just as I was mutilated and forsaken by deaths untimely swing!

...

The days will come off more radiant I swear, just give it time, be patient my student.

Your undying appreciation for the lives we live will flood your veins for the rest of your days to come,

And the love for this life will blossom once again, from the most hopeless of places,
Though doubtful in the perceptions of present, you will smile once again, this I promise.

You will be like a Phoenix rising from your ashes of perpetual sorrows, so grand and magnificent!

But as for I, I believe in equal exchange.

I will drain your wounds and allow them to become my very own...

In a world where we had it all,
There was absent fathers and hypochondriacs for mothers all around,
Maybe I could be normal one day,
I thought such stupid things all to myself.

Thinking back none of this was my fault,
But the one who points blame gets their finger cut off,
And I've learned to not speak unless spoken to,
After all this time are you even proud of me?
What do I have to prove to get through to you?

All these pretty little pills,
They're the only thing that matters,
They were there when you weren't,
And admittingly I need them to get me through the days,
It was hard to say the least,
Such a lack of control,
But it's all okay,
can you just put your trust into me,
I promise the children are as fine as can be.

How can I rebuild hopelessness,
When we're all so hopelessly hopeful?
Picking at our scabs like their nothing,
And I know in the most dismal of days my heart will sink down into my stomach,
I know this so why do we pretend that everything is just going to be fine.

It's never gonna be okay I see this now,
The forecast is pain and suffering,
I've learned to accept this so why can't you just fake a pretty little smile?
And now I'm even alright when I know I'm not..

The children are crying their ******* eyes out,
Self medicating with these pretty little pills in their mouths,
And before it all goes south and I put this gun in my mouth,
Paint my thoughts all over the walls,
Well I just want to preserve the person I made myself out to be,
The one who makes it through the day,
So no one forgets how strong I can be!

Viciousness and hostility is projecting the devil inside yourself upon others,
The far thought in the back of your mind that you can't accept, so you lash out!
Not being able to understand yourself must be hard right?
There must be a darkness that lurks inside that you don't care for understanding.
So it shines, it's shines a kind of dark glow,
where the evil inside you is now very much real and no longer a passing dark thought that fades with the progression of a day.
You were provided no escape in a battleground that is a head, that is a prison.

Your voice that shakes like earth quakes,
you never wanted to be pathetic,
so you sought the road of intimidation,
controlling others with fear.

You were so scared of becoming pathetic and the irony in this situation is you fought so hard creating a facade that came off to be strong and hostile,
but really you were the trapped one,
slave to the devil inside of yourself.
I could say I feel sorry for you but that cards over played by now and you don't deserve my condolence.

It's a sort of tough love you know?
It forms like callus in the crevice of an ear drum,
makes you go numb,
I felt deaf for so long trying to clean out my ears of the damage that was done.

You hung there on the cross showing me what not to be,
I resented you in so many ways but then came maturity,
As I slowly realized that in many ways you showed me who not to be,
You sacrificed yourself with such nobility.

It's a shame we don't get to speak through eyes blind coated with concrete,
with ears that don't hear,
pleads all so sincere and neat.
Your skin is aging but you don't see,
contradictory, image of self in mind but the mirror isn't so kind.

With all that said I am no one to cast blame,
more as I am an outlet for understanding,
you were provided no escape in a battleground that is a head, that is a prison.

She just lays there still with a crooked smile holding a bouquet of roses in her cold hands. The accentuated brightness in her cheeks is all I can notice over anything else. It's three in the afternoon and I can only imagine the sun to be hot on her skin as she lays there motionless. I now in this point of time stand in front of a crowd holding up a piece of paper that was previously compulsively folded to about as small as I could possibly get it. Honestly I never ever wanted to open it again.

Their eyes all fixated on me, drawing for an emotional response. I felt an overwhelming responsibility to say what the others could not but even then I found myself drifting into a daze of absolute apathy. My mind was far too withdrawn, I must confess. I sought refuge behind my own eyes. I felt the distance becoming me. I found myself taking in the scenery, I wanted to remember the day as it was and nothing more. My tendency to romanticize has left my eyes sore.

All I could think was everything seemed so green and it was far too bright given the circumstance at hand. The trees looked young with age and I thought it to be kind of ironic given where I'm at. Honestly I wanted so dreadfully bad for God to cry when I could not. I felt wrong for not shedding a single tear when she passed, but never did I question that I was the one who was shook the most.

So here I am utterly numb examining the stitches on a suit I've worn once prior. This suit once tied with wonderful memories of the sacred bond of my parents marriage, now tainted with a day that shall only be recalled as a day of departure. I asked why but thought it to be all too meaningless, a gesture almost but I thought what was the point of it all? no one could ever possibly tell me what this all could mean, they lacked the proper experience to do so.  Death shook the hearts of so many, what made me so special? My overwhelming feeling of self importance played sweet delusions in my head, suddenly I was alone among many, and lacked the ability to connect with anyone truly. From that point on I was acting.

I felt so very alone and saw it as a product of an unfair Gods doing. Nothing on this earth could have made my hands stop sweating in the heat of it all, almost as if they were crying when my eyes could not. The paper I was holding became smeared with sweat and what I wrote was barely even legible after that. My mouth is so dry and my throat won't stop choking up, I can barely speak.  

I look to the crowd and draw no emotional response, I am so alone, I see this now. The echo of despair bounces against the walls of my mind, it's settling in all at once and I begin to lose my ability to even talk. The priest comes to relieve me of this heavy task of reading underneath such emotional pressure and guides me to my seat. I am shaking and he takes what I wrote to honor her, the least I could have done after all she did for me was finish reading that **** letter!

He carries on in my place, his intentions I like to believe were pure while assisting me onto this next branch of my life, he could have never known the branch was bound to break, he could have never known how his actions would traumatize me. With that seemingly kind gesture of finishing my speech in my place, he started the beginning of all my irrational fears, he instilled my phobia of accomplishment. Echoing louder than all the other nonsense fears and delusions that found themselves bottled up in the new found battleground that was my head. He was a scapegoat to direct all the blame and give me a reason, if I couldn't read one measly letter and give that speech I wrote to honor her departure, how could I ever accomplish anything ever? The one thing I needed to do I couldn't even finish, I was weak and I knew it. Absolutely and completely unprepared for the conditioning that was to take place in the near coming future. I was nothing without her and I knew that, deeper now than ever before.

I can only describe the feeling as when you're having a nightmare and you become so afraid you wake up in shock, shaking in fear, but I couldn't wake up no matter what I did. I pinched myself to add to the cruel concrete of reality, to assure myself all of this was real and with doing so I felt a grave dread sinking in me when I didn't wake in a fright that I so desperately craved, I was stuck here in this no good reality. My life had become an on going paralysis from that point on.

The funeral progression came and went and the woman I once saw as my mother was just a memory and a fading one at that. I didn't know what I felt, there was an indistinct numbness and I couldn't really understand any of my emotions. It was my first time experiencing true apathy. I kissed her still cheek warmed by the harsh sun, threw soil on the coffin and watched as the people left to go on with their lives, maybe I should have followed in their steps but as she sank into the ground apart of me did as well.

I wen't through the motions that were to come. I made appearances and I shook so many hands, shared countless embraces, so many forms of condolences offered my way but I could feel nothing. I was a hand to hold and a mask to bury all your guilts. I must have been a skilled actor or everyone is as self absorbed as I was. They lacked the empathy to understand how anyone besides their selves felt. No one knew how truly empty I was becoming.

I wore a mask, first of many I must say, see you needed to be able to act just to avoid people using you. They didn't ask how I was holding up because of general concern, they only asked to put their own guilt at rest, go through the motions and pretend to be sad, so they don't feel like the horrible people they actually really are. Maybe I picked up on all that guilt and transcended the mold of my own emotional limits but it was hopeless.

They related everything to themselves and how they felt about it, they seemingly had the mental capacity of apes and were all trapped in their heads just as much as I was. Thinking back nothing existed during that time to fix how I felt, or mend all the pain I had been feeling.

Many condolences were offered and the fridge filled more and more with food that my increasingly lacking appetite and the settling sickness I felt in my gut telling me this was all wrong. "How could food possibly make the loss of a life better?" I thought resentfully.
I looked for a place to direct all the blame I could but was left with finger pointing back at me, I was alone, grieving and all I could feel was overwhelming guilt. A guilt so astounding, so large of a package, I could compare it to holding the sun on your shoulders, with immense weight and searing hot pain coursing through my veins. A weight so crushing it felt like I was going to be obliterated into dust scatted across the far corners of the cosmos in a single second. I kept feeling like I was going to break any second but held a calm composure as if it were my job. Now the obvious answer was to find an escape, to redirect this madness, to give relief to the anguish I had felt. I didn't want to ever feel pain of that caliber ever again, and I was going to do everything to assure that but how I ask.. How could one ever have a clear conscience, when they felt guilty for things they had not even done?

How fun, to play the devils advocate at every branch.
You flex perspective but come off inconsiderate,
but isn't that a matter of absolute imminence?
When does one truly cross the line of incompetence?
See you could never make everyone happy,
I've learned this!

So as you play pacifier to society,
about the time you make your way across this over developed nursery.
The dominos... Well they will begin to fall!
Crashing down in this pure chain reaction of human displays of art.
All crying out to be heard,
All with eyes swelled so deep they resemble reservoirs.
See any one can be a hero in an instance,
I've learned this!

But watch as faces change when the hero calls for a savior.
Pay the favor back, a man asks to an empty sky,
Pleading... I've saved so why can't I be saved.
The notion of selfishness over rules selflessness,
I'm starting to question if it even exists...

Now time stands still in moments of hopelessness,
And hearts will break when the devil wakes!
Self actualization storming my consciousness,
We want to be seen as Gods looking down at our children,
The ones we saved...
But how do we validate our savior complex when the ones we saved, saved us...
Really you can truly help someone within an instance,
Don't misconstrue, I believe this, I do...
But whose to say a good act could ever live on into the infinite.
The pacifiers, they all fall with mouths dropped in awe,
Am I ungrateful to be given this position of playing God?
Why does my passion call for revenge when my heart calls for condolence,
Utterly twisted, what makes sense definitely mustn't be me...
Imagine being at the bottom of the abyss but being too proud to reach for a rope that assist.
Now whose to fool the trickster himself,
when all I see is how we cling desperately to validation, affirmation and recognition.
Well I don't need it, no I'm not that petty.

To be honest, to be disgustingly truthful,
I wanted to be seen as God when I pushed that man out of the way,
Self sacrifice played sweet delusions that put my own self importance at bay,
I sat there measuring what it truly means to be worthy of transcending this human mold,
Honestly I wanted him to cry in his new fathers arms.
This lease of life I co-signed with one swift motion and here comes the car,
Fury erupts in a soul that was long corrupt before given my choice.
These are the moment where I confided my fears of being human,
I wanted to be God but I could only live so long in this angelic delusion...

I watched from afar and saw as the man I saved grew,
My child was dismal in hope,
And he grew, oh how he grew but I wasn't proud of his development,
No, I saw evil shaking behind his eyes,
Begging to be released,
Tortured souls mutilated into figures bounded by destiny...
See I watched him grow, my child, the man I saved,
Saw him do unspeakable, disgusting things...
Now I plead to my past self,
Screaming besides reality,
The one who could have never known,
This weight is unbearable and my knees are faltering!
I stand now calm before the storm,
Wise as all hell but cynical to the point of corruption,
I saw too much and now my soul it cries,
The boy who once dreamed to be God now can't even be human,
He was robbed of that right with guilt overcoming him,
Now his eyes are these cold, stone-like marbles,
And his soul can no longer be seen,
With darkness becoming of me...

...

Once though it seems so long ago,
This soul resembled a crimson light,
And burned bright as all hell,
igniting passion and will to fight,
Then came the great dim,
Now no longer do I burn infinite,
I protected myself within oh so sweet delusions,
Muffled this roaring, all powerful flame that was my soul until it resembled a mere candle,
Flickering ever so dimly.
I use to burn with the intensity of the sun!
And now, now I was just no one but a victim of circumstance.
As I grew numbness became of me,
And I sought an escape in an immensely cruel reality,
Fate was all too unmercifully and with it now ruling me...
I knew I could never break free from the chains of destiny,
The silver winds that follow me,
The constant whistle ringing in my ear,
I was now, what I was not before,
awake and aware to this candle burning method that is my soul,
Mirror images display a candle burning at both ends,
And we all knew that this could never last,
So why must we pretend?
That the boy who played God could ever truly feel human again...

How do you make sense of these waves of consciousness holding both madness and clarity?
Somehow my hands were never full but always empty when put up to the lives of others.
A mirror spun around so many times I can't tell you what face I have to offer!
When approaching identity is at the cost of this sound mind so nice and neat.
I didn't mean to cause this Avalanche,
I just didn't feel complete.
So I delve into myself and knocked on the door that said "do not enter" convinced myself a better part of me somehow lived in there.
Never conceiving truly the idea of what laid on the other side,
When the door locked I found a different way inside...
I tore apart at my soul with a new strategy in mind,
With acid and hallucinogenics I felt I could find the beauty inside of me...

"I'm sorry I didn't know.."
When I snuck in the window to see what I was hiding,
My jaw drops and my eyes swell immediately.
I try to turn back but what has been seen has burned it's way back into my memories.
I started to speak the forbidden words aloud,
I held my hands over my mouths trying to keep my big secret from pouring out but my attempts proved futile.
With this compulsive nature I could hardly say I have any control over what I say.
With realizations only seen when I say words out loud,
Because I just don't think inside this stupid head of mine,
No but I feel so deeply and make a home for dread,
Because I'm no wise man,
I'm just a fool whose been there and back again...

All this time I thought I was numb,
doomed to never feel but when the drugs sink in to my soil *** of a head.
The appeal is so drawing and I just want to look at it.
I'm magnificent, I thought as I gazed into my soul.
I deluded myself with delusions to perceive this beautiful garden,
But when I tried tending to the garden myself,
to see if I could somehow make it any more beautiful,
I realized it was only a illusion.
The flowers were never even there..
Horrified I looked down at my hands and asked what could have caused this?
Raising the question what do I have to hide?
I felt there was something deep underneath this soil *** front,
so wretched and putrid!
What was I keeping from myself?
I've always been the honest and outspoken type so what was it?
Come on, What did I have to hide?!
Curiosity drove me to do it but a tab too many forced me into it!
I slipped into myself and down the rabbit hole I went,
"Hay man are you okay?"
"Yeah man I just had a bad trip"
I saw the truest part of my soul and cried on arrival,
The first thought that came to mind I spoke aloud,
"Well this is going to be hard to accept"
I said absolutely emotionless...

To tell you the truth,
My decent into madness was like waiting for a train,
You could see the tracks shaking and knew that it was coming soon.
You take out a photo of your beloved mother,
But The photograph of her you that kept in your chest pocket was no longer yours,
The ground had ate her but on the back of the photograph reads,
"Be back sooner than you think, I love you but Vegas makes me feel more complete"
This was the first lie I ever told myself,
It was a good imitation of her hand writing but only wishful thinking at best,
But what I didn't know was that a simple thought could throw me into madness,
As I deluded the truth and didn't accept what was in front of my face,
A horrific reality had such a cruel embrace!
And I was not ready for the taste of the concrete that paved rock bottom,
So I let go of the string that kept my mind close by.
I was always the artistic and creative type,
My friends all described me as poetic.
So I wanted to stay by their side ya know?
So I started to think in a factual manner even though it was killing me,
and all the lessons I had learned were derived from my past mistakes,
So I went out looking trying to find if I had skipped over any lessons,
But what I didn't realize I blacked out parts of my memory to protect the image of self in mind until I partook into this journey.
I saw myself screaming "when is mother getting back from Vegas, I hate you all and I just want her to come back!"
In my mind Vegas was not heaven but a location,
In my mind I didn't break down crying in front of a funeral,
Not able to accept how cruel and sudden reality could be.
In my mind she didn't sink into the depths of my forgetful memory,
She was still very much alive but away at the same time.
I couldn't bare the thought of decay taking plague on her vessel.
I realized with a mind like mine you have a tendency to scribble out and rewrite without even noticing.
Her death was ten years ago and if I'm being horribly honest.. I don't even remember her at all...

See I lose people inside my dysfunctional head so I grip onto the ones I have left in the present,
But life is ripping us apart so fast as I tear into my soul to keep hold of them.
The memories I treasure they all fade,
Even the memories that **** me are erased.
See nothing was safe inside my head except for me,
I guess I treasured identity and the ground I keep.
For it's like a room that you tidy up compulsively,
Anything unflattering gets thrown away and is never to be seen.
I guess that's why I talk about my accident so much,
When a madman came and struck me with his truck,
I even saved someone's life but let's not talk about that,
He went on and did some horrible and inhuman things and that's all I can say,
I don't speak aloud what I don't want to recall,
And I wait for my mind to come and sweep the walls.
So I can rid of this attachment that connects me to you,
So I can be pure and free from this up bringing!
But I was good and I did the right thing,
I slam my fist into my head at the thought of the stain!
For there is damage done but I don't want to forget what actually happened,
so I pry my minds eye wide open and all I see is pain and torture,
The skew of life,
Tainted and mutilated,
The twisted curve of fate...
Really I can deal with my own heart break but what good was my own happiness if I couldn't truthfully share it with others?
I needed others to be happy in such a selfish way,
So I rejected happiness and let go of the restraints I placed upon myself.


I gazed into my soul long and hard,
I guess I saw the potential in the black coal,
and even thought I could make a diamond,
I began to write a book and told everyone about it,
"A comma madman period"
I had picked out the name before I even began to write it.
I think it was my ****** up way of telling the truth to myself,
That somehow I knew but my conscious mind was overlooking it.
Youth filled experience,
The breath taking fulfillment,
I described it as a coming of age,
But it was more like being sentenced to life when the voices started going off in my head again,
The steal bars or my mind closing in,
And I suddenly in terror I remembered every time they went off before,
Every single memory I tried to erase...

How do you make sense of these waves of consciousness holding both madness and clarity?
I wanted to be wise honestly,
But I was no wise man,
I was a fool who had been there and back again.
If there is at all a lesson that I can pick apart from this madness,
It is to never break in when the door in your mind says "do not enter"
You'll find yourself at a train station separate from reality,
A real cold desolate place as the tracks begin to shake,
And you're shown your entire life in full as the train passes and you look in on the windows.
The silver winds grab you and **** you dry of experience and passion,
Because when you see your life in full  how can you pretend to be excited again?

With memories rapidly fleeting, I find it hard to pinpoint what lead me into the eyes of the dying man. I recall a day just the same as many in following, the cold breeze felt nice on my skin and a brisk sensation overwhelmed me. I felt the air filling my lungs and I'd like to think I appreciated it fully.

As temptation fled me, I felt calm. No longer a slave to a cigarette pressed between my lips, I felt pitiful in my nostalgia and felt wrong inside of myself. Oh how must I have felt? I can't even grasp my mind in that of which is my younger eyes. I feel wise honestly, almost as much so as the oak tree that keeps reoccurring in my thoughts.

It's been almost a hundred years in my mind but time does not flatter such unconventional wisdom. I lay alone, as alone as one can ever feel. Who would have thought my death bed would be that of an asphalt street lay? The cold air that I allowed to fill my lungs just prior in the day, now has forsaken me so. I feel the air I breathe tearing softly into my lungs, I feel the cold embrace of death.

I thought my time would never come, but I guess I was wrong.
In recollection, I always thought I would die on a day where clouds filled the sky. That somehow with my departure came down rain so hard, so powerful and filled with fury. As if the pounding roar of thunder is that of only God cursing himself for allowing me to slip through the cracks of existence. I guess I'm not all that important after all, stained in the blood of youth. My dying hour is here far too soon. but I was never good at keeping time myself, so this can not be sure.

Dying such a strange thought, there's an art in dying really, I now see this to be true.
Death: a concept in which the mind can't comprehend, we often like to not to think of such terrible things, really the point in it seems all too pointless.

The thought crosses the measure of relevance in what deems to be relevant. Just the day prior I laid in my bed filled with appreciation for all that is mine and all I had worked for, to be laying lost in my sheets... I would give anything to feel said sheets once again. Little did I know.

Don't men only die when they don't appreciate life? Why must I be shown all that I am losing, when I already increasingly know to the deepest foundation of that of which is my existence, that I have already lost?

...

With my overwhelming sense of self-importance on the line, I face mortality in it's true form, how fragile I really am I now see. In a world separate from the pain I feel, I am fleeting out of existence trying to forget. I searched for calm in a hopeless place. sorrow moans, bitter, desolated, with a ruthless sensation of despair filling my existence. Oh the despair, it is a pit with immense depth. I would like to tell you how I have explored such depth but I honestly rather not...

For I am the one who can take it, all of it I swear, throw the knife in my back and I will pull it out, clean and polish the blade and return it as I apologize for ever getting in your way. I really never meant to get in your way. This depth I do not wish to explore will reflect in this piece I am presenting, between the lines, the presence is so clear in between the lines, screaming out to be heard, I can barely contain it within myself, so therefor it bleeds out from in between the lines. My suffering, my agony, every face I was forced to find peace with in my fleeting moments! I could not find said peace. It was nowhere to be found.

The darkness fills me and the plagues of my dreams and ambitions brought vengeance upon my waking and quaking mind. Suddenly an empty figure stands in my reality brought nightmare and I observe it and ask why something so dark lives in the depths of my subconscious? I am tortured and beaten and broken, I have taken the world and more, why me? I ask for my own amusement.

I often ask myself what lead me to that of merciful that day, the day time stopped and I reached a new plane of existence, what lead me to be so merciful? The question rings and I stand firm in my footing, as my head turned so swiftly, I locked eyes with God, he took the shape of a moving vehicle. Terminal and homicidal, I measured the weight of guilt and worth and felt bitter in my disdain.

My disdain did not know the smiles of my family's faces, my sister with eyes not yet recording, she would not even know who I truly was, the question sank and I asked "Who am I?" but I could not remember, the dying man had consumed me, everything I am was being ripped apart by the dying man, I felt engulfed in these feelings...

And in my departure I felt so very alive, more alive then I had ever felt. My heart was crying in it's inadequacy, never knowing the touch of true love, I fell short yet again! I have failed... For all their is worth dying for, I had so much more worth living for.  God and his oh so strange faces, he chose to represent himself as my bane of existence this time.

I thought about it but I never no matter the time given could have really considered everything before I pushed that man out of the way, fully and truly I could have never known the weight of my actions. Some see me as a hero for pushing him out of the way, but I see a deep sadness inside myself in the decisions I had made in that of a split second. Almost as if I chose my demise simply to let go, I wanted to let go deep down, and what better way to let go then in an acts of hopeless heroism. I felt pure, almost as if I was absolved of all my prior sin. I thought of God and his true face, the emptiness in the absence of light in his eyes, I felt alone, no comfort, as alone as I felt the day I was born....

And as I embark, so must I someday depart.. I imagined my departure to be a day of overcast and shade, but on the contrary it was a bright day. I felt the Arizona heat masked by a winter breeze and I felt alive, in that of which is my fleeting moments I felt alive. In my suffering, my great suffering! Given the choice to let go, I saw the sky open up, and their was angels standing on the street lights ready to guide my soul in it's leaving.. but I was not yet ready! as I lived this pain, I slowly forgot what it felt to be free of suffering, I became my pain and the only sounds I heard were that of sorrows moans. I felt filthy and impure, moments earlier I saw myself as selfless in acts of heroism but to no prevail were my acts recognized, I somewhat expected the scenery drop to be lifted and to find myself in a dream I simply fell too hard into. But no, no, no, NO! reality is unmerciful and cruel and potent and sure, it is sure as day is bright and night is dim!

I often refer to who I was as characters who shifted in time to become new. I dream to be The Wise Man but I am only The Discoverer as of now, but before that I was The Dying Man(who I am allowing you to know) and before that I was The Ego and Fury and before I was The Hopelessly Hopeless, when funeral progressions play I was The Boy who Throws Dirt, just as I was once The Young and Yearning, and same as I was once The Sunflower Boy who ran amongst the flower fields. These characters are all equally apart of myself, as who I am today is apart of me.

Really we are all one in the eyes of the dying man, you become everything you ever were or will be, the dying man is clairvoyant but hopelessly disconnected and could never really make any sense of it. And by the one in million chance, if he ever were to flood back in to the eyes of the living, it would be like a dream that fades as you desperately cling to the story as the day progresses. I don't know why I fail to forget the eyes of the dying man, I wish I could, it isn't natural, a spoiler if you will, but the eyes of the dying man holds great wisdoms and sorrows, far too great for the eyes of the living man. So you can imagine my return, my great bamboozle of death itself, it was surreal and I questioned the fabric of existence in it's entirety. Where I thought I was surely pushing daisies, rose a pulse and life breathed into me yet again.

See this is not my first run in with the reapers scythe, it is my third but I do admit, I was far more conscious the third time around. My first encounter was my very first breath, my lungs failed me with the tight restraint of the umbilical cord fastened in a noose fashion around my neck three times. I was born blue and it leads me to ask myself how could I ever feel alive after something like that? It's like waking up to falling out of your bed and the day is casted in negative light but so is my life. The second encounter was in the eyes of my former self, I like to call the hopelessly hopeless. My first conscious run in with the reapers untimely swings, I felt disdain, and impurity becoming of me. my head clenched with strain as everything I had ever witnessed or heard. I was forsaking myself as I cried out to forget what was playing before my eyes in two manners, one the life how I desired it to be and the other playing the cold setting of what actually happened...

So I am here the dying man yet again, not because I asked to be but because it simply can be. For I can take the weight of the world and arguably more. I stand a man sovereign in my rights for existence, valiant if not simply in no better words a brave man beaten and broken, always ready for the next lashing. I decide to fight the becoming of the dying man. Will to live! it's really a funny thing, something of such great importance, that no one really ever thinks about, something so overlooked but still so important.

I lay the man aged a hundred years inside his head, moments reflected hours and hours were becoming years, I slowly forgot who I was, and the slate became cleansed. I felt pure with triumph, I felt undyingly pure, my sins were washed from me and I awoke. I felt brand new, I felt as if I were reborn, the dying man was casted into the past and I became the discoverer I am today, and one day I dream of being the wise man but one day is too far to become hung up on anything. I shall appreciate another year in full this time, and for many years following. I am now, what I was not before. I am truly awake and appreciative for if death comes for a fourth blow I want to have new stories to tell my old friend, as the fireworks in my brain go off yet again.

There was always something about the way she spoke that made you want to listen,
Like a crying fox stuck in a trap pleading for mercy from the humans that lacked humanity,
Scorned by God like figures allowing agony to be known in the eyes of this small innocent creature.
Why did I always feel I needed to pay penance for wrongs I didn't commit?

I don't resent her really, no I couldn't, not ever, for I would drive myself mad trying to pull sensicals out of moments that are truly abstract in nature.
Flex my understanding of what some may never come to know,
Gouge at my eyes and call ME the bad one!

See I've been dealt an awful lot of tragedy which all leads back to you,
It's a matter of fault, and there is no escaping, the one who runs from blame!
The fingers were never pointing back at me I must now confess,
I truly crippled you and for that I am so sorry...

I allowed your own faults to be casted in my direction,
To shield you from the painful sting of ever sinking blame,
I honestly protected you when I shouldn't have...

I felt like you were the moon trying to live forever in this solar eclipse,
Over accentuating that one moment of true rarity where you blocked me out!
Horrific really, allowing your son to set.
But I was always drowning, so am I now the melodramatic one?

There was always something about the way she spoke that made you want to listen...
I'm used to it honestly, how couldn't I be? But it's kinda ****** up for me to allow myself to find familiarity in her screaming,
Like a baby who can't fall asleep without the sound of it's mother singing,
I yearn for the nails etched across the chalk board, I find solace in her ever rising voice...

I wanted to hear her sing but in moments of hopelessness, I wanted her to sleep...
Something peaceful really, observing a deadly creature, so fragile and defenseless,
Lulled into a moment of peace, such a ferocious beast!

It almost seems out of character really...
Pleading the role of the fox brought nightmare, my ankle hurts but only out of respect for the situation as these metal clamps dig into my very soul!

The moment is killing me so I seek refuge in a plethora of memories I've obtained!

...

It was lonely, that's all I can say growing up in the mansion that is her ego,
I felt myself shrinking as she grew even larger,
I almost offed myself when word came about her plans to expand this already monstrous poor excuse for a home...

But as I grew old enough to understand the situation at hand, I felt an alienation becoming of me, I reject her empty gestures of love, they were all bought!

In a ****** up way I became who she needed, the one who affirms, an advocate of sorts,
Holding the hands of the perpetually filthy,
But I just couldn't be who she needed me to be for her,
I felt pathetic almost as if I failed my normality, I had to start thinking for myself...

When the mansion shrunk I was shocked really,
Honestly it was a dreadful burden to navigate around as some of the rooms were disappearing.
She was growing numb in reality and it took allot for me to still hate her,
But that's the point of this really, I resented myself all this time for loving her...

I wanted the one who runs from blame to take on all I've been shouldering,
I wanted in a place separate from reality for her to come to her senses and to apologize for all she's done to hurt me!
But there are some things that will never happen and I guess that was my point of writing this,
To give those permission to love the unlovable, to reach out in the situations that don't care to be understood.

...

Well I found myself running from the moon as it breached the horizon,
She was a bullet in my horizon, she stopped the son from rising not caring for the consequences of her actions!
How careless she must be...

The plethora of memories I seek refuge in, they spit me back out!
And I ask how selfish can I be for holding onto a moment longer than any being should ever grasp on to a fleeting instance.

...

I forgive you but that comes at the cost of me hating myself but I know you don't care gripping onto your own tiny little mansion...