I walk down these halls,
I speed past these walls.
This place I've been in for three years,
this place in which I've laughed and shed tears.
This place I've made enemies and friends,
this place I've traveled to journey's end.
I'll never forget this place,
I'll never let it wander in empty space.
It holds three years of memories,
Some that I'll forget when I'm old and some that I'll never fail to see.
I walk down these halls,
I speed past these walls.
And I reminisce,
about how much of this place I'll miss.
All of the faces that have come to be familiar,
all of the people I used to think were peculiar.
The friends that I've made,
the relationships that have caved.
The failed tests,
and educational quests,
that I've encountered in these halls
and inside these walls.

Over thinking and analysis
can result in self-paralysis.
Digging through dirt for truth can leave you stuck in a ditch
with dimensions the perfect size and fit
of your own body.

Sometimes it's a blessing, others a curse. Sometimes anywhere and everywhere in between. They can be the most comforting things or the most venomous. Sometimes good thoughts get interrupted by the bad and drag me down, but yet others still will pull me out of my own darkness.

Others are questions, whom, if I ever find the answer to, will just create more questions for me to answer. It's like roulette. You got a 50-50 shot. You could either bet it all on one go and come up big or you could lose it all. On the other hand you could bet in small increments, never winning to much, but then again, not losing to much.

How much are you willing to risk in an effort to gain?

I haven't packed my bags, but my mind's already gone.

Bricks are red,
Some Nerf darts are blue.
All I wanted to say is:
Bro, you ****.

I only ever make things worse.
"Who do you know who owns a hearse?"
I once rode to Denny's next to a coffin;
it was empty.

There's this guy at work
who worked at a funeral home before.
He went through a fast food drive-thru with a dead guy in the back.
He'd died from obesity.

I don't know what's worse:
Tragedy or comedies.
I'm always tearing up at the happy scenes,
and laughing inappropriately.
******* ******* irony -
gets me every time.

Yea, but this and that and these and those.
I've pulled myself up from the floor in order to write this prose,
or poetry, I mean.
Whatever that may be.
A conglomeration of words and thoughts and feelings.
Yea dude, but totally.

I've put these syllables through the spin cycle of my washing machine.
Tumble dry. Don't deny my attempt to explain what I mean.
If we're lucky then it'll come out clean.