when you knock on my door,
i will welcome you with open arms;
my long lost friend,
my dearest enemy,
my unwritten play in three acts.
my forgotten peace of mind,
the one i never learned to hate,
the one i'll always yearn for;
my oldest regret,
my most recent mistake.
when you knock on my door,
i will let you in, but won't let you stay;
the one i never asked for,
the one who always walks away.

She's my SIS
she is everything that i'm not
still we are in some ways alike

I hate how all those years passed where we barely spoke
we live in the same house but its like each one was alone

Sometimes even if we would talk it was to say something mean
so many things i regret i wish i could repeat those scenes

I know every brother and sister have their fights
but i still remember when you were afraid to sleep alone at night
We used to share the same room until i turned 14
Dont get me wrong
we had alot of fun memories
but as we got older we grew apart

i know its not your fault
its probably mine
i wasnt there for you almost all the time
sorry
you probably wont read this but its good to say how i feel
i dont talk much so this is my only relief

i never was a good Bro
i just want to hug you and never let go

I love you <3


Words Of Harfouchism

******* has no calories

yet it keeps you from dreams

& sometimes i feel that i may never fall asleep

& other times, I feel that I may never awake

Men of the Twenty-first
Up by the Chalk Pit Wood,
Weak with our wounds and our thirst,
Wanting our sleep and our food,
After a day and a night --
God, shall we ever forget!
Beaten and broke in the fight,
But sticking it -- sticking it yet.
Trying to hold the line,
Fainting and spent and done,
Always the thud and the whine,
Always the yell of the ***!
Northumerland, Lancaster, York,
Durham and Somerset,
Fighting alone, worn to the bone,
But sticking it -- sticking it yet.

Never a message of hope!
Never a word of cheer!
Fronting Hill 70's shell-swept *****,
With the dull dead plain in our rear.
Always the whine of the shell,
Always the roar of its burst,
Always the tortures of hell,
As waiting and wincing we cursed
Our luck and the guns and the Boche,
When our Corporal shouted, "Stand to!"
And I heard some one cry, "Clear the front for the Guards!"
And the Guards came through.

Our throats they were parched and hot,
But Lord, if you'd heard the cheers!
Irish and Welsh and Scot,
Coldstream and Grenadiers.
Two brigades, if you please,
Dressing as straight as a hem,
We -- we were down on our knees,
Praying for us and for them!
Lord, I could speak for a week,
But how could you understand!
How should your cheeks be wet,
Such feelin's don't come to you.
But when can me or my mates forget,
When the Guards came through?

"Five yards left extend!"
It passed from rank to rank.
Line after line with never a bend,
And a touch of the London swank.
A trifle of swank and dash,
Cool as a home parade,
Twinkle and glitter and flash,
Flinching never a shade,
With the shrapnel right in their face
Doing their Hyde Park stunt,
Keeping their swing at an easy pace,
Arms at the trail, eyes front!

Man, it was great to see!
Man, it was fine to do!
It's a cot and a hospital ward for me,
But I'll tell'em in Blighty, whereever I be,
How the Guards came through.

Roar of the rushing train fearfully rocking,
Impatient people jammed in line for food,
The rasping noise of cars together knocking,
And worried waiters, some in ugly mood,
Crowding into the choking pantry hole
To call out dishes for each angry glutton
Exasperated grown beyond control,
From waiting for his soup or fish or mutton.
At last the station's reached, the engine stops;
For bags and wraps the red-caps circle round;
From off the step the passenger lightly hops,
And seeks his cab or tram-car homeward bound;
The waiters pass out weary, listless, glum,
To spend their tips on harlots, cards and ***.

you smelled like
cheap leather,
and cigarettes.

no wonder i had
headaches.