I just, want you here, just like this.
Hell, what can i say,It's always been this way.
we connect randomly.(is this seat taken?)
break off.(stupid boy|girl segregation)
diverge. (across bus aisles)
recconnect. (hugs before you leave, subtle smiles)
risk.(hopped, hid, rode again in my seat those last few miles) .
create boundaries.(best friend, I'm with her, you're with him)
overstep(i daydream of you...)
overstep.(i dreamed of you last night...)
overstep (i dreamed of you last night again...)
recreate.(i ignore you when you speak, what was that last thing you said?)
walk on blind faith, a little too quickly.(we took two days to talk this over, two weeks to get into bed)
remember we are friends amidst all this ( i did)
and suddenly all the feelings, (or thoughts spinning in my head)
the ones that are thretening to surge freely through me, (undo me)
no restraint, (undid)
threating to take over my actions, my heart, my affections (am i mislead?)
(theyve already strangled my reason)(I'm brainless, because of you, undead)
experience a subtle but calming shift( smootheeee like thisssss)
when i remember(what we said)
I suddenly understand(this isn't wonderland)
why it is I don't want to leave(friends fight, we are friends)
you mean so much more to me(than i could even begin to express)
than emotions high arguing and a dozennn days ive cried( they are nothing compared to it)
you are my friend, (im beginning to think best)
and well, i just... i want you here, (just like this)

I looked around for a knife. Remembered that night.
Wanted to forget my promise.  Remembered where the blade was, just out of sight.
resolved to write. fill an empty blank white
with words that might
let me sleep tonight.

Probably the third time that I've prepared for the worst
can you see how much i hurt? do you know that i still thirst?
sometimes for my own blood, sometimes for my tears,
ive thirsted for what i've feared, for what seems now many years,
i contradict my self, and  twist my words and slay
the things ive said before, with the words i speak today
watch the way i walk, and wallow where i wait,
for things my malice stalks,  for people that i hate
wander neath the willow, weary, weeping,
wide eyed, my thoughts keeping,
me wishing i wasnt awake, when i should be sleeping

My dad used to say, any day above ground is a good day.
Guess he had to make sense of it all somehow.
Guess he had to soften the blow of his slow walk down
Wonder if he ever wished it was quicker.
Doubt he ever had all the answers.
Promise you he knew what a day was worth.
Wish I would have known it before he
hid in the earth.

only we know it like we do. and its colorful. beautiful  for the colors. but sometimes difficult to keep painting and not be scared of what the next stroke in the masterpiece might look like.
and it looked like you left. But really you just turned left. ANd i had to keep on goin straight. HAd different places to be on different dates. Couldnt buy the tickets to the same train. Couldnt even hop one for free, couldnt keep you, or keep you tied to me. Things were different than that. You've got dreams and i had to see them from a step back. ANd to find my own. I did, and now i'm goin home. So ill buy another ticket, or forget and hop a traind for the mischief, the misadventure. The opportunity to be where others say i shouldnt,  do things in real life that others didnt, or couldnt. its really right where i should be. I get to be a little different. Choose life - choose to be free - even if that means a little or a lot of pain - even if it means poverty. Cant strap anything to myself when im headin down deep. Ill take the shovel and ill leave it at the foot of the tree. I won't dig up roots i will grow them. Far and wide , but still real deep. I'll climb cliffs that people think are too steep.

I entreat you, muse
remind me now of the segment of my soul
that has oft'n been responsible for the creation of terrible beauty.
Yes, i do understand that some terror must prevail- that my page alone may be my peace - when i find it nowhere else -
If this is what i must accept-
then i do willfully receive your woe -
if this is where i go, then through the valley
of the shadow of death,
i shall come to know,
that beauty may be from dear tragedy removed
and art is ne'er far behind a broken heart
a soul that drowns apart form
painting words onto some blank canvas
and even and empty mind has merit
for all things empty may be filled at the will of some divine entity-
i entreat thee-
bring to my hands this dear artistry
though inevitably it shall hedge a broken heart in me

eloquently exercise my capacity for speech
shamelessly synchronize, my look, your look, at you, at me
blush to rise up from somewhere deep within
sight to see through the mirrors behind you're hidden
reflect a face, another face, just to hide your own
a sound, a sound you make, from deep inside your soul
it's music rising against a ragged breeze
a bluesy beauty - ragged sound - that brings me to my knees
your soul to mourn its lack of woe?
rejoice instead amidst royalty

from what i have tasted of desire
twas a divine insanity

the sky is torn across
thy voice is on the rolling air
tis moonlight, summer moonlight
who feels compassion for our inner fires.’
sung asleep with lullabies
groping, guessing, yet progressing
all the sweet pulsing aches

i remember the history well:  and enjoy fully the delights of love –
become so still you hear the blood flowing through your veins -
my wildest force, will you return?

you flicker, i cannot touch you
dont feel sorry for me
i will take the sun in my mouth

somehow, i can be okay with goodbye when,
with a sudden snap you removed these parasitic vines, from my spine
where they had grown, laced and intertwined into my nervous system
i was anxious, suffocated by anxiety until i came to the realization that i won't miss them
they were suffocating me and i thought i was fine, because they never came close to my throat
but, nobody has to wrap their cold hands around your trachea to make you choke
all it takes is a little pressure on a part of your soul that's already constricted,
all it takes is some back and forth and promises to make you, unmake you, make you addicted
its as simple as being chained by somebody's expectations for you to change
one more person making the same promises to stick around and then not staying
one more person saying that you're perfect the way you are when you meet them
but being shocked, appalled, disgusted when you slide back the paper thin walls
you put between yourself and the rest of humanity so that you can function
you do it with all those moments you subtly assure them that your brokkeness is fiction
and the second they notice theyre right back up and running
perpetuating the cycle of your need for invisibility,
maintaining the lifestyle of perfecting your camouflage
I know someone who hid in her closet when she was just a child
to hide the scars that the next door neighbor had bored into her psyche
from her mother an everyone else - to perpetuate their happiness at the cost of herself
I understand what it's like to have a savior complex, and be full of guilt
I understand what it's like to think you have to save everyone you love from your reflection
I understand the ache in your chest that comes from running too far, too fast, in all directions
just so you don't have to take the one path you think you can't handle
I understand what it's like to not be able.

ANd if we are nothing now,
then we must have never been anything at all.
But if we are something, we are something,
no matter the cost, or the fall.

i could write in my own blood
and you wouldn't see the hurt in my words
I still cannot believe that i can tame my tongue.
But i turn it from a dagger, and hide the dagger in the churned earth
among the spring seeds,
maybe when the flowers bloom,
they will bare a sharper sort of beauty.
Maybe when the pain returns pain
maybe then it will rain, and in the rain
I will see past  lies that looked so like truths
and they will be more plain
Perhaps naked petals will unfurl,
and wildflowers will change their minds to be replanted
Memories of that sincere girl will sprout,
and i will be refilled with trust to uproot my doubt,
Perchance i will trace the stems up to the flowers
and pick each golden oval, off of its shadowed bower
hidden there among the aged leaves and cowering
under the trustworthy arms of an ancient oak tree
look deep and remember that it has a place etched deep in my craggy heart
but that place is empty and not the same, as was the carving,
from the start

I have happened upon the most interesting of thoughts. If one's goal is to find truth - and truth, innately to be found, necessitates knowing - and this is extended outwards unto everything in life - eventually, truth, and it's knowing, must bridge the gap of death. Dying is just another form of finding truth. Why should i fear it's sting?

The peaceful passing of my soul in silence is what this moment appears to be.Beneath my skin unravels a tale much the opposite.
There the silence is perforated by the echo of my hopelessness.
I am confronted by the possibility that I am losing it.
Not my sanity (though perhaps that is a subject for a different passage).That I am losing my talent.That I am losing my muse.
That the habit upon which i construct nearly my entire identity now threatens evanescence. And here I am, only halfway convinced that these keystrokes are self refuting.They are not devoid of talent. But they do not come in the same feverish manner.
They do not come in unbridled passion
They are beforehand constructed.
They are not solid images or stories, but some vague outlines of more vague impressions.
They are not paintings of the broad colorful strokes of emotions
They feel almost - not quite- cold.
And they feel calculated.
Perhaps i have been guilty of overanalyzation
It is likely.
But also, I am keenly aware that my creation is much more an act of choice these days.
It is much more an act of choice than spontaneity.
I am not taken with the wind, or the trees.
My soul does not overflow, it simply bubbles uneventfully.
I find that when i look for inspiration, it is not there.
I find that I can write about everything equally and subjectively.
I have beliefs, I have passions, yes,but somehow they do not control me.
And I am so used to being controlled.
I have before thought that there was freedom there, or more accuately, i have felt it.
And still that emotion underlies the thoughts that i now have.
It feels as if i am devoid of what i have before held deeply central to my talent as a poet.
But perhaps, this is simply a new era.
It has long been argued and discussed what sort of poetry has value, what sort of poetry is poetry - and i would posit that the answer is all of it.
There is value in the vivid pictures of emotions.
And there is value in the eloquent preservation of the facts of a situation.
Everything between on the vivid spectrum, may in some way be classified as poetry,
and is in some way inherently valuable.
I am not free.
But Neither am I bound.
This is why I am without direction.

My indecision is neatly stacked in lines along the walls.
It circles towards the center.
There is no drain in the middle of the sunken floor.
But by the way gravity seems to pull the endless stacks of papers along the walls, you would think the room was liquid.
You would easily be convinced that indecision is fluid.
I would say that I am torn, but truth be told, I am not.
I am simply sitting calmly in the space between two paths.
Some tell me I should trod where nobody ever has.
Others seem to think that I should pretend to be water,
Blend with my indecision, and just go with the flow.
And then there is the second pathway,
I would think it would be the opposite of trailblazing -
but that is where i stand in indecision.
No, the other path is also a path of resistance.
But not for the difficulty of the path.
This is the place where i must choose to chase the other shipwrecks,
or to head to the shore.
This is where i must either allow myself to be healed, accept the healing, move on, embrace my new life - or where i hold onto the chemicals - where i hold onto the emotions - where i hold onto the rush, the rollercoaster, the addictions -
where I , ironically, am met with the choice to define the value of my experiences
in terms of their unpredictability and the lack of wisdom and safety among them
or to choose wisely, disallow myself to continue in that which will further destroy me,
I have been empty, Now i must be filled.

I thought about breaking the close semblance to silence, but instead i chose to choke my words back and reinforce the lack of violence. This that seems so quiet, is so inside of me as rough as a riot. A riot put down, but not by my conscience. By the concepts of reason, and their obvious relevance

Our enemies, or those who our government or our morals deem to be a threat - do not forget - they too believe they are right, they too would fight and die for their cause, "they" are just like "us. War, for any reason is a tragedy. Sadly, there will not be peace until all people want it at the same time and in the same way. And sadly, it is unlikely that all people will find themselves in these circumstances necessary for peace.Oh, that somehow our creedo would be freedom, and not power! That freedom or morality will never be used as a thin veil to justify a war in which the true goal is greed! May wars be fought for life, so that thought they cost so much death, some good may come of them. Self preservation is a right. Mercy when possible, that we may sleep at night.

There is a certain uncertainty within me that i cannot quite identify. It is unsettling. I think it somehow connected with my dissatisfaction when it comes to the doctrine of universal-ism. I do believe that it is both true and fair that all men must be saved through the blood of the Lord- God -Jesus Christ,shed to reconcile man and God upon a cross at Calvary. I find  dissatisfying the idea that God would somehow choose what men go to hell and what men do not, and think even that If god were such a God, i would not want to be his son. I think it foolish to apply some philosophical extension of guilt to God, when God is guilty only of love, the creation of man and man's free will to love, and be loved. God is no more guilty of man's decisions to reject Christ than the father of a murderer is guilty of the blood of his son's ****** victims. Surely, there may seem to be some guilt, but there is no perpetration of violence or wrong, there is only adherence to nature. A man's nature to produce children, alongside the nature of a murderer to ****, result in due consequence. God's nature to love and to seek his own glory, and to magnify these qualities in the universe, alongside with man's nature to seek his own glory and interest, result in due consequence. Surely, you may say "God is more guilty because of his omniscience", but is he? I for one, were i to father a murderous child, would, despite his murderous nature , love him. I would not wish he did not exist. But what i would do, was wish that he had not perpetrated his murderous actions-  for my love for my son, and for my love for others, my compassion, and my humanity. This is much like God. He, though he knows there are those that are among his children who would be murderers, in a sense, killers of their own eternal souls through the rejection of Christ, persists in love and compassion for humanity through the creation of those humans. You may also say that there is some difference in that God chooses how he creates a man to be, whereas a father does not choose exactly the child he creates, so much as simply choosing to create. This, i will admit, is true.  But, i do not think constitutes the guilt of God in choosing. The reason is thus: ****** is indeed an act of free will. Free will is necessary unto love, that love does not  descend to become slavery. Love is the very nature of God, and though God is supreme in power, and has the ability to make any choice he chooses, choosing not to love would be contrary to the very being of God. This makes creating, even a murderer, an act of love, and an act much less of a choice than it may seem.

God is not guilty after all.

I set out to google
If getting a shake
in your hands
was a sign of an addict
I didn't quite make it
before i lost interest
or maybe focus

I saw her
i knew she was married (or thought so)
she was engaged.
and HIS sister
But i danced with her anyway.

your picture was enough to make me pause
i picked you up and looked at you,
smiled, remembered, looked down, paused,
and set you back down on the table

somewhere in the distance
I have flatlined
and i hear wind in the trees outside
I'm lying here and all i can think
is that I'm in a coma (or dead)
somewhere -
sometime else
I hope i get help

It is hard to measure progress
when you can't tell if where you are
is any different than where you've always been
when it all feels the same
but you have an inkling
a tugging at the truth
that something
has changed
and it always
has been for good
It is in the winter that all dies
to become life again
new life in the spring

There is always a likelihood of calamity in relationships.
The candle is coming to the middle.

If we are not feeding our minds with something rich,
will they starve, not starve for lack of food,
but for lack of nutrients?

And here i am, sitting in a baptist church
the night after i let myself go
the picture of the in-between

But she says she'd swear
if i wasn't so religious
I came to church high
all the time (not this one i didn't)
I am not high.
So, there must be some substance to what she sees.
I am at peace.
I woke up talking to Jesus and thinking of his love,
but in the form he has given me,
for another, for others

I have been talking to god even though I've been gone.

The moon is behind the clouds in the morning
but it is still there
still round
still looks like the moon.

The rogue agent ***** me. I killed her.
The father was an impostor.
The president ate supper with me
and thanked me for holding him hostage at gunpoint
with his own gun, which apparently
had been empty (or held six duds)
The brother, well i three him down the stairs when
her dad looked my way.
I la in a sewer drain
listening to my ipod (extra battery)
while the incriminating files downloaded
over 24 hours- shock. Oh wait, it's 91%

I will fight to get to the ******* door
If it costs me all i have or even more
even if it lays me on the ******* floor
even if it just seems like lies and lore
i will fight
to get to the ******* door

cherry blossoms
on a gnarled trunk
or maybe an oak
of sorts that blossoms
in the winter.
Dead, but living.

self conscious
not so much in the sense
of feeling like everyone is looking at me
but like i am looking at every bit of myself.

****. I am a writer again.
the dark is back. there is not much else i see.
but clouds and love
loss and lovers
and i am stuck
clinging to their motivations.

there were scratches down my sides
i am covered in cold sweat
i sink back
sort of
and snap to
there are bite marks on my arm
my heart beats like i am being chased by a jaguar
through a jungle
my hair is tangled
in a mat
sweat covered and hanging in tendrils
in front of my face
i am gripped by fear. shock.
desire.
I am an animal.
and i only just awoke.

we were a classical case
of too many chemicals
catalytic affections
that infect with their tentacles
grab hold, render me wrecked
in the best of ways and the worst
sweet poison that sates something
only to instill a greater thirst

Now watch me with my uncertainties drift downward
spy me falling slow or quickly southward
yet do not ****** me up;nay, grab my hand
and pull me gently back from quickened land to land

vaguely i return from softened sleep
i pray that to the fant'sies i have left
i have not lost my soul but have kept
my body and my soul, my mind intact
that though i love the journey, i needn't journey back
to steal vitality- return't unto myself
that my heart lay not hidden among pages upon a shelf

I pray (with my heart-for that is what makes it prayer)
I will not leave but find both here and there
the very heart i oft'n fear i've left behind
tis new, it grew, and changed along with mind
and soul, both here and there -among the mythic leaves
and in sleepy softness when i a'first awaken from waking dream

the realms of fancy both far and near at hand
reach out and touch you like a kind and wrinkled man
sagacious-many stories has he to share with you
gained through eons and ages of conglomerate imaginations
mystery and mythical in all their machinations
learn here what never was found in earthly realizations
heaven loosed on earth -in heads, hearts, and inclinations

a twinkle in his eye hints at many secrets
a longing of my heart overwhelms; bids deeply that i seek it
uncover the connections;his smile flashes white
and mischievous - but no fear or uneasiness overtakes
curiosity creeps in - why?! what?! I must know what you have known
"seek and you shall find, ever travel deeper in",
"seek and you shall win-
the prize- a story all your own"

and fant'sy has aged grown from old to young
indeed he knows that stories kept - that stories never sung
**** life! **** life! go hungry and alone!
and infant dreamer with nary a scream
nor tantrum to leave his lips
may tell as many and great or greater stories
as or than a man with ancient wit

my heart has taken fancy to fant'sy
my lover is my lore
but ever unto day must every daydream shatter more
and oft in life i must momentare -lay aside longing for myth
and often unto lore with life must i take part as *****
and often unto life with lore must i remind my heart
that faithfulness to myth and real may meet within my art
and life that's lived just as a myth is just the place to start
and myth that's lived just as a life is where it all must end
and all that lay between the two is life; and i will spend
to seek a story for the sake of a story
through this - story i shall find
and glory subvert for the sake of substance
you shall not know my name -
for fame i'll sacrifice for worth
and name - i shall know mine

it might not have been fair
but it was I, and your friend,
not against you, but perhaps it seemd so,
when we shared our ability to annoy and frustrate you
so well, so frequenty on that day we went up that mountain currahee
and to the falls both big and small
throguh the woods, on the trails,
recalling inside jokes, stories,
bothering you like only two close friends with intimate knowledge of who you are
could manage to
it was beautiful
thank you for introducing me to amanda

you asked me
why i looked at you
like i used to
when we were tangled up in
each other
I looked at you like that
because the first time this started
everything that happened
was a twisted and sad expression
of a love i really had
but was obscured
and i then, when i looked at you,
remembered it, realized
that in holding back in choosing for you what i knew you wanted and needed -
in admitting that it wasnt me- i was doing what was best for you -
and in that moment i was the best lover i could ever be to you.

Perfume that makes me rememebr late nights in the backseat of your car
you knew this, and so you wore it three times, and i could smell it from afar
i caught it as i walked by even across the room,
and i was overtaken by images
images so easy to sink back into -
so easy to want when everything else is so hard to do
i missed these when i shouldnt
they werent mine but stolen
i dont hold onto them but they hit me
like your perfume in my face
They linger in faint traces
when you leave the room

Recently i have been remembering my father. It is hard, but he is a man worth remembering. I do not know how everyone else saw him, but, despite his flaws, he was a great father and a great man. He was a man i was sure of the love of.. He showed me what that meant. I could see it in him. He had some out there thoughts, some strange views - maybe because he went through the 70s , maybe because that was just his head. But no matter that, he loved. The Lord, his wife, my wonderful mother, I , my brothers. I still find strands of his silver hair, even here, in toccoa, among my things. On his jacket. I am reminded of him by the things he left behind. and i remember the space he filled in my life. I never got the chance to right some of the things i regret- shrugging him off - arguing - avoiding him. But i know he forgives me. He is my father - that doesn't and has not changed. Through his passing i have learned that he truly was a great one, and i was sometimes shortsighted when he was still here. I have learned that where he fails - My father God will not. I have seen how he reflected God, and i have seen where he fell short in his humanity. He remains - not perfect - and i will not glorify him past what i believe he was - but an amazing picture of change and redemption through his life. He survived a lot that most men would have crumbled under. He did not run from things that many men would have shrank and hidden from. He made bad choices. But he did what he could to make them right. he lived fast sometimes, but he never forgot that slowing down is important to truly living as well. He may have screamed, yelled, or lost his temper, but at heart, he was a gentle man. He had the strength and the knowledge and the wit to cut people down, but he build them up, bridled his strength, was not a prideful man. He lost much, but he held on to what he still had. He was what a father should be. He was not a god, nor did he always lead with his values in a perfectly straight line. But he taught me to love my brothers. He taught me that blood was thicker. He taught me that God is always the one to go to when everything is wrecked - and you can always go to him even if it was you who wrecked those things. I wish we had seen more eye to eye. But i think, perhaps for our disagreements i found more of me. I think for his weakness, i was given strength. And i imagine i, through my stubbornness and temper similar to his own, challenged him to love daily. And he still did. I miss him.

He was renowned for his humility
even to his friends, he was fatherly,
he walked through life limping,
and yet in some way, his limp was triumph.
he had been told he would never walk again from his early 20s
he walked until the day he died what felt late in his 60s
he never abandoned those he loved
a father like no other
even when he was unsure if he was enough
he boxed my ears occasionally
sometimes he chewed me out for doing foolish things
but never did i think he did not love me
he told me almost every day until my teens
and then his voice got quiet, and i saw him less often
but he didn't have to say it
by then i understood
his was a love that -though a bit tough
a bit rough around the edges
stood. would always stand
perhaps a bit broken
but always, always there.
Daddy, without you
i would not be me.

Love is never about a placement list. It is not about if i love you more or less. It is about how i love you, not how much. And i love you differently than i could love anyone else.

There cannot be found a man who places me under more scrutiny than i place myself. Therefore, when i tell you something of myself, do not question its veracity.
Would that this statement were all encompassing,
but for my softening of my own knowing, and for my unknowings of my own blindnesses,
i entreat you, question me, and question me often.

It astounds me just how ignorant I can be of the hurt i have caused those i have at whatever time counted myself closest to. I find myself thinking i understand, thinking i did well to minimize the damage, and maintain the truth, but that the truth gets minimized, and the damage gets maintained in its fullest potential. I do not often hurt on purpose. I strive to do the very opposite. I do not want  to be a vindictive man, but a man of forgiveness and mercy. I find that I , in my own strength am capable only of so much mercy and forgiveness giving, that at the ends of my strength, the mercy and forgiveness run dry, while people's need to be forgiven infinitely continues to grow.  I find that in such cases, i am in direct combat with my emotions, and with , simply put, myself. I want to forgive, but i do not want there to be no punishment or repercussion to action. And so, opting for such a thing as is called grace, i pray, and one by one, i put emotions to rest. Insecurities of my own manifest and must be killed. I fight. And i pray.These two things are synonymous. I attempt to make recompense, and where i see my own minimizing of truth, in hindsight, set it to it's full nature, bluntly, and plainly, no matter the pain it brings. I am truly sorry that it brings pain. yours, and any, and many others. I only seek as best i can to right the wrongs i become aware of in myself. And yes, sometimes i am guilty of seeking loopholes, roundabouts, or escapes. I will not shy from this fact. I will, note, however, that i often need be made aware of these. For my constructing them is done with so much cunning, and so much stupidity,as to blind myself in both knowledge and deed to their existence. On occasion i taste an inkling of an excuse, and sometimes i am strong enough in myself to face it. Other times, without being confronted, i run from it. I chalk them up to insecurities or uncertainties, over analyzations and things i cannot at all bring any help to.I would ask boldly, that if you see any in specific, you will not for your own hurt, though likely being substantial, shy from me , rather, bring them to light, and give me life in the opportunity to reconcile my own beliefs to my actions. I have found lately that i have a struggle many men have. Esse quam videri- to be rather than to appear. My seeking, my willingness, essentially arises from a quest after authenticity at all costs. If i am not real to myself, and to others, what value can I, or my relations have? I must be real with myself, and with my God, if i am to truly know him, for in knowing myself, I may understand how I relate to my savior. I am glad to finally begin to see the edges of good qualities i have only before been able to imagine myself as having - even if i have had them all along. They , in me, have always seemed imaginary, something to comfort me of my complete depravity. Some slight beginnings of love to alleviate my sufferings of self hate - whether for my actions or my form. I have found my alleviations outside myself, and clung wholly to them.I can now be aware of my complete depravity, and allow grace not only to be applied by Christ himself to me, but apply it to myself, as much or more than i have managed to apply it to others. I do not contend for the opportunity to hide, but for the opportunity, the courage, and the strength, to show myself, and to be known to myself, others, and God. I have long gone about this in ways i thought apt, a plethora of ways i have discovered to be thin veneered self medication. Whether by substance - or by using my actions, separate. By using the very chase of authenticity as an excuse to numb myself from the crime of my identity.I am no crime. Though I am bought at the price of those crimes i have perpetrated, and those crimes that i will inevitably perpetrate - the cost is the blood of the most loving and  most beloved. It is paid, and i , being bought, must not any longer appear as the essence of my crime, nor in the essence of penance. I am free to behold my identity separate from my depravity. I am free from sin that has died in me. My value has been uncovered. I am as a jewel, found smudged with dirt, in need of being formed and cut. The dirt has been washed free. I shine. Facet after facet comes into existence, while rough edge after rough edge begs to be spared and clings to being.

When there is no longer liquid in your chest,
it is then that prayer serves best,
for prayer is lifeblood, akin to water from God,
mixed with your heart, to become a brand new flood,
that feeling may indeed be done at it's best,
and survived, and experienced,
and hell be made to feel like rest.

Wounds get worse before they heal
In facing them we truly feel
in the mastery of circumlocution
you will find no dividends of absolution
we must go through the storm to catch the rainwater
you can be drowned or quench thirst with the same water
the choice is in action or passivity
will you drown or drink with me?

If there were ever anything to speak of, anything of value, anything worth desiring, then it shall turn out to not have been dissolvable. And if, on the other hand, it has dissolved, then well, what substance was there beforehand? Perhaps things of worth can change, perhaps they can be caused to shift unfortunately for the worse, but i think the things worth keeping are able to be kept.  Those things which matter most are of a substance incorruptible. It is our deepest desires that are answered by those things which cannot be destroyed. If a thing can be destroyed, it cannot answer our deepest desires. And so i continue on, testing each thing, each moment, to discover not only its substance, but its value. And i find, more commonly than not, that this question will remain until I am transformed into remains myself. And upon that moment, I will know what was worth it, and what time was squandered in seeking things much more frivolous than they appeared. Above all, i will know that life itself was not a thing squandered, for by death it will not be ended, and if by death, then by nothing.

If love were not a struggle, then why would I want it?
If love were easy, I'd be far more haunted.
If love were a game, I would not want to play.
But love is life, and I will live and breathe today.

here i am
and i dont even know you
i dont even know what you look like
except that one picture of your face
but that is not what i am thinking about
**** it

I've got to beat this or it will bury me,
Deconstruct the tension even though i can barely see,
Un-cloud my vision so that i can fairly see,
Reform my mission so i can keep carrying,
on in a storm of dissonance in my beliefs,
it will rage on , and rage on, until i find relief.
I do not wish for escape this time, i want to find your face this time,
i need to know what's the truth and what's a lie,
can i love with love that's selfless, in a way I will not die?
Can i throw myself full on at the hearts of others
in some way that doesn't ******* me from my true lover?
Can i piece together by beliefs and find peace?
Can I put and end to this tension by cutting the string?
Is there a way lord to love my self and love selflessly?

I'll be the first to give you what nobody gave me
I do my damndest to love you, but only one love can save me
and the same is true of you
I want to look like that
I'll be the first to run as hard as I can even after the fact
II'll let you walk on me even if it means I cannot breathe
I'm loving you better than I can even love me
And i fear that that will have to change
No I'm not selfless, at least not too long
because soon i look up from down and i'm too far gone
I've been told i can't live like this, Can't love like this
that it would run anybody into the ground
You've told me that the only way i could even begin to love you
is to have silence right now
so i swallow my heart, choke it back down to my chest
I will be silent, you will have your rest
I will not make a sound
but i will not bow,
to foolish ideas that i never loved you then,
and that i do not love you now

I've believed I gotta give up  my soul to gain it
I am as broken or more than the faces i've painted
Can't pretend any longer
that self hate is sacred
I would have swallowed the truth sooner if i liked how it tasted
so i am noticing here that there has to be a balance
the truth must lie somewhere in the middle and i will have it
if i have got to pull out all my teeth
I will rip my tongue out
if that is what it tastes like
to gain the privilege of speech

yup me too.
But of course i can't say that right now.
And even if i did you probably wouldn't ever believe me.
And even if you believed me you probably would begrudge me for it.
So i sit here.
Quiet.
Or mostly so.
And i hate the fact that i can not say THAT.
Of all things so simple.
I love you so. You're gorgeous. I know.
But would you have it, would you hear it?
well of course not. Hell no.
This has thrown a wrench in my mission.
The entire intention i had for our friendship is being dissembled.
In the silence I am reminded of all the sounds of clanging symbols.
If we have not love, what are we?
Well i have it, but i cannot say it.
What does that make me?
A quiet symbol? Or a song more beautiful than anyone could resemble??