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

enticed by the tongues of other lovers
i have wondered under the cover
of wildernesses and near misses
come close but never been romanced like this
had my heart held but compared to this all that was a just a tryst
deeper than eternity and farther than your edges
your desire, your fire, your water, are edgeless
rip me away in the undertow
let me forget that if i swim at the perfect angle i can escape,
set me so much on fire that my entire desire is to drown,
set me so much on fire that the only way for me to survive is for me to be new, being renewed, and thrive,
set me so much on fire that i am
hungry
thirst
to burn
to drown

i hate feeling like i am the one who wants this when there should be two.
i hate being the one who is on this side when at least some of the time it should be you.
and so i guess what im trying to say is i hate this anymore
that i keep having instincts that i keep having to ignore
those instincts that tell me that im just imagining what we had
to run and disappear because all im going to ever do
is dream about yesterday and you
the instincts to seperate myself from you and just forget it all
but do you want to know what the worst thing about this is?
it isnt that i hate this feeling
it isnt that i ignore my instincs because i love you
its that i have no idea
if you will ever care for me the way i care for you
and knowing that if you dont
if you wont
which is likely
that i will be crushed and empty
still stuck
with this feeling

I will be divided over peace if that is what it takes to uphold it.
But I am divided into pieces.
The back and forth of hard to decipher decisions.
I know what i really want.
I want to know what i really want.
I hold the bill and i have sold it.
My soul was paid for with blood.
The proof is stamped on the bottom of my being.
on the rock i rise from there is a word-Tetelestai
It is finished.
It is pricy and it is paid for.
The price that he laid on the table to purchase a ***** is remarkable.
I  still catch my self trying to profiteer pennies to afford
to buy myself a shiny new soul,
i still stick my hands in places they dont belong
It is finished, but it is old,
Today I am in the stranglehold of silver,
that i wish was the guillotine of gold.
So i throw it back in the face of false promises
and try again tomorrow.

Why?
When,
Tetelestai.

It's been five moths since I've been alone
every moment I've been with my phone
God is not in my contacts not me
i made time for those i can see
and now as i separate
for a few moments
I pray that God
will speak in this silence

Never understood
never was fake enough to pretend i could
begin to believe what a doubter would
not be able to, i'm aching to
laugh when you say it's breaking you
because you walk like you're the princess i was begging you to be to me
painted smile, fake face - it's just diplomacy
give the public what they want to see even if it means
because the perfect image your public mobs and martyrs me

i seized the day but it broke my fingers to break my grip
i didn't have the strength it took
to dig in and hold onto it
see, time has a way of making fingers frail
and just how many seconds it takes to make them breakable you
never can tell
but if, like they say
those whose hearts beat fastest live longest
then by the hold you have on me, my heartstrings
I'm immortalized immortally

your body is a temple
too many times I've taken time
to try my skillful hand at desecration
Heretic!
i scream into my own face
in the mirror
used to be I'd think myself better
than this
the truth always comes out
even if you try to hold it in your fist

...you must love her a lot

I do...sometimes...i actually begin to think that this love might be outside myself, and greater than most anything ive ever laid eyes or skin on.

This love truly exists?
Is it really possible to find someone who sees love this way?
Who doesn't put it in a box, belittle it, say it's a feeling or a mere hormone
...but sees it for the mystery that it is:
something so simple and delicate
and yet
so powerful and strong
at the same time.
Something to not be taken lightly
but to be cherished and watered so it might grow...
The fingerprints of one who loves to caress our very souls
and lay such thoughts on our minds to ponder...

It does exist.
And though it may find itself flowing through the riverbeds of fingertips,
they cannot grasp it.
Though it may attach itself to and entwine itself into the skin - and those things deeper -
the heart- the mind - perhaps even the blood of human beings -
it is not able to be put in a vial.
It cannot be captured.
It always runs free.
It may be muted or obscured - but in its truest - its purest forms -
it is both knowable and unknowable -
in the sense that one may become intimate with it -
caress it -
hold it -
even kiss it -
but that it may not be intellectually or understandably grasped
by any inkling of any atom that exists -

the only thing that can possibly understand or encompass it - is the entirety of everything .
It is found in creation inherently.
It is in the sunlight and the blooms of spring.
It is in the rivers - the curves of smooth red cliffs-
It is in life turned to death turned into life again
it is in the hands of a creator of such magnitude that they are infinite -
and as the environment in which it exists is infinite and ever reaching -
so is that thing itself called love

I realized tonight
that i am sorry
when i don't have anything to be sorry for
but you

let the poetry flow from me
like water flows through mountain streams
I invoke you my muse, and as the Greek you don't exist
but truly I'm inspired by something, my muse - it is this
that though i should be dead i live
that though i should whither i don't die
that, in the scorching weather, i thrive, overcome, rise
up and above, outward and over, got trials, i can overcome another
and keep them coming because I'm never going under
gonna turn my poetry into the ability to swim
never gonna suffocate at the hand of my demons, I'm gonna suffocate them
push their heads under the water as i use their skulls as ladder steps
I'm climbing out of the ocean and I'm wearing mad hatter hats
The water didn't drive me insane, it's insane that i survived
but here i am and I'm embracing the insanity inside
myself, but
I am not beside my self
not by my self even when i am alone

I will leave it up to you to decipher if
I'm referring to the voices or a divinity - both fit
(Hint: cling to it)

Have the ***** to face me
if like a coward you erase me
from your memory
do not run scared like a fleabitten *****
(i never could believe you were like this)
if like a civil war surgeon you rip out every stitch
of me
from your memory
look me in the eye
tell me that what you do is not a lie
show me you have the strenth to do it
because i don't have it, can't find strength like that
look me in the eye and prove it

(she couldn't do it.)

she moved like the shadow of water
moving with the waves on top of her
rolling my body against her
where our skin touches we lose our outlines
like water and its shadow

losing you feels like
the absence of a long present friend
a year long storm that out blew it's wind

you'd think i'd notice more often
that the clouds are gone
then too, you'd think the sun shines
perhaps not, perhaps again

Fire
dance
with unrestraint
happy to consume
all space that surrounds you
and to
captivate and capture
equal and other elements
you are
passion
unhinged
by beauty
you are
hungry, and chasing
yet
content to
flutter
in innocence and ferocity
right where you stand

I understand insecurities, the scars i have are real,
i understand issues with trust, i know just how you feel.
I get trust where i can, and seek it where i lack,
i understand to seek it there, even though behind my back.
so do not think that all i do is paint pictures of trust,
remember that i hold you dear, i pray, believe, you must.

I had only ever seen
you in black and white
in faded out photos on a poetry page
in long letters typed out in
black letters on white
screen
they even lacked the curl of your hand
traveling over paper
but i asked about what color your eyes were
and i asked questions to discover colors
and we had so many colors in common
that we blended into a unique hue
of blue like your eyes and mine
of prismatic glory in our words and our minds
our colors clashed intensely in some places among the prism
allowing us to discover the brightness of colors
that we thought to be plain
an the intensity of new hues
deeper greens, blacks, blues
when they blended and were the same

we are like light
attempting to be black and white
and managing only to discover how colorful we really are

I will write another page
to entertain, turns out this is a stage
and the audience isn't all the crowd that listens
(only a few of them pay attention)
to what i say and what i don't
the message i speak and when i leave ( )( )( )'s
In my words
If you care, you'll fill them in your self.
But i doubt you will, you're probably like everyone else
(if i expect it I can't be let down)
please, someone raise my expectations
It's not easy where I'm waiting
(because it's real, and real,real  low.

your heart from the screen of my computer,
secreted away into some place where i can keep it :D

Gasped and said I stole your heart -
I thought you had given it to me -

You said it wasn't yours to give - that HE was holding onto it for you -
for safe keeping -
i felt like it needed to be kept safe from me -


"i meant the one in the IM
this one  <3
not that thing in your chest
or..i think i did...maybe i didnt? idk"

"Oh haha! Tehe yes. That one I did give you.

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

Begging to have our eyes opened
we spend our days prayin or smokin
Sayin wer'e looking for something higher, higher

We walk on solid ground just as timidly
as the ripples  rippledthrough the Galilean sea
broke scared
broke scared around peter and Jesus' feet

write deep music deep music  
but we won't ever sing it in public
because we're afraid that we'll find
that when it hits the ears of the audience
it won't be worth the words we spent

the truth is

we look for
the Sermon in the suicide -
moral in the ****** of five

the truth is, the truth is
sometimes it's hard to find

a cursor on the page as i stare into blank white space
unsure of what i feel and worried it shows on my face
thoughts i cant control invade my mind
the sure instinct or maybe feeling that something just isnt right
its disturbing, unnerving, unsettling-  perhaps
thoughts turned daydream must alway become waking nightmares
perhaps one of these thoughts will be my bunny's death snare
i dont want to let go but if i must
what if, what if, what if
i cant go peacefully
what if against my will she'd die for me
id lie in bed for days but never sleep
dying because killing her was killing me

I won't play the victim,
my head is made of stone,
my feet are made of gravel,
this dirt is all they've known.

"Here lies a poet, lost in his own head,
not knowing hell from heaven,
nor life from being dead."

reading a few simple words
feels much more like a piece of me crumbling
than i ever knew
was possible
i should find the bright side
love is not for me
it is for you
i am glad you are happy

Four ropes
so often i find myself fighting to forget
and just as oft i am begging to remember it
stiff, standing on my promises, not swaying
but in my mind the wish to run is staying
I know what it feels like to be
drawn and quartered

Little bits of feeling shaken loose by friendly i love you's
This is how it happened last time. took a long time.
But it snuck in and broke loose all preconceived notions of
"this is all we could ever be"
it was scary the first time but this time it's horrifying
and i promise "mi sol" that it's nothing against you
it's just i've had a world ripped apart by a best friend before
and i do not know that i want you to have that power
because before, the person i least expected to abuse it, misused it.
and maybe used me.

just a slip into sight
turned around thought i might
catch a glimpse, i was right
saw your hands interwovern, intertwined
head bowed praying to the divine
then came a thought i'm not quite sure was mine
"praying is like holding hands"
with your self, and with the sky
with your faith and with fire
but whether you call me prince or call me liar
I wish you
were holding mine

SIxty suns to turn around the sky
sixty sleeps to cyle through
sixty nights that Ill ask why
sixty shapes I do not know
Sixty choices my heart choooses
Sixty ,sixty til and then to spend
sixty,sixty, sixty again
until sixes turns to eights
tipped sideways before its too late

stark coal tables that deny, to respond
entrenched in my own emotions,
places that seem as hopeless as
holes in the whole of germany,
otherwise would just be tables
but they arent
because as i ask questions again and again
it is they that shatter the sound waves,
they who break through to deny any lasting echo,
they who seem to forget that i asked any question at all.
They are traumatized men, attempting to unsee gunfire
that broke through their best friends hearts
that is what these tables are
naturally catatonic, or in the throes
of post traumatic stressful flashbacks that
snap back inside my head like
I was there too
Nova gas tastes like bittersweet memories
Bittersweet memories taste like gunpowder.
Like pennies.
like pens  that ive chewed through until the ink bleeds into my mouth
They leave open wounds in me,
i wound writing utensils.
Seems like we all value leaving our mark.
by scars, and by
ink sinking into skin and hearts.
Every man makes flesh his canvas.
****** is making a habit of starting many projects and never finishing any,
slashing strategic gashes across canvasses with no past infection,
unraveling every cotton fibre from the edges of that single stroke,

Suicide is scribbling every ounce of inspiration on a single sheet,
until you come to its end.


I , am guilty ,
of both.

vision blurs, head spins
the lenses in my eyes **** and whir
distracting me from my thought
and capturing me in it at the same time
this is the first time in so long
that i have torn open this wound
and salt seems to have been packed in it ever since...
since we still spoke

i hurt...i have to steady my self to keep from shaking
i havent had a panic attack in months but
if im not careful
i will...
lose it
i was happy thirty seconds ago
but then i
stepped into the wrong place in my brain
and stains of trauma soaked into my spinal cord
and ran down ...getting caught in my lungs

my lungs are already heaving shallow breaths
from being filled with sixth sick day phlegm
..but this...
this is not because i enhaled lye
or took a quick dust bath in it from carelessness

oh but it feels real similar
i dont want to relive anything
i dont need you
but because i still care about you
and i cannot pretend that i dont
and i cannot hide this from myself any better than by shoving it to the back of my mind from whence it occasionally
hop skips onto my
frontal lobe or
my poor misled and overstimulated
amygdala  
and plays with all
the deep and primal waves of tangible
tryst-torn
in my soul
kind of ...

what is this ?

My skin
thick like leather but tender
hearts sewn there by sharp needles in the shape
of dual question markes
reversed and entwined like lovers lacking answers
that they beg for
but there they are still embracing
still sown ragged, sore, and deep
and for the pain it took to put them there
I'll not rip out the stitches
that are
the hearts shaped like questions marks
that are part of me

you might be clever, but you can never,
come close to me, ever,
you are silk and I am leather.

Eviscerate, obliterate, break
and it's too late
wounds can be stitched up
But the edges never line up quite the same

weight behind my eyes
i'm tired
tum tum drums and craving cries
music in my ears
words whistle-swish through my brain
i'm thinking
I have never felt this way
and I'll never feel the same
so Just this once
this is what a moment is
passing to the next
just this once
and then i'll let it slip
sleep will subtly sweep me down
and then i'll lose my grip
sight will  fade out of my eyes
my head will be a cloud
but for now...
for now Im young and alive

you make me wanna do stupid things
in all the right ways
you make me wanna touch you,
you alter my brain
i get lost in the reaction
you're the catalyst
there are cracks in the flask and
our chemicals seep deep into everything they touch
lets find out if this makes us hot or cold...

where are we?
what the **** happened?
did i wreck the car?
is the car ******?
I have to get to meg!
who am i?
who are you?
where are we?
what happened?
did i do this?
i'm so sorry.
does meg know.
is meg here?
i have to get to meg!
cody, am i dying?
are you cody?
who am i?
where are we?

I answered, unsure of so many of my words.

I Dont have my own heart, Jesus does, I gave it to Him for safe keeping...

Well...the way I view it. (the way I fantasize it in my head)
is that I've given it away to Jesus until He sees fit to give it away for me...
because if I held my own heart to give away to whomever I please,
who knows where it would end up!
But He has always known who the person is I should give it to,
and that's why I have it to Him:
so I wouldn't give it away before I should.
..

this is an excerpt from **'s mind

In a sense yes,
but there are many layers of the heart.
The deepest parts
yes
He will always keep,
but some are meant to be shared
and yes,
given away...but in more in a sense of a trading of hearts...


No He doesn't want our porcelain hearts broken,
but maybe there's a beauty in Him allowing one to behold another's heart in a way..
.and then it's up to the holder to rely on God to help them care for and cherish it...
maybe God wants to see if the holder would be so selfless as to let Him continue holding it...
My brain thinks in strange ways sometimes.

you already are that selfless.

And as to the trading, the man is not the only holder of a heart. You should know this.

I believe you can, as long as you continue in your steadfast pursuit of God's heart.



I mean that yes, a woman gives her heart to a man,
but doesn't a man also give his heart to the woman?
So they are both charged with the responsibility
to care for and not break the other's heart.
But if they have both given their hearts to God,
then He puts them together
and it is then not even a creation of human design at all, but completely His.
And we have already voiced the desire for someone who wants the other to pursue and love God more than us.
That's probably a pretty hard thing to stick to...

We have the potential to do that. Just the fact that we have both voiced--of our own desires--that we want the other to love God more...it's so incredibly rare!

racing, cascading, my brain is aching after tasting
the bitter, bittersweet, sweet, teas
my thoughts are teased out of caffeine
and sugar
they vibrate and hover between my skull
and grey matter
and they shatter
but they matter,
reshape, and they trace through ages of filters
shot glasses clink together
the hiss of flames from a lighter
licking a propane stove
the sparks, as i am taken higher
by the tear drop traces of bitter liquid
the sensations that i love
crashing against my silence clad hubris
a song sang sweetly across my tainted tongue
that's painted numb
i'll grasp this tightly in my fist
this  moment of quiet that has begun
it fades quicker, is lost faster,
than bullets blink from the barrel of a gun
than suns set, than cars wreck,
than one breath becomes none

And here I am, and there i went,
but i didn't take a single step,
i stood here fighting the urge to chase you
as you shrank to a picturesque twinkle in the distance
not thinking "what use is this"? but
"if this is what she wants, this is what she gets".

I'm trapped in my labrinthian mind
Attempted Rehabilitation has shaken me into self delusion
My submission is to seclusion
I'm cut off from my self in entropic confusion
Inevitable walls rise at emotions first mentioned
Truths I've obscured through divisive contention
I argue with my self. . . no I don't.
Its hard to pull myself apart
But I must
Divide my sins to see my heart

i'd bet i often have a colour,
and often more beneath a cover,
not so much to deceive but to avoid,
that i must not with every man or woman that come by
address that which causes me to behave as a chameleon
nor specifically to you yourself, for you are the cause of this particular hue,
this mix of reds, purples, greens, yellows and blue,
spotted like scales upon my skin,
so well enough veiled across me that i cannot see myself for the veil
nor answer my questions for the answer themselves
or the questions

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.

The wayward man, the wanderer, he with the restless feet , the inconsolable itch, the ever longer longing - he is every man. And i find, that this is due to our origin. We know we are meant for something more, different, better. We know that to be boxed in is death. To lose freedom is death. And we live in homes where we don't see the sun, and we are caged by everything we've ever been told, and everything we have ever thought about everything and anything. They all wrap together to the place of our thinking. Yes, there are redeemed men. Their chains lay broken open on the dirt. But they still stare at their chains. Knowing that in some way, they have not yet escaped the mark they have left. This is life. This is to be fallen. This is not what it was to be human. But this is what it is. We must move on. And in this life we will not escape it, but one day, we will arrive at home. For now, I am a fox with no hole - and to have the courage to keep seeking the sating of the hunger placed within me by the divine creator is greater than allowing my self to sit in prisons of my own making. Instead, when i dwell anywhere, i will fight to dwell in this.

I hang on every second
for even a sliver of perspective
a word, anything to tie me to you
something to say that i haven't lost you
a look even,
my chest feels like it's got a boulder on it
my hands are shaking
every time i hear the sound of a message
i secretly hope its you
i gave my roomate all my knives and sharp things to hide
no more scissors in the bathroom
that spare compass somewhere put away
i swear my remarks were never meant to cut you
and knowing that i did, how bad i hurt you
makes me feel like i deserve those slices
a few too many pills
the exploration of an artery
but i told you id change
that id be a different man
that i was overcoming
that i put the knife away
along with the ****
and i'm trying
i'm fighting
i'm tired
but i'm not done til i lay down
i'm not giving up on this
even though friendship is not an option right now