Life is a game that continues eternally as an oxymoron.
It is anarchy incarnate yet completely organized.
How does that make sense?
After playing for so long I’ve learned not to question this game.

Human nature is simply a high-stakes checkers game.
Step over whomever you need to reach victory.
Once you’ve become a king you gain powers the other pieces can’t dream of.
Human nature, carefully calculated, cutthroat, and crippling to its foes.

The path to success in this world resembles a game of Uno.
Just when you think you’ve achieved victory the path changes.
At times opportunity skips you; at times everything begins to go in reverse.
The path to success, its unpredictability is ubiquitous and uncanny.

The goals of government mirrors a game of Simon Says.
One holds all the power and stands at the helm.
The others are bound to his whims.
Birthing blind followers to bend to their will no matter how brutal or barbaric.

How does one win this game?
You don’t win; you survive.
This is the game of life.

Reunited I am with this pen and pad of mine.
With joy my heart is filled to the brim like a cup of wine belonging to a drunk.
As I begin to write once more, I feel euphoria coursing through my veins.
To my pen and pad, “I’ve missed you both,” I whisper.

Our time apart has been excruciating.
My mind felt as though it were bound by shackles.
So many thoughts left unsaid because this pad is my only safe haven.
My intellectual prowess weakened because this pen is my only weapon.

Our time apart has brought me much melancholy.
My heart felt as though it were carrying the weight of the world.
So many feelings suppressed because I trust this pad more than my blood.
So many tears blinked back because I cry through this ink.

I have returned to you my friends.
Pen and Pad, embrace me once more.
My horrid hiatus from your presence has at last met its end.

This space lies between the present and my future desires.
For some it is heaven on Earth.
Others think hell can’t be much worse.
A cruel place indeed you are indeed.

Supposedly all are born equal.
That’s funny considering some come out of the womb with a silver spoon.
Some are born with no need for a spoon because they have no food.
Some are born into oppression; to them, the concept of free will is nothing more than a mirage.  
Inequality, a tragic fact of reality.

In this space we are expected to be happy.
However happiness is an illusion for many.
They feel as if light at the end of the tunnel is nothing but a myth.
Time after time they take their own lives hoping to find solace in death.
Depression, a crippling ailment of reality

Dreams are said to be omnipotent.
However, I’ve seen this place crush too many for that to be true.
Hope withers here.
This is the cage known as reality.

Have you ever felt a burning desire?
Not for money, power, fame, or glory, but for a person.
Have you ever loved someone enough to take a bullet for them?
I was once possessed by this desire; it would eventually drive me insane.

My mind void of thought in her presence.
It feels as though my heart is using my chest as a punching bag.
Somehow I managed to put together sentences.
From this day a beautiful friendship would ensue.

Through all of her struggles I remained by her side.
In me she confided her deepest secrets, to the grave I’ll take them.
With her I was, even when the reaper was the one she called her closest friend.
One day I would confess to her my love.
Despite being ever loyal, the feeling wasn’t mutual.

Months would pass by.
She would shed ocean after ocean of tears.
Lover after lover, they would all hurt her.
To them, infidelity was nothing.
She gave them her heart; I guess the feeling wasn’t mutual.
It should’ve been me; alas, the feeling wasn’t mutual.

The sun peeks through the cracks in my blinds.
Its warmth awakens me.
I rise for another day spent in a seemingly unbreakable cycle.
This street corner is almost a second home to me.
Never have I despised a residence as much as I do this one.

I stand on the corner beside the alleyway.
This is where I do business.
A customer approaches; with him comes the guilt I am burdened with every day.
He is gaunt, so thin the wind could blow him away, his hair resembling a wild dog.
I don’t want to sell to him but I must; my family needs food and jobs never call back.
I would die before I let my daughter starve.

“You got the stuff?”
Despite only saying four words, he told me a lot.
His voice is one full of pain, sorrow, and loss.
This powder he feels, is his only escape.
I take the money and place the bag in his hands.

As I close another deal, I can’t help but wonder what kind of man it makes me.
I put food on my family’s table by destroying someone else’s.
What kind of father does that make me?
I’ve never shot unless I had to but I’m sure my product has taken a life or two.

The ground beneath me is red; I wonder whose blood covers these bullet shells.
Those I sell to eventually become nothing but shells.
The guilt induced by the consequences of my line of work has turned me into a shell.

The birth of a child, I’ve always been told it was a joyous occasion.
In my youth I would’ve believed that to be so.
That naïve notion would die with time.

Upon entrance to this world I was called a bundle of joy.
Today I feel as if I’m merely a burden.
“I’m proud of the man you’re becoming”
Despite being said to me by those claiming to love me most, I know these words to be nothing but lies.

Some would tell me to believe it’s just tempers flaring.
I however, sense much more.
My siblings and I enter.
With her face being the stage a scowl takes the center, too disgusted with the crowd to even wave.
I can feel her disdain seep into the deepest crevices of my heart.
Bundle of misery seems to describe me more accurately.

She begins to speak; my name takes its usual place right beside the word useless.
Someone should’ve told me existing was a crime.
Even though I am told it was planned, I know for sure my conception was a whim of lust.
Bundle of joy, no, just a mistake.

Many have pondered life and what its purpose is.
I, however, have spent more time pondering what life would be like were I not in it.
Pondering purpose has never done much for me considering I am nothing more than a failure.
What purpose could there be for someone like me?

I aspire to better the entire world, yet I can’t even help those closest to me.
I could never meet them, so expectations are the bane of my existence.
Constantly falling short, my presence is nothing but a disappointment.
No matter my efforts, failure is destined.

The hand of guilt rests eternally on my shoulder.
Guilt for not being able to bring happiness to the ones I love.
Guilt self-directed for not being all I once dreamt of being.
Guilt for being a waste of time to everyone I’ve met.

Why should someone such as myself search for purpose?
Such an inquiry would only lead to further suffering.
It is time I accept the truth, that truth being that I am obsolete.

Where is the cheerful spirit I once held?
What happened to the glow in my eyes that used to be?
My heart was once filled to the brim with hope.
As I grew older that person slowly died.

A child dreaming of wealth and castles.
A man barely scraping by, sometimes without food.
The fire in the boy’s soul could be felt through his eyes.
The man’s eyes are eager to close for the final time.

The young one wanted to change the world.
The elder just wants to survive in it.
Optimism replaced with betrayal induced cynicism.
The innocence in the youngster’s soul left long ago.

With age came the evolution of my mind and withering of my heart.
This is the passing of youth.

The sun shines no longer as nightfall approaches.
Rain begins tap-dancing on my window.
Save for the elements, silence rings.
By the light of the moon I begin to reflect.

I remember times of youthful euphoria.
I had not a care in the world save for essays, fun, and slumber.
It seems as though bills and taxes are all I have time to worry about nowadays.
If only the hands of time could be turned back.

I remember friends I no longer know.
Where are they and what has become of them, I wonder.
I can only pray that life has been good to them.
Some I hear, have already met death.

I think of myself, for life is uncertain.
Will I reach the dreams I once held dear?
Will I fill those who love me with pride?
Will I die before I can do any of that?
Much to my dismay, the answers are held only by father time.

My eyes grow heavy as I tire from pondering.
I lie down to begin a good night’s sleep induced from moonlit thoughts.

The last time I was home feels like an eternity ago.
I wonder if my wife and children still love me.
Do they even remember my face?  
Will I ever see them again?

For nearly a year we’ve waged war.
At times I feel like I don’t even know what for.
Squabbles over government, weapons, power, fear, nowadays it all feels the same.
Some say we do it for our country.
Sadly her habit of injustice makes me question whether patriotism is worth losing my life.

A good night of slumber interrupted by a boom.
Another bomb, if only God would intervene and end this war.
Upon reaching the site of the explosion I’m greeted by bullets flying overhead.
It isn’t the combat that lingers in my mind however; it’s the carnage that follows.
We manage to drive away the enemy, but the scene around us will torment me until I die.

A village once thriving and exuberant, now a ghosttown in more ways than one.
Our captain yells to check for any survivors.
Tearing apart the rubble, I find all of them dead.
One is lying in a pool of blood; he looks just like my son.
Tears flood my eyes as I stand in the hell called battlefield.

This space lies between the present and my future desires.
For some it is heaven on Earth.
Others think hell can’t be much worse.
A cruel place indeed you are indeed.

Supposedly all are born equal.
That’s funny considering some come out of the womb with a silver spoon.
Some are born with no need for a spoon because they have no food.
Some are born into oppression and ostracization.
Inequality, a tragic fact of reality.

In this space we are expected to be happy.
However happiness is an illusion for many.
They feel as if light at the end of the tunnel is nothing but a myth.
Time after time they take their own lives hoping to find solace in death.
Depression, a crippling ailment of reality

Dreams are said to be omnipotent.
However, I’ve seen this place crush too many for that to be true.
Hope withers here.  
This is the cage known as reality.

To get home, I take the trudge through this warzone every day.
Broken bottles line the sidewalk.
Well people have to cope somehow.
Sunlight never shines through the blinds because the windows are boarded.

This isn’t the type of place you go sightseeing, but I’ll be your tourguide for today.
First stop is the corner store; here you’ll find the toothless men who leave the broken bottles.
I’m sure whatever story they’re telling is great.
Truly sad it is that you nor I will ever be able to decipher their slurred tales.

To your right you’ll see a young girl.
Excuse her attire; that’s just typical uniform in her line of work.
“What kind of product is she selling?” you may wonder.
She isn’t selling the product; she is the product.
Sad as it may be, that’s one of the more prominent parts of the workforce around here.
If her mother were sober, maybe she wouldn’t have needed employment.

As we continue our walk, be sure to keep straight.
Most who detour into the allies don’t come back.
If only my friend had known that when he moved here.
He was always a gambler, but that night he lost money and a lot more.

You may also be wondering why those walking past us have such vacant eyes.
Around here we don’t get much sleep.
The sounds of bullets ricocheting often keeps us awake.
If not that, for me it’s the screams of lady next door.
Her husband is a giant but far from a gentle one.

I must bid you adieu now; you’d be best not to stay past sundown.
I pray this tour hasn’t left you scarred.

This sensation is an escapist’s dream.
The absence of one’s worries.
The nonexistence of strife.
The joy born from amnesia.

Although, the path to attaining this peace taints the one who searches for it.
The cold tip of the needle sends a chill throughout my body.
I can fell all of my troubles draining out as happiness surges through my veins.
Other times my relief flies in through my nose.
Sometimes my sanity is wrapped up, all nice and neat.

However, when in this state, better judgement is left for dead.
Then again, it’s not like I know.
Knowledge of happenings while I’m in this state, I have not.
I know only what I’m told when I come to.
“Give it up,” they say.
If only they knew, what they consider addictions are the keys to bliss.

Sought for by all, truly achieved by few.
So many search for years, decades, some even their entire lifetime to find you.
Despite the ever-growing search party, you’ve remained elusive as ever.
The path leading to you is seemingly never straight.

The “wise” say you’re found within, but in a life of struggle that seems to prove false.
After all, the happenings outside of one’s heart sway the happenings inside.
No game is harder than that of life.
Never is the game of life more difficult when one is dealt a bad hand.
And for every king you draw, life holds an ace.

For some this bad hand is the player’s hand never holding money.
Some scratch and claw living paycheck to paycheck.
  Struggling to evade eviction as they watch the rich pop champagne.
Often times food must be forsaken for shelter, water, and lights.

For others this hand is dealt to them in youth.
The eyes of a child should be filled with hope.
Many of those eyes are filled with tears due to constantly being told their existence is unwanted.
Sometimes their eyes instead of being filled with tears are swelled shut.
Their desire to be loved never being satisfied.

Commonly, this hand is dealt by the hand of a loved one going cold.
Seeing the body of one you cherished lying motionless.
Even though you know you’ll see them again, the pain still lingers for a lifetime.

When given cards like these, the player seldom wins the prize of happiness.

A quest born from a great desire deep within.
A hunger much stronger than any edible whim.
It touches everyone even if it isn’t always acknowledged.
The pursuit or lack of pursuit of this powerful urge can change one’s life forever.

It can serve as empowerment to its holder.
The existence of a goal lights a fire in the soul.
This fire drives may to heights unimaginable for many.
The feeling of finally quenching the thirst for achievement is the most satisfying there is.

This blade however, is double edged.
Falling to Earth when reaching for the stars has broken many a man.
Some are haunted by their failure every day until their very last.
This pain becomes a cannibalistic entity, eating away at the person until there is nothing left.

Worse than this, is the regret born from not pursuing the feeling at all.
What could’ve been, those who don’t try know not.
With this burden bearing on their minds, those who fail to try are doomed to mediocrity.
This mediocrity births everlasting regret which in turn births never-ending misery.

These possibilities are the paths of ambition.

Unity seems so far away.
For one reason or another we choose to remain at odds with each other.
Hatred a scar that can seemingly not be healed.
A cancer with so many different causes a cure is impossible.

The race into which one is born has long been a cause for disdain.
Why can something uncontrollable cause a person so much pain?
Generations raised to bear prejudice.
To this day it is for that cause that many still die.

Next to, or rather above lies higher power.
The god or gods one worships has led to many a war.
All believing the others are wrong, none choosing the path of acceptance.
Destined for hell are we all if this pattern continues.

Ironic is hating someone because of who they choose to love.
Yet this reason for hatred is more prevalent than ever.
Even if we all loved the same way it would still be subjective.
Futile as it is, we still choose to squabble over it.

These vices keep us from harmony.
Until we can get past these, division shall persist.

I wish I could go back.
The things I’d change are too many to count.
But time waits for no one.
Now it’s far too late for someone like me.

Frustration born from my own discontent turned me into a different person.
My anger became a fire burning all who tried to come close.
In misdirected rage I lashed out at those trying to aid me in my struggles.
Pain, failure, and loss birthed a demon within me.

I wish I could say sorry to those I hurt.
I wish I could mend the hearts I’ve broken
These sentiments now mean nothing.
My repentance has come far too late.

Now I feel the flames searing my skin.
My body is slowly turning to ashes.
I can barely open my eyes but I manage.
The eyes of Satan, my last sight.
They penetrate my soul as he gazes at me from behind hell’s gates.

To whomever reads this, I never wanted it to end like this.
I’m sorry to any who may be disappointed; however this is the end of my journey.
Weary from the treacherous path of life in this world I have grown.
No longer shall I suffer the excruciating pain of being bound to this Earth.

The chase to my dreams was truly a path to nowhere.
I toiled like a slave, scratching and clawing to climb the ladder.
No matter my attempts, at the bottom I remained.
Not a dime to my name nor accomplishments to show, it set in that I would be nothing.

My search for love marred by constant betrayal.
Time after time I would be the victim of infidelity.
Other times it was simply that none could accept me unless I became a parody of myself.
Rose after rose left me with nothing but a hand ****** and covered in thorns.

Through the constant suffering there was always one I could confide in.
In his sleep, the Reaper collected his soul.
With none to trust and nothing to believe in, my morality began to fade.
No longer did I care for anyone in this world; I just wanted everything to burn.

My resilience at this point nonexistent.
No longer was my desire to live.
So I say goodbye to this cruel world.
As I heard the gun pop, I accepted the friendship of the Reaper.

The best friend I ever had.
A loyal comrade, it was us against the world.
Our dreams existed intertwined as we ran towards the future.
Suddenly, it all ended.

The news brought me to tears.
Every memory we shared flashed before my eyes.
Frolicking as children, youthful mischief, drunken laughter, and secrets confided.
I see it all again through glassy eyes.

My body shook uncontrollably as tears flowed down my face.
I see him floating when I lie awake at night; I hear his voice when I’m all alone.
To my dismay, these are merely wishful illusions.
It feels as though I am being taunted by my own mind.

The final goodbye cripples me.
It is indeed his body but it doesn’t feel nearly the same.
I stare at my tears as they fall to his casket.
My best friend, my one true confidant, an undeserving soul stolen by the Reaper.

I’m running as fast as my legs can carry me.
My breath is growing shorter.
This chase leads indefinitely to my demise.
From the reaper, I run.

It is imperative I elude you, at least for now.
For I have dreams to fulfill.
Adventures yet to be had.
Bonds that cannot yet be broken.

I can’t let him catch me just yet.
I must play this game a little longer.
I must cheat death.
To this day, I’m still running from the reaper.

Placed at the top for what is supposed to be our best interest.
Once there they seem to lose interest in our interests.
A cycle that repeats infinitely.
Given power by the people but working for themselves.

Painting their faces with smiles to impress.
Each telling lies to be perceived as the best.
Defamation of those who oppose them is second nature.
This is the façade we call campaign.

When one finally wins the corruption begins.
Forgotten are their promises when their pockets are lined.
The people who gave them their power now mean nothing to them.
Only for their own wealth are they concerned.

These are the people who lead us.
Conmen clad in suits in ties.
Never shall I trust their disguise.

I do.
It was supposed to be an unbreakable bond.
To my dismay, it became nothing but a binding chain.

At first it was the most beautiful thing in the world.
She was the moth.
I was the flame.
Then I said, “I do” and everything changed.

I once picked roses for her.
Now it seems her heart has begun to wither.
She pledged to be forever by my side.
Now it seems I am but a thorn in hers.

Having lost my true love, I’ve no reason left to live.
So, I used this rope to free me from the chain.
Feel free, I do.

For her I’d give anything.
To the end of the Earth I’d pursue her.
With her I’d trust my life.
For her I’d give my life.

But what if she loves another?
A mere shell of a man I’d become.
My heart would shatter should hers not be mine.

Within me she summons two beings.
The first is the beautiful yet dangerous Love.
The second is a child born from Love.
The second is Envy.

Love is like a blooming rose.
Or at least that’s what they tell me.
I once held that rose.
I swore I would nurture it forever.

Sadly, it was blown away.
Its petals now watered by another.
To the bar I go, in an attempt to drown my sorrow in liquor.
Shot after shot, reality fades away.
A drunken fantasy takes its place.

I thought I’d found a rose like the one I once cherished.
When I sobered, I realized it was but a drunken bloom.

You, you’re just a piece of paper in my pocket.
That’s all right?
No, you’re much more than that.
I love you.

I love you because you put clothes on my back.
I love you because you give me a shelter from the elements.
I love you because you put food on my family’s table.
Despite all you do for me, I still hate you.

I hate you because of the bloodshed you’ve caused.
I hate you because of the souls you’ve corrupted.
I hate you because people will do anything for you.
I hate you because I can’t live without you.

So, you aren’t just a piece of paper in my pocket.
You’re a life-saving blessing yet an unstoppable destructive curse.
Whoever would’ve imagined paper cuts so deep?

Imperative it is that my true face remain hidden.
For eternity my identity must remain a mystery.
Externally I display composure.
Internally exists a warzone.

Can I ever live without this mask?
Until I become like everyone else it seems.
My status as the odd one causes constant ridicule.
Be it my interests, mannerisms, or appearance, it’s always something.
Pointing and laughing are the only forms of acknowledgement I receive.
Apparently different is taboo.

I look forward to a day when acceptance becomes normality.
Maybe then I can take off this mask.
I may then be worth something to this world.
Until then, I must preserve this façade.