Do you remember when imagination
Ran rampant and tree houses became castles
Or the garage floor was boiling lava?
Our own little world within a much bigger one.
We were so absorbed in our own bliss that
We unknowingly sheltered ourselves from a reality
That all adults suffered through

Do you remember when you used to build legos?
An obsession with building a spaceship
To soar high above everyone and anything else.
You would show mommy your art and she'd be so impressed
And soon after, you'd be back in the lab,
Trying to surpass your previous creation
In an attempt to gain mommy's love.

Do you remember when you went camping?
We would lay in tents on the cold, hard earth
And stare off into the starry sky until serenity
Would cradle us off into slumber or the time
When your brothers/sisters kept being rambunctious,
Fighting and screaming, so much to the point where
Daddy threatened to take us all home and call it quits

Do you remember when you grew up?
You finally became the young man/woman your parents
Raised you to be for all those years.
It's time you join that reality that you so easily
Sheltered yourself from, but now caught up to you.
Reality can be a scary thing you thought to yourself
But you knew you couldn't hide from it.

School, work and sleep now rules your life.
Throw a newborn into the mix and
you've now officially joined the real world.
A world in which takes all that you give
And you don't think twice about asking.
You spend hours a day, working,
but do you remember the last time you were happy?

Just remember the little things in life and don't let adulthood swallow you whole.

It's become apparent that I accept
death as it's inevitable. Now, don't
confuse my acceptance of it with asking to
be marked with my personal ending.
If death has marked itself upon me, I
can truly say that I have lived a great
life. I'm sure you're asking as to how
I've lived a great life in such a short
span of time.

I've over come a lot of personal
obstacles; challenges that I have
never expected to accomplish. I've
risen against depression that
plagued me for years. I've opened
up to others for I realize I need my
friends just as much as they need
me. Last, but not least, I've
conquered my fear of conveying my
emotions that used to be trapped in
an infernal prison deep inside the confines
of my mind. These three obstacles
hindered me in the highest caliber
in regards to living a great life.

So yes, I accept death and I do
welcome it in open arms when it
extends its eventual invitation
because deep down, I'm content
with how everything has fallen
into place within my life. In the
end, when you learn how to die,
you learn how to live.

Michael was a teenager who made straight A's
and participated in any sport he could,
but Michael was flamed for being gay
for society deemed he should.

Michael didn't seem to have any friends
for all were repulsed by him,
simply because of the way he bends,
And thus, his happiness dimmed.

When Michael gets home, it's straight to his room.
His father a drunk, his mother out of state,
giving birth to a constant loop of daily doom
So you could say things weren't that great.

Michael was beaten daily, for why he knew not.
Mr. Smith always began by lifting his hand,
stating these bruises were a lesson to be taught
and confused Michael couldn't take a stand.

If one person could've stood up and been kind,
Michael might still be here.
Instead, one dark thought stole his mind
and with it, all of his fears.

If I told you a secret, what would you do with it?
Would you sit there, pondering with your inner thoughts
or would you journey far and wide to proclaim it?
Perhaps to put it simply, would you accept or reject it?
Alas, my mind is constantly jumbled up
because I honestly don't know where to begin.

That night we laid together, I felt a euphoric wholeness;
a feeling that even I'm not accustomed to
and in that instance, time seemed to stop.
I didn't want you to leave and you best believe
I didn't want to stop holding you.

I don't think I've ever had an affection this pristine
for I've only ever conceived it in my dreams
and daily, this feeling becomes more unraveled by its seams.

Might I partake? I do say I shall help
myself to these delicious treats.
That is, the misfortune of others.
Alas, I cannot hold back in general
for they are addicting. I prey
on the weak for they are
the juiciest. My glands have been
salivating for far too long
and I feel that what little self-control
I have left shall be consumed
by this overwhelming desire
of feasting off others' unhappiness.
True, it is callous of myself to divulge in
such travesties that do not require
my presence, but I ask myself: why not?
It seems only fitting to devour that which brings joy.
Clasping my hands followed by a devious smile,
I shall hunt for these misfortunes, hoping to wither
someone down until they're nothing
more than an empty shell.

Oh no!
I'm stuck here
behind this lovely stand.
Dare I sit here
or should I attempt
to make social interaction?
I don't know though...
It seems rather taxing
to make an effort to engage
with someone whom I know
literally nothing about,
but isn't that what
you're supposed to do?
Decisions, decisions...
It seems like such a
simple thing. The choice
seems so blatantly obvious.
True, I could use some friends,
but who is to say
they'd still be there
after my darkest of days.
That is a chance I'm not
willing to take.
The opportunity cost of my
time is too high to
make the effort to talk
to a random individual.
The phrase, "Oh well," comes to mind.
My, my, what a predicament.
Uncertainty is a corrupting
influence that plagues us all
to stop us from doing the things
we all love.
So, should I stop this or let it run
its ****** course?
I think it's safe to say
who has won.

Flies buzz around the still room
like dogs chasing cars.
An old crone is heard nagging beyond the door,
"Don't you think you're leaving to one of them bars!"

Light hasn't entered the room in days;
the dark green curtains have all been closed.
The old lady began banging against the wood,
"You still need to clip my toes!"

The room reeked of cigarette smell.
A half-burnt one existed within the ash tray.
Weeping could be heard from the other side.
"Honey, open up. Don't leave me astray.."

Next to the lime-green chair where he lay,
a dried up pen could be seen leaving his hand.
One scribbled note stood out upon the lamp table.
"Can you get off your *** and fix the **** TV stand?!"

Matilda,
            I have loved you for sixty-three years, sixty of which we've been married and I wouldn't trade it for the world, but during these past couple of years, you've become heartless. You've changed and it saddens me entirely. You're not the woman I fell in love with all those years ago, but rather this ghost that preys on the misfortune of others. Maybe it was all the radiation treatment the doctors performed or perhaps the endless drugs they made you take to numb the pain, but regardless of the mental distortion you now face, I can no longer bear it. I love you, Matilda, but it breaks my heart to see you like this. I'm sorry, but this is indeed goodbye.
                                                                                                            -Henry

The soundlessness lasted for weeks
except for the one shot that ran.
Nothing living remained in that room,
ending the life of that one old man.