I once knew a man
who said,
"Invest while you can."
I told him I didn't have any money.
"Well, I can't help you then."

I once met this kid
who told me his sins.
I couldn't say why,
I hardly knew him.
"You've a trustworthy face,
and you're leaving tomorrow."
But I never asked to be burdened by his sorrow.

I once loved a girl
who became my world.
I clung to her every single last word.
Then she was gone
to leave me in silence.
I replaced it with noises of hatred and violence.

I once had a choice
to make something new,
but I still hear her voice
telling me what to do.

I once spent a night
with a spirited punk.
Willful and passionate,
but down on his luck.
We painted the town red
and made Down the new Up.

I once read a book
that spelled out my life.
A real page turner,
though I know it's all lies.

Someone once told me
not to live in the past.
"Be here right now,
the future comes fast."
But I often look back
to cry or to laugh,
and on nights such as these
I'll write epitaphs.

The best poem I ever wrote was written just for myself
The best movie I've ever seen; I shared with no one else
This is my life
This is my hell
and when it's all over, you'll just say "oh well."

And it folds so completely back onto itself.

I once knew a girl who said,
"All those little coincidences mean that you are exactly where you are meant to be, at that moment in time."
I believed it then.
Then I grew older, and the coincidences started to happen too often.
They became commonplace.
When she came back from the dead I told her so.
That "Our lives are all subjective, and the only reason that we recognize the coincidences is because we just so happen to be paying the right amount of attention to the situation that our minds currently find themselves in.
There is no such thing as coincidence.
Our whole life is but one big 'coincidence.'
The deja vu makes us feel crazy;
Makes us feel alive
We are divine.
Our lives are sublime.
They're not just coincidences, they're happening all the time!"

You can throw your mess into my mess and mix until we have a 17-car pileup with no need to clean because we'll be up to our knees in blood and guts.
We can cross flooded streets with lightning rods strapped to our backs  and pray for the rain to send us some thunderous crash.

If I told you that Jupiter views its moons through a stormy eye,
would you see red?

Who would've thought we'd survive.

Add your bricks to my bricks and we'll entomb our feet with wet cement while we wait for the water to rise.
Grab your bike with the taped over reflectors then we'll ride down one-lane bridges dressed as reapers in the night.
You can throw your mess in with my mess and let it stew until we've got a steaming trainwreck and no way to clean because we'll be up to our necks in blood and guts.

If I told you a new moon happens only once a month,
would you black out?

Who would've thought we'd see light.

There you go again
Off into your fantasy land
The only place you feel (un)safe
I can understand

Your pain is so deep
Isn't it though
In its own profound shallowness
I know where you go

The realizing of the realization that makes your own frustration seem worthy of condemnation
Just to abandon all your judgements and lose yourself in creation
All the while adjusting to your own self induced damnation

Hey now, I'm just sayin'

Playing with ideas until they no longer resemble child's play
Then playing roughly
Absolutely
It still does though
And wouldn't you know it
I know that I do

Whoever grew up to be anyone but themselves
Nobody I know worth talking about

Whoever lost their minds just to find their own hell
I know a few who are locked up in cells

Some just get caught up in that wobbly effect
Grown so distraught by the echo
Some just don't know what to do next
But they all know how to let go

I've walked down that dark street before
Went up that drive-way and knocked on the door
When the house stirred, I let out a sigh
Ran away and forgot to hide

Wrote my name upon a wall
But the name was false, and the wall was small
Called out loud to the starlit sky
But no one heard my desperate cry

Fell inside and broke my heart
Then couldn't find the missing parts
Filled my glass at dawn and dusk
But we were far from giving up

A restless soul on sleepless nights
Took to words by candle light

There is no place in here to hide
So if you are me,
then who am I?

A Saint, a Sinner, a Child, a Lie.
A Cynic, a Critic, a regular guy.
A man with an idea that refuses to die,
but with a memory that fades
along with life.

I took the road less traveled by
Broke my heart then remembered to cry,
Thinking to myself
All the while:

I've

never

felt

so

Alive!

Do you remember that time?
My family has a home video of it.
It was my birthday,
and we were little kids,
and there's this moment in it
where we are standing quietly -
Staring at each other
Awkwardly.
You smile and giggle,
and I smile too,
but only a little,
because I'm trying to be still.

When I see it, it's like walking into a time portal.

I remember what I'd said to you.
I remember how I'd felt:
Like everything was moving too fast,
so I asked you for some help.

I said,
"Just stand here a minute. Don't move.
Let's just stand here for a second."

And you did.
And there it is!
Us standing awkwardly right in the midst
of chaotic childhood revelry -but removed from it.

We're like two young souls frozen
forever in a moment that made no sense,
and when I see it,
I long for that first loss of innocence.

Doomed to forever be concerned with the things that most won't notice - let alone take an interest in.
Fated to state the rules of a game of which most don't know they're playing - whether or not they may be winning.
Always curious.
Ever grasping.
Despairing when they realize that the quest is everlasting.
What is it that makes it thus?
Myself,
the world,
random floating motes of dust.
I'll assign them meaning just to see it fall apart
in the face of a smile.
In the face of indifference.
Caught up in a desperate attempt to recapture one's lost innocence.
A few misplaced words can turn you into just another madman scribbling on the walls.
What keeps it going?
It's the hope that someone,
somewhere,
will understand it all.

Sometimes I feel that I want something more,
Then sometimes I'm content to lie down on the floor,
And I can't help but wonder
If this is all that I've been searching for.

Just a strange place to lay my head,
And foreign surroundings to make up my bed,
Then I can't help but wonder
If this is a scene from a book that I've yet to have read.

The first time I went to Disney World,
And we were crossing a bridge,
I asked, "Is this all some part of a story?"
And my grandma said, "Of course it is!"

She was referring to Cinderella.
You know, the one who met that charming prince,
But I was talking about all of life,
And I've felt misunderstood ever since.

Compound noun

1. Time spent thinking about someone who is not around; whether remembering time shared in the past, or having fantasies of what could happen with them in the future.

2. Time spent reading, listening, or watching the work produced by someone who is dead. Also, time spent having imaginary conversations with someone who is dead.

Examples:
I know he was dead before I was even born, but the ghost time I've spent with Henry David Thoreau makes it feel like we're old friends.

He hardly even knows who she is, but he's spent so much ghost time with her that he thinks he's in love.

There're a series of silhouettes standing still in my backyard.
They are the ghost versions of my former selves.
I stare into their dark.
A number of moments go by,
then all at once -
they come alive.

This one jumps his leg.
That one is falling down.
Gyrating in a pattern that isn't quite clear.
That one lights a cigarette.
This one sips a beer.
Circling as if playing a game of phantom music chairs.
I see one buckling over.
Another lunges out.
A patchwork design of folly and crime -
I can't decide what it's about.

If only I could get a top-down view,
then maybe I could see
the purpose of this pointless motion;
this parade of all that's me.