You sit in front
Staring at once was
Contemplating your place
Among the swarming crowds
And the unfathomable abyss
Reminiscing about
The hurried sweat of summer
And the cold tang of winter
And the Jazz that seamlessly rolled
Days into years  
And decades into history books

We are the poets.
We create poetry out of silence.
We are so incredibly good with words.
People often wonder what our hands can do.
People find these fingers incredible.
They watch as these fingers transform simple words into beautiful poetry.
They watch as static thoughts transform into kinetic conversations.

As simple as they are, these words tend to sound like proverbs.
The void that you constantly try to avoid.
We will fill that void with light.
The type of light that constellations hunger for.
These hands transform simple words into beautiful poetry.
The aim is not always to write to impress.
But rather to write to express.
We constantly find light in the darkest of places.
Even constellations envy the light found in our eyes.
With a suitable paint brush, these words can create vivid images of paradise.

Our words create worlds.
Our words create worlds within worlds.
Our words capture moments and paint pictures.
So next time you hear one of us recite, bring a friend and a frame along.

We create poetry out of silence.
We are so incredibly good with words.
People often wonder what our hands can do.
People find these fingers incredible.
They watch as these fingers transform simple words into beautiful poetry.
They watch as static thoughts transform into kinetic conversations.
We are the poets, you should ask the world about us.

Your veins are a map
that I will always
want to explore

Close my eyes
and guide my fingertips
To a destined spot

What Relapse feels like
Relapse- a proper noun that steals your attention and commands your obedience

Every person that was a part of your recovery had been lying
The recollection that it did not **** you but it did not make you stronger
Reliving the moment it stopped your living and when it prevented your dying
The feeling that you will not survive much longer
That is how relapse feels

The first taste of fruit after a long and barren winter
A moment of peace in a life measured in seconds
The perfectly straight lines of a newly aligned printer
A demand for piled servings and SECONDS!
That is how relapse feels

The need of a familiar place; of a familiar face
Desire for someone to hold you tight
The need to go far away; to go to outer space
Desire to leave this world for the light
That is how relapse feels

It's a ripping motion
Between wanting it to end and wanting its intensification
Between having to much and too little emotion
And the worlds between the brain speak languages with no translation
That is how relapse feels

It feels so good just to be so bad
The beauty in the human body's ability to mend and to break
It feels so bad just to be so sad
And the repulsive face of being awake
That is how relapse feels

It's a tearing
It's a tugging
It's a pulling
It's a shoving

Relapse is looking at the sky and thanking God for the ability to be alive
ten minutes before a battle in the head
asking if it's worth it to survive
ten minutes before tears stain so silently alone in bed

It's a promise broken
It's every moment spent clean wasted
It's the truth unspoken
It's the loss of happiness that had barely been tasted

That.
That is how relapse feels.

Man, I don't know...

But I could be a bottle,
lost and found,
First thrown into a sea to wander
Then thrown into a sea to be found
But hey, here I am,
floating in a sea, swaying in between waves,
Then floating here, into your hands,
With a message to say
Be just, be Kind

Live life with dignity,
And love,

Oh love,
live life.