You're a lightning shock. It's not a cliche, I mean it literally,
Static electricity, you physically ******* me,
I'm down to earth, keep you grounded, you're a live-wire,
Got me trapped, so I follow you like the Pied Piper,
Can't you see you're charging me? I'm cardiac arrested,
It's battery, and I'm having a heart attack, it's desperate,
But I'll be back, resurrected, you're a defibrillator,
Lips are tasers, this isn't safe but I live for danger.

Hand on my chest, restarting my heart's rhythm,
Arteries risen, you've always been the spark in the system.

Dad always told me to never leave a job half-finished,
To put mind, spirit, and heart in it and if it's hard, to get smart with it,
Because life is a play only half written,
Just two parts and we aren't villains.
Smart wisdom. I remember back in our kitchen,
The memories of laughs and harsh tickling,
Now I'm scared of the day that I'll start to miss him,
The moment I call and can't get him.
When I was ten, I tried to make a birdhouse to make him proud,
Nailed all the pieces but couldn't seem to shape it round,
Waste of wood, he was angry but in that tough love,
His best advice was "make sure you measure twice, and cut once".
"Trust your loved ones", and "keep a pencil tucked behind your ear",
You never know when you'll need it for your design ideas,
To make a mark from the tape measure,
To take a record of all the arguments we made better,
To write your height against the wall, right where we're charting the family,
And since my mark met his, it's not so hard understanding.

I'm lost, in a labyrinth of twists and stalemates,
Adrift on a raft of sticks, spit, and namesakes,
Gripping the helm with white knuckles and splintered wrists,
Abandon ship from one blistered fingertip,

A treasure map scrawled to waylay my steps,
"Eighteen, get a degree, take 10 paces, left,"
Wait with bated breath, just for a vacated chest,
Wish the masters would stop clocks; playing chess.

The guy in these picture frames is roulette,
Dropped from black to red, two cents, bootleg,
Counterfeit, forgery, patented blown potential,
An outline traced with a broken pencil,

A crooked nib and a handful of ink stains,
Splotched paper with the brand of this kid's name,
Crinkled and torn up, soon to be ash in a bucket,
Tossed to the corner, overflowing the stack of a hundred.