Goodbye.
Somehow I realize,
I always knew this would happen.
You're too unpredictable.
Too used to being the bad girl.
You enjoy it too much.
And a naive boy
With a heart full of love
Doesn't change a ******* thing.

I'm addicted to your everything.
Your look, your touch,
Your sneer, your smile,
Your love and hate.
I just can't pull myself away.
Your biting words,
Your fighting blows,
Your angry glance.
I'm addicted to all of it.
Someone please help me stop.

Dear friend,
I've missed you. It seems like we haven't interacted since before I arrived here. I want to see you, but I know our next time together will be our last. I've always wondered, why do so many fear you? Good men understand you, come to peace with you, but most act like you're a monster. Humph. Just know... I don't fear you. I see you for who you are. You welcome us back. You take us in with open arms. You might be seeing me anytime... My dear friend Death.
With love,
Mike

I have a problem.
I like blood too much.
I'm a man of war.
Battle brings me joy.
The flash of firing cannons,
The ring of clashing swords.
To be so close to death,
Makes me feel more alive.
And I know I will leave,
The same way that I lived.
A shifting crimson pool,
And soul leaving my eyes.

For the first time I can remember,
This most sacred of places is empty.
There is no activity.
The air, usually thick with expression, is stale.
The atmosphere is still.
The creators of worlds are on holiday.
I hope they return soon.

I stand upon the stage,
Thousands of angry faces stare upon me,
Accusations in their eyes.
The fire has spread and gone out of control,
My hands are bound,
I am trapped.

Upon the pyre,
I feel a single tear roll down my cheek,
But the heat from the flames makes it disappear.
As if it was never there,
As if they are trying to underline the truth,
It is too late for remorse.

I close my eyes,
But I can hear the crackle of the flames as they approach,
The executioner with a mask of black.
No axe to occupy his hands,
Instead a single torch,
And excitement stirs the crowd.

The order is given,
The people prepare for the show,
I lower my head in defeat.
Standing on a bonfire,
I watch the same match that I used to light my own fire,
Twirl towards my feet as it cackles.
And for the last time, I burn.

It doesn't matter who lit the match.
Because when the smoke clears,
The flames dwindle and
The ash drifts away,
There's nothing left to argue over.

I feel easily forgotten.
Past loves are happy once I'm gone.
They swiftly fall for others
Or realize they were happier before.
I give my all.
Maybe that's the problem.
I need to keep myself hidden.
Because the problems start when I reveal my heart.

Pretty words,
And they rhyme.
You almost had me convinced for a second.

I'm glad you're making progress.
Congratulations.
At this point I don't want to know myself.
I'm going to remake myself.
Bigger, better, faster, stronger.
A soldier.
A killer.
So I don't have to see what I am.
After everything I've done?
The way everyone else sees me?
The entire high school class of VP (and my parents) can't be wrong.

An apology is not necessary.
I simply required clarification.
I'd just like to say that I agree.
The only problem is...
I don't know who I am anymore.

I don't know if you intended sarcasm.
If you were trying to make a point.
Or if your goal was a scathing remark.
Regardless,
I have changed.
The world is no longer as bright a place.
I have known pain and loss.
Though I know it is not comparable to that felt by some others.
The world is cold and unforgiving,
With small moments of happiness mixed in at strange intervals.
And sometimes I struggle to find the strength to push on.
I'm not a Savior or a miracle worker.
I'm no longer mysterious.
I'm still naïve at times.
Still have moments where I cry.
I'm not perfect.
Nor am I the same as I once was.

I've often wondered
How easy I am to read through the screen.
Between the lines and along the letters.
What is it that jumps out?
What becomes apparent?
Can you tell who I am?
What I look like?
Or am I as mysterious as I used to be,
To a certain person?

I've cleared out my memories.
Both those painful and those worn.
I've retired those I no longer need.
Sometimes you need to take a long look.
And admit that it's time to start over.

I'm not perfect.
I never said I was.
Yet you seem to expect me to be.
Yeah right.

You told me you're drinking tonight.
Honestly age is an issue.
But forget that for now.
I asked you to be careful,
Told you no driving.
That you (and your friend) should be safe.
You acted like I'm overbearing.
Hm. Well then.
If you read the title you already know how I feel.
But you would go drinking anyway.  
Alright. Bye.

They flow from my mouth slowly,
Cunning and clever in their own right.
I can just as easily tell a honeyed lie
As I could spill a beautiful truth.
People have loved me for my words.
For the things I say and the tales I weave.
I even use my words on myself sometimes,
But only on very rare occasions.
The power to talk a heart into submission
Is a great yet dangerous gift.
Unfortunately, I can say I have abused it.
However, I do not regret a single thing I've said.

We have a lifetime of living left, you and I.
Until eventually we float off into the sky.
Hand in hand, as the heavens seem to divide,
And swallow us whole in welcome, and give us a place to hide.

Some say a poem should be eccentric,
Complex and technical.
A collection of grand specimens
From the authors vocabulary.
However,
I prefer a simpler approach.
A single syllable is sometimes all you need,
And sometimes,
It is more than enough.

A pair of a dusty boots
At 45° in front of an M16.
The rifle has been rooted
Barrel first in the sand.
On the **** of the rifle sits a helmet
A shade of yellow that matches the dunes.
On that helmet there is a name
Of a soldier, patriot and hero
Who was lost today.
And soon I will stand,
Wearing a pair of those boots,
With a matching rifle in my hands.
The only difference is the name on my helmet.
I will grit my teeth,
And promise not to cry when witnessing this scene.
But I will.
I will defend these United States of America,
From all threats,
Foreign and domestic.
I will honor those before me.
And avenge those lost.
So help me God.

I've slept away my years,
Tucked into a plexiglass capsule.
The computer constantly plotting,
And calculating to get me home.
I dream of home,
Of my family and friends.
Of those that will be gone when I return.
I make use of tesseract travel.
Because a straight line
Between two points
Is not the fastest way
To cross the distance.
Instead I cut a hole on each end of the road,
And stitch them together.
I travel faster than light.
Faster than thought.
Faster than the musings of Gods.
Interstellar travel is uneventful.
At least if you're inside the ship.

Blood spackles, like pretty pictures in a morbid scene of expression. It pools in microscopic indentions in the concrete, assuring this scene can never fully be washed away. The only witness to the crime has been whisked away, in lieu of a chalk outline. Yellow tape ***** in the wind, waving goodbye to the lost. Red and blue flashes ricochet off of every surface, momentarily blinding the shadows before flicking back off.
I stand, back against a tree, still in shock. The gunshots still echo off of the swollen pavement, the clink of the falling brass rings in my ears. But yet, I survived.

Sometimes...
The prize isn't worth the fight.
The fight isn't worth the risk.
And the risk isn't worth the possibilities.

There is no way
That a lightning strike
Can hold as much electricity
As one single kiss that we share

I see you,
Not by reflected or absorbed light rays,
But by the way one soul sees another.
I feel you,
Not through touch but emotion,
By the way your heart carreses mine.
I hear you,
You whisper tender things to keep me going,
And you angrily object whenever I fall.
I smell you,
Your scent in my truck, on my clothes,
It clogs my pores and I am an addict.
I taste you,
On my lips when I close my eyes,
And whenever I relive happy memories.
I love you,
And this life we have together,
The way you roll your eyes at me and call me "dork".
You telling me your problems aren't mine, when really they are ours.
I hold you,
In times of sadness, anger, loss.
And I'm glad that you're mine.
There's nobody I would rather have by my side.

Suddenly my hands feel so much more used to holding someone.
It feels so natural when she pulls my arms around her, my hands on her hips.
Gazing into her eyes, her arms around my neck.
That knowing smile on her face.
I can feel myself blinking nervously, and she grins wider.
Now my rifle has competition.
Because with as much as I enjoy pulling the trigger and firing a round downrange,
I enjoy intertwining myself with her even more.

I am a late night thinker,
Who holds a muted light under the covers,
Who scribbles quickly before it flickers out,
Who suffers from a willing lack of sleep.
I do all that I am possibly able,
What I can do for others,
What I must do for my family,
What I want to do for myself.
I do some of my best work at night,
When the moon is full,
When coyotes cackle in the fields,
When owls scold each other in the trees.
I live east of the giant mountains,
Where the sun rises over them each day,
Where I fight against those around me,
Where I call my one and only home.
But still I have so many questions.
Why am I here?
Why am I writing this?
And why, in the world, do people read it?

I am a lit flame,
Devouring all those I am exposed to.
It is not my wish.
It is my nature.
My instinct.
This eternal hunger,
Is like an ache.
One that will never go away.
Until I can find the one person,
Who can balance out my heat.
And counteract the flames.
I'm sorry to those I have burned,
And to those who have frozen me.
To those who bear witness,
And to those unwilling bystanders,
To the hungry blaze.

I can feel it.
It pounds in my blood,
Resides in my very being.
I've taken the oath,
Signed on the dotted line.
I am a soldier now.
If I should die,
Bring me home.
Lay me to rest in a field dotted with willows.
Hand my flag to my sweetheart.
Give my insignia to my mother.
Tell my brother I'm in a better place.
Bury me with my rifle.
But most importantly,
Never forget.
Remember what I stood for.
The people I helped.
Because,
That structures my legacy.

Inhale, exhale,
I shift slightly,
Slowly slide the lubricated bolt forward,
A single round is locked into the chamber.
I close my eyes for a moment.
Inhale, exhale.
Open them.
Rest my cheek on cold metal.
Peer through a window that shows a man hunched 150 yards away.
Inhale, exhale.
Gently run my finger along the curvature of the trigger.
Inhale, exhale.
Lub dub.
Bang.
One life taken could mean a hundred lives saved.
No regrets.

The surface of my soul is pitted,
Chunks missing from mortar blasts.
Each crater reminiscent of a breakdown,
Of an "I don't love you anymore."
I do my best to cover them up,
Fill them in, but they're always there.
Reminders of those who came and,
When they went eventually yanked the chain,
Spreading shrapnel through the streets.
Luckily I've found someone who understands,
Just because I'm broken
Doesn't mean I'm not beautiful.
And somehow, she sees the parts of me
That I refuse to.
I'm lucky she does.
She's a master with masonry,
Building me up and fixing my shattered windows.
Not a single shingle out of place.
Without her,
The rebuilding wouldn't be going half as well.

Strength is irrelevant.
A tolerance for pain only shows you're used to it.
To be honest,
I wish I felt a little bit more,
So I know I can still feel.
But self harm is a no-no.
And anger towards others is as well.
So what do I do?
Do I prowl the streets looking for victims?
Or do I sit in the closet,
Hacking at my wrists,
Trying to sever my connection with reality?
Do I silence the pleas for help?
Do I scream louder?
Is someone drowning trying to keep me afloat?
I hope not.
I'm not really worth the effort.
Slipping beneath the waves,
May be just the release I require.
So if you're trying to help me, don't.
You'll end up with lungfulls of water,
And a regret you couldn't save the unsavable.

In sudden onset anger,
I want to lash out.
So instead,
I find a quiet place,
And draw my weapon across my wrists.
Instead of blood,
Ink wells from the wound,
And I lift the pen from my skin.
I'm calling for help.
Can anyone hear me?
Perhaps.
But it seems so many pleas for help go ignored.
So many people scroll apathetically,
And label the author as attention seeking.
In that regard, we aren't so different.
So tell me, why is your twerking video
More important than the page with my soul splattered across it?

I am the last of a dying breed.
The gentlemen, the nice guys.
Those who always come in last.
We get left behind while holding doors open,
Never expecting anything in return.
We open our hearts, have beautiful minds.
But those we chase seem to prefer those of animalistic nature.
It may come as a surprise,
But I can be an animal.
I've broken more than my fair share of other people's bones.
I've left burned dreams in the streets.
I can turn off my mind,
And let my instincts take control.
Believe me,
I would just as soon finish this poem as rip out your throat.
And right now, I'm feeling slightly violent...

I plod along,
My padded paws muffling my steps.
The trees form a canopy,
Leaving this space devoid of light.
The only sounds are of my footsteps,
As I slink through the shifting shadows.
Here and there a set of glowing eyes flash,
And close once again to avoid prolonged detection.
Then, through a break in the leaves above,
The moon shines proudly,
Sharing the light that was given to her by her lover the sun.
I drink in the moonlight,
It sustains me.
But I make sure to take only what I need,
So the moon can share her lover's gift
With the world.
And I howl in thanks.

I don't believe in blind faith.
That I can trust everything will be okay without proof.
Things are bound to go wrong sometime.
And I'm not really one,
To stand on a cliff,
Back to the edge,
Wearing a blindfold.
To see if someone will catch me when I fall

I'm a man without hope.
An Alpha Wolf without a pack to lead.
I wander the concrete forest,
Hunting for signs of life.
But none are forthcoming.
Then, from the mist,
A ghost from my past materializes.
She pads to me,
nuzzles me, chuffs lightly,
And slinks away, so I follow.
Past the mindless,
The dead and the soon to be.
She leads me to an alcove.
Turns thrice on the spot,
Gives me a wolfy grin,
And curls up.
So I do the same.
I am a man who has found hope,
An Alpha who had found a mate,
A hunter in the night,
And a soldier.
She makes me more.
And I am stronger.

There is a certain beauty
In even the most destructive reaction.
Nothing can match the ferocity of a hurricane,
Or the majesty of a falling meteor.
Man has tried,
We've built our guns, bombs and rockets,
Mushroom clouds have scorched the land and sky,
Yet even that pales at the might of nature.
We can burn thousands of miles of land with a push of a button.
So?
Nature could rip a hole
In the fabric of space,
And we could slip through
Like a set of escaping keys.
Each and every one of us could disappear
And still the universe will go on.
Some may call this depressing.
I call it serenitous.

If you know they won't accept you,
Obviously they aren't worth your time.
But please remember,
There is someone (hint) out there
Who cares a great deal for you.
And let that bolster your confidence
When you resume your search
For the namesake of this poem.

It's easier to burn a bridge
When it's drenched in gasoline.
And through the flickering,
As the structure is devoured,
I see them standing there.
But I don't care anymore.
You never deserved all I gave.
Just be thankful
That I didn't burn you along with the bridge.

I remain a mystery to all but a few,
And those that get to know me usually wish they hadn't decided to.
So I withdraw, and amble along.
Past the crowds.
And then I look and see someone that doesn't really know me.
The scary thing is...
He's in the mirror.

Does it really matter?
You still love me,
Congratulations.
And apparently he knows.
How does he feel,
About you making doe eyes at your ex?
If you loved me that much,
You should never have ended it.
But here we are.
The curtains drawn,
Lights out,
Catwalks and seats empty.
But still you return from your new role,
To sneak around backstage,
And try to corner the leading man,
Of a derelict show.
A  masterpiece you used to be apart of,
Until you decided that,
It...I...wasn't worth your time.

I know what I want.
I want someone to steal my clothes,
To curl up in one of my rumpled dress shirts.
I want to step out of the shower,
And find my love waiting for me,
Bleary eyed and beautiful,
In one of my t-shirts.
I want someone I can debate philosophy,
Emotion, physics, ethics, morals with.
I want to be able to trust someone,
So I don't worry about,
Walking in on a lack of faithfulness.
I want to be loved.
I want to be believed in,
To be wanted and cherished.
Yet I know,
What I want...
I can't have.

I recede,
Deep withing the recesses of my mind,
Past eddying currents of anger,
Half finished puzzles forming plans and ideas,
Dormant instincts of survival and reaction.
I close my eyes,
Raise my walls,
Raise the drawbridge,
Shut out the world.
Inhale, exhale.
Don't let them get to you.
Don't let them see.
Fix the breach in your defenses,
Wait out the storm,
And fortify yourself,
For the next attack.

It seems,
I attract so many.
They seem to fall in love,
With what I've done,
What I've said,
Positions I've held.
But they don't take the time,
To get to know me.

I feel the words I write mean less and less each day.
They blend together and confuse the reader,
Muddle the flow,
As each thought forms a current and pushes in its own direction.
And at this point...
I'm being torn apart.

Is it wrong,
That I feel more comfortable,
With a gun in my hands,
Then I do holding someone?
It's always been this way.
The cold steel feels familiar,
Like an extension of myself.
I seem to become more aware,
As I disassemble,
Clean, lubricate,
Reassemble,
Cycle the action,
Check the breach,
And experimentally pull the trigger.
I know who I am.
I'm a soldier.
Bred for war.
Love may never come to me.
I will **** so that others do not have to.
An M4 snug against my shoulder,
An M9 in a dropleg on my thigh,
My Ka-Bar on my belt.
My heart wrapped in bands of iron.
And I will go out the way I've lived,
With the pull of a trigger,
Flash of a muzzle,
And pooling of blood.
But I'll be ****** if
I don't take the ******* with me.

I no longer feel,
The constant urge to write,
To convey meaning,
To continue expression,
Now that I know,
You don't read it anymore.