From the stars above she plays her games,
On withering wings with a plastic smile.
She speaks of love like a gentle rose,
Finding purchase in any other name.

Why is it then that I give her chase,
This slithering snake in a garden of roses?
She offers poison in a land untouched,
And still I follow in loving state.

Like the vibrant sun she offers light,
With reckless radiance she speaks the truth.
She is the one to play at peace,
In what was already paradise.

If death should come for me, I'll ask to dance in trade. For my soul is untouchable, and this I shall declare as every brave hearted fool before me has done. We will twist and tango until death knows what it means to breathe life into old bones again, and mine shall wither away. there we shall stand, on reversed ends, and death shall beg to stay. But the reapers call is endless, and must be fulfilled. So without second thought, and a grin ear to ear, I shall carry out the reaping, which the fates seemed to will. And thus, death shall know loss, he never did before.

To chase the lonely blues away,
I write this now to yesterday,
And say to them; all those I miss,
I'm sorry it has come to this.
Now down this longing list I go,
Filled to the brim with woeful prose,
A lovely way here to express,
What it's like; this loneliness.
Now I'm awake at 1 AM,
Wishing I could speak to them,
To cast away the silent spell,
Known as sleep; to make me well.
To see them all now up and rise,
And hear the call of daybreak cries,
A Rooster-bird or some-such pet,
I'd jump for joy as sadness left.
For now's the time where memories reign,
And every one does have a name,
To call to me and mark their time,
Stealing peace then from the mind.
Yet if I could just speak to them,
The loving souls of kith and kin,
I'd know right then without a doubt,
I'd found a cure for lonely bouts.

For thee I utter those three words,
Declared then to be true,
Never was there a star-crossed pair,
To rival the sun and moon.

Not like you and I you see,
As the heavens declared our fate,
To shine like beacons brilliantly,
And rival golden gates.

To light the world eagerly,
With a pair of broken smiles,
Carried still so gracefully,
Through life and all it's trials.

For we were blessed to find a match,
And spark the flames of love,
It seems that we were made made from scratch,
As a star-crossed pair above.

The tune will carry the weight,
As the hand rushes away in rhythm,
Don't stop writing now,
No time to look back,
Race the fleeting song away,
Before the doubting black.

Feel your eyes drift away to reread a line,
But stay focused,
Don't stop now,
There is no time for self doubt.

Who cares what you write down?
It's yours right now,
Worry about the details later,
When you feel drained,
See what comes of writing today.

I have nothing more to write about,
Since you moved in; all else moved out,
All thoughts of how to win your heart,
Of love and joy in equal parts,
All are gone; and there a drought.

And ever since that fateful day
I lay my words out on display,
All too dated and so cliche,
But what am I supposed to do?
A hopeless fool when meeting you,
And in romance I'll stay the same,
My heart forever calls your name.

Yet even so I wonder then,
What good to me is written pen,
When nothing seems to find its place,
Longing still for better days.

Sometimes I wonder why I hesitate on things I say,
Maybe I don't think they're mine In the first place,
I worry about that you know?
How much of me is gone now that I'm grown?
How much is my mother, my sister, my father, another?
How much is me and what do I own?
How many of your thoughts have found a home in me?
So sweetly, sincerely, I ask you in a cheesy way,
How much of me can I really claim?

In those moments of great despair,
I often wonder here and there,
Just how often she tends to care,
Wether or not I'm really there.
Or does she fabricate just so,
We collaborate to and fro,
On what would make her worries go,
Out the window; to and fro.
Does she care for me at all,
To give my tired form a call,
And speak to me with wondrous gall,
Does she care? I tend to call.
And honestly I cannot tell,
If she is casting there a spell,
In that moment to make me well,
By faking there a panicked spell.
But every night or some such time,
She calls on me to ease her mind,
And soothe her soul with words sublime,
She calls on me; every time.
So then I wonder if it's true,
Or just a carefully crafted ruse,
To connect with her anew,
In the context of a ruse.

No more sway in the angel's spell,
To hold my heart and keep unwell,
All thoughts of me, oh happy day,
The one I loved has flown away.

Goodbye my love and gentle muse,
I was blind to your misuse,
No more binding words to heel,
All happy thoughts of how to feel.

Ironic then that you despised,
My wounded heart and weakened pride,
As it would seem you were the cause,
For all my often mentioned flaws.

My nervousness was linked to you,
And often times my sadness too,
Would dance in pair, a tragic waltz,
To amplify my many faults.

And then would come the sly remarks,
To keep me guessing at your heart,
And all the while you'd wonder why,
My confidence just seemed to die.

But for all my faults and flaws alike,
There is one truth I can't deny,
My life was better when you weren't here,
So goodbye my love, most sincere.

Honestly I can't hold my own with drugs, I don't like that out-of-body rush, my mind's already expanded too much.

Sometimes it's like a hamster on a little wheel, I have to keep it running smoothly or I start to feel a little unhinged.

Now that I think about it, that's probably why the family hobby is binge-drinking, getting high by getting numb enough to stop thinking.

I try my best to keep it all together, but honestly most days seem better after they're gone, because I've already weathered the storm.

I have a question for you, is it weird that I'm only happy at the start of a new day? When that first hour awake shows it's pretty face, I feel amazing.

Until I watch it fade away and in it's place I see familiar faces telling me "Everything's the same and nothing ever changes."

My dad told me once in a drunken state of prophecy, "Son, me and you are variables, we can be the change the world needs."

I rebutted instantly, "If that's true, how come you've been drinking every night since you were 17? How come you've been working your whole life away inside refineries? How come you'll be doing the same thing when you hit the age of 63?"

After that he just stared at me, like his whole world was broken, like I took a notion he'd been holding onto for 20 long years and shattered it.

There I saw a man bruised, battered and beaten, and when I saw the look in his eyes that night I had a moment of clarity.

It came to me in the form of a quote by Sir Fredrick Neichze, "And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."

And in that moment I had to laugh because I realized my whole life could be a divine comedy, my dad was trying to help me escape, but all I could think about was our shared love of philosophy.

And as if on cue, he said the quote right back to me, and then I felt bad for laughing at a tragedy.

The light in my life ended the night you tried to get personal with a bullet. That night you called me up, and me and your demons had a chat.

We became friends and I invited them in with a welcome mat so openly that they never left. They agreed to leave you alone as long as I took partial custody, and I accepted eagerly, for you.

Now some years have passed. You're all grown up and apart in a relationship built to last, and I'm stuck here in the nightmare aftermath of heavy stone arms, shaking hands, and panicked breathing every other weekend.

That's what "I love you" means to me. The first time I gave of myself eagerly to get partial custody of someone else's demons.

A sink into the sorrow river,
would set my mind at ease,
To feel so weightless and alone,
with bottled memories.

I'd count the drops as they peer through,
That empty venom glass,
Each and every one a friend,
down to lonely last.

And what then will I own,
but the bitter drink of swill,
To fill my glass to brim with cheer,
To sit here sulking still.

Remembering how my life was grand,           
Before it all was taken,
While failing then to understand,
how sorely I'm mistaken.

This life I have is still my own,
To do with as I please,
Yet still I choose to drink alone,
Sinking down with ease.

Ah to be the only one awake,
To hear so clearly the sounds of nothing,
To track the hours by time spent freely,
To greet the night as moonlight breaks.

This is the life of that lonesome bird,
Who spreads it's wings and twists it's head,
This is the life of that humble creature,
Who sees the sun and greets it's bed.

A quiet thing when all alone,
It finds this state to be it's home,
And in this place of gentle rest,
It stays awake or tries it's best.

But life it seems will not relent,
For daybreak signals most to rise,
The sun is here; you must repent,
For most of life surfs daylight tides.

As work will come with daylight's call,
To see their heavy eyelids fall,
These quiet birds will seem to stall,
For nighttime fun has sapped them all.

But soon enough they will withdraw,
Back to their nesting homes so sweet,
And in that place they'll close their eyes,
To send off daylight with goodbyes.

And they will wake again to see,
That moon of theirs so happily,
To make them smile and sing and dance,
They all celebrate a calm pale glow.

They sing her praise to warm her heart,
For they know her well and true,
That pale blue mistress called the moon,
Has seen them all gliding through the night.


The birds with wings and tilted heads,
Are of course night owls solemn and quiet,
Listen clearly to all they've said,
For their hooting holds wisdom on lonely nights.

Have I forgotten,
How to speak,
In vibrant hues,
Of yellow-pink?
Of sunny days,
And precious sweets,
Traded then,
For gray and bleak.

I wonder this,
So often now,
If voice is lost,
Can it be found?
A simple thing,
To miss and yet,
How quickly we,
Can just forget.

The easy days,
Of smiles gone,
Of children's games,
And laughter long.
When simple things,
Could entertain,
In yesterday,
where smiles reigned.

"O angels please,
I plead to thee,
Show some mercy,
In plans for me.

In trying times,
I've tried my best,
To pray to you,
For any rest.

A loving heart,
A gentle soul,
A sign to point,
Which way to go.

A light to guide,
A hand to hold,
A source of warmth,
In bitter cold.

A place to hide,
A shelter free,
From any sense,
Of tragedy.

But still you watch,
And still we wait,
For any shred,
Of dawn to break."

So it goes,
The saying old,
The sun shall come,
To banish cold.

The clouds will flee,
And joy will spread,
To all of those,
With hope still left.

"To all of you,
The lucky few,
To make it through,
The dreadful nights.

Enjoy the view,
You've made it here,
Breathe it in,
With small delight.

The bodies stiff,
Shall mark your trial,
And memories then,
Shall sing and dance.

To remind the cost,
Of true denial,
Count the lost,
The numbers grand.

The price of life,
A heavy sum,
Will weigh enough,
To break the one.

Who dared to dream,
Of bigger things,
Who played at god,
And grew his wings.

Who soared so high,
He met the sun,
And tumbled then,
The foolish one."

He angered them,
The ones that saw,
Those who made,
Eternal law.

And swiftly then,
Did they enact,
A greatly awful,
Ancient pact.

The sun would fade,
Away from view,
To signal then,
The end anew.

And all would freeze,
And all would starve,
Except for those,
Of faithful heart.

"A simple thing,
To ask of them,
Remain our creatures,
Not our kin."

What can I say but goodbye sweet love.
Goodbye to the thrill of conversation for hours on end,
Goodbye to waking up at 2 AM because you thought of me when you couldn't sleep.
Goodbye to sparks flying every time I saw you,
Goodbye to what I could never express because every time I tried you'd take my breath away.
Goodbye to love, see you yesterday.

My brother,
The sinner,
Can we go back?
To a time before broken heart beginnings,
Where happiness dared to be unending,
And our joys would outlast the sun?
Before one-winged angels became our shared memory,
Before the only remedy we knew was finding peace in others,
Can we learn to be ourselves again?
Can we make a smile our natural fit,
Like when we were kids, remember?
Now when we meet all we can do is reminisce and smile,
But it feels unnatural to say the least.
Like the beast of burden, the scars and the hurt then were too much to bear.
So I'll meet you in the middle,
Let's start fresh and forget everything we used to know.
The cost of a lost love,
The weight of a heavy heart,
And the sting of the words that sparked a bullet,
Nothing matters anymore,
As long as we can smile again.

It's been so long since I've remembered,
The gentle blue sky and calming breeze,
Or surrendered myself to peaceful sleep,
Under a shady backyard tree.

It's been so long since I've caught a ball,
Or touched a base as a mat or a home,
I used to love to find a hiding place,
Amidst the forest I once roamed.

It's been so long since I've felt that wonder,
And I miss it well and true,
I miss the days that I spent under,
A sun that I once knew.

Nowadays he'***** or miss,
A friend of simple tastes,
But when he shines it's truly bliss,
I love it when he stays.

Yet when he leaves and the clouds roll in,
I simply smile at them and try to breathe,
Hello today my old friends,
So kind of you to visit me.

To talk of gentle love and me,
Seems something of an oddity.
Yet to speak of angels as muses sing,
Used to come so naturally.

A somber sonnet of the soul,
Would ease the pain of heartache's toll.
And bring with it some great delight,
Yet now that gift has taken flight.

I cannot find the words once more,
All left behind on battered shores,
Of love and loss and life now gone,
I've lost the strength to carry on.

No words shall leave this shaking hand,
Of light and hope and love once grand.
And soon shall I then fade from view,
As my words have after you.

A broken angel on borrowed wings,
To teach of love and what it brings,
To show there beauty at its best,
And lay a wild heart to rest.

To teach of pain then born of passion,
And mark the soul in subtle fashion,
To linger there in memory,
Forever bathed in agony.

Take this then, my parting gift,
A simple thing which I will miss.
My pen and heart belong to you,
Goodbye my love and gentle muse.

To walk along the shores of doubt and see the waves of fear roll in. To live so long, to live without, to be depressed my friend.

To grow up good and grow up strong, to see that life is hard. To bouncing back, to going long, to going very far.

To making merry, to being happy, to seeing hope in darker times. To making smiles, to making light, to living life where laughter shines.

To being old, to being gray, to watch your memories go. To beg them hold, and bid them stay, to forgetting all you know.

To looking back, to reminisce, to accept that time knows best. To coming home, To greet a friend, to long and welcome rest.

To all of that I say to you, to treat it how you like. To living with a solemn gloom, to chasing after light.

Right now I miss you like the young miss the old because the good go to soon.

I miss you like most of us miss the sunshine on a gloomy afternoon.

I miss you like the earth misses the moon because without you my tides are out of wack, but let's bring it back.

I miss you like my parents miss 8-tracks. To record and make memories last.

I miss you like a life gone to fast past the good times that always seem to last around you.

Because I love you like a child seeing something new for the first time.

Because you remind me of the first time I fell in love, and show me that I'm dreaming of something beautiful every time I think of you.

It's a walk down nostalgia lane I've been aching for, but all we ever talk about is the time we had before time was up and nothing more, except the aches and pains we're both feeling these days.

It's like a retirement home for old times where good ones go to die, and we'd go out and make more but there's no time left to come by.

But why does it have to be that way? We spend all of our time talking about yesterday like there's nothing else to do but put our memories up on a shelf in the category marked "Should have."

But with you I'd rather think of could have. Like we could have a wonderful time together at a coffee shop called "Picture Perfect." And you could show me all the paintings they have on display there that make life worth it.

You could tell me about all the fun we would have had together chasing our dreams of artistry. I would write poetry inspired by all the paintings you'd make to take my breath away and leave me speechless with nothing left to say but how much I love you.

I'm happiest when I can wake up and make up my mind as to how I feel. Before the question pops into my head of which thoughts are real and which ones are yours.

I'm happiest when I can tell you for sure of who I am, which only lasts for about an hour after I wave goodbye to the sand man and start my day.

I'm happiest when I can run away from the idea of happiness for as long as possible. I know that sounds weird but I'm better off never thinking or asking that question in general. Am I happy?

It's a crap-shoot, a moot-point for me designed to take away what it means to be happy. I don't want to think to deeply before I get out of bed, so please happiness, leave me be so I can keep out of my head and just be me.

You asked me for my happiest moment,
And I came up empty-handed,
Not because I never had one,
But because I never really thought about it.

For me time doesn't move like that,
It's not a moment to moment live your life like it's the last kind of cliche-trap that I put myself into.

For me everything is as old as it is new,
Because I knew from just about day one that everyone tells you to enjoy life, but they're so busy running the race they forget to take it in strides.

For me life is honestly a breeze,
But the problems come in the form of anxiety when people ask what I've been up to.

Because when they realize my answer is nothing new they look at me like,
"Who are you to be happy taking life at your own pace?"

"Don't you know? This life is a race and you don't have much time.
You should live your life like mine and be happy."

I was,
Before I met you

O heart stop thy beating for too rapidly do emotions fly. To easily do they flood all sense of logic and cause it to run in passionate strides.

Who is she to cause such a rhythm as if in sync with the music of life? She plays her part exactly on cue, for long dead hopes she does revive as feelings of love wash over you.

And all too soon you would give of yourself just to see a measly smile, for that is what you know of love and the part it plays in your story.

Only through care, by sacrifice may you show your affection and thus by reflection you curse your lot in this life as you may only live in loves shadow.

Upon shipwreck-shores I lay my heart for all to see. And with it too in counterpart shall lay the essence of my humanity.

A soul once proud now withered in full view of indecency, torn and rung out by all that love has revealed itself to be.

This gilded facade measured so carefully as to keep intact only upon a surface of beauty less than skin-deep has made its mark.

And so I tip my hat to exception, hung up on the rack of broken dreams with expectation and reality for company bittersweet.

If you were God, man kind could not have created fire fast enough to appease you. We would all be doomed to a life in the void as we are not worthy of your presence in heaven. Made solely in your image scattered about in many frames, you would smite us all for the imperfections we were made with purely because they might be a reflection of you.

You take on this world alone by choice and complain that no one can measure up to you. But of course that's true when you measure our strides in inches and yours by the mile half finished.

Fast or slow in equal measure,
with ticks or tocks to keep the beat,
Friend to some or foe forever,
until the bitter end they meet.

Here today and gone tomorrow,
never missed until too late,
A treasure then for some to borrow,
To keep themselves from pearly gates.

All things old and all things new,
Will have today to call their own,
But soon shall fade in rustic view,
With ticks and tocks to call them home.

Greeting them with gentle rest,
The guiding hand that wrote their tale,
Saying then to what is left,
"Your time is up, was it spent well?"

Do what you want to do not out of obligation, but to experience something new. When did life get so old, when did the bucket list become the goal? It's just another checklist meant to make us persist for one more day, let's end it. At the risk of sounding like a hypocrite, pardon my Latin but why wait until tomorrow when today is yours so seize it.

First Place:

In loving grace I remember still,
Her words like pin-***** tender thrills,
Sent shivers up my spine,
To race my heart in rising time.

A pounding beat and nervous air,
To match there eager step,
And cautious charm,
That was love as I saw then,
A distant hope,
With reaching arm.

I look upon those tender days,
With eyes of old and fading grace,
Such hope for one who was so young,
So much of life still yet to run.
Yet odds be ****** for odds they were,
And with them stood a chance for first.

And so I charged into the race,
leaving some I knew in saddened state,
For what chance had they,
Who could not beat,
The odds laid bare for all to see.

The long-shot man had beat them so,
With blinders on and endless hope.
Yet race's end would see him fall,
With those who entered,
One and all.

For she it seemed,
Cared not for one who ran the race,
And so there lay in broken state,
With memories kept in bitter taste,
A mound of broken hearts and graves.

If I'm being honest, it's like a monster hiding in my closet that I don't want to acknowledge because the moment that I do it becomes real.

It's like the things that I feel don't really matter, because honestly I'm happier gathering up the pieces of my memory that I left behind while trying to survive then I am just being alive.

Because for me, my life is a movie I don't really watch, it's just the background noise I keep on repeat to distract myself from getting lost in memory as more of them pass by.

To be honest I don't remember much until the age of nine, when I said goodbye to my father to see my dad for the first time. We got along well.

Then comes me at ten, a timid, tense, and nervous wreck going in for my first routine check with the doctor before he told me a repeat surgery would make me a temporary amputee every couple of years, a common practice.

Next is me at twelve all perplexed because my heart swelled the first time I met an angel. I remember well her broken wings had the most beautiful feathers I'd ever seen, they were black and grey with hints of scattered ink beneath, so she didn't mind when I asked to borrow one for a pen so I could begin to express in words how often she took my breath away.

After that was the aftermath of me from fourteen to sixteen wishing I could take back every word I wrote. Every memory was either a quick stick-and-move jab or a knockout-punch quote that to this day I can't come back from.

Ever since then it's just been re-runs of the same show day in and day out, I wake up with a smile flipped from last night's failure to pen anything new, and pick up the pieces that fell through the cracks from the day before.

Child's play degrades with age and makes its way on through the days, until its mark is cast away and in its place are aches and pains.

In memory's love it makes its stay before the times of old and grey, and gives its best of laughter joyous to see you off on life's great voyage.

A time for you to see the sights marked by many empty nights, filled with wonder for the day of what to do in golden rays.

For the sun leaves too and in its passing leaves the moon which wanes and waxes, to say to you in crescent fashion a month has past in life's contraption.

As time does fade in passing days and leaves behind with little trace, the things you knew were true in spades to see them easily replaced.

When boredom strikes a quiet man,
He's left to sit and ponder,
On curious mysteries,
Small and grand,
Of life and endless wander.

The smallest step first taken young,
Has led him now to this,
Few memories left,
They all have run,
And now are sorely missed.

He ponders silent the quiet nights,
He spent so freely doing nothing,
Recalling then,
With small delight,
How often he'd been bluffing.

Saying things akin to lies like,
"Soon I'll speak my mind,
I'll leave this place,
And cut all ties,
I'll leave it all behind."

Yet in his mind,
He knew the truth,
Buried far beneath,
He made the lies for simple use,
To keep him on his feet.

For when boredom strikes a quiet man,
He's left alone with thoughts,
Of endless time,
Which life demands,
And how quickly time is lost.

He thinks of things,
Like yesterday,
And how happy he was when,
To ease the fear and pain away,
Of facing there and then.

And soon he finds all time is up,
As marked by shades of grey,
He ponders then,
Too late it seems,
Of what to do today.

Across these lonely shores I've been,
Countless times before,
Tracing lines into the sand,
To connect to something more.

I write a name to shape a face,
And reflect in shades of gray,
How it felt to see this place,
With others here to stay.

I remember all,
And all to well,
I recall a simple smile,
Telling me to just relax,
And reminisce awhile.

And who am I to deny these ghosts?
They soothe my soul with ease,
So I sit down to have a chat,
With my old memories.

But all good things must come to end,
Or so the saying goes,
I say goodbye to my old friends,
And remember that I'm alone.

Once upon a time, I knew how to write. I knew every line, every word like they were child's play came to me with ease and speed to say the perfect thing in just the right way to say the thought that was stuck on my mind. The thing is, that was back then, when I believed in "Once upon a time."

My gift came first with the gentle game of love, and left with it's heart-break curse. I'd put pen to paper to write a verse that would take away all doubt of my genuine aspersions, as days marked the preparation it took for me to work up the courage to even try to find the perfect words, but it was all worth it. After all, what greater call is there to a sleeping heart than that of love?

But alas my gift was dashed upon the rocks like my fairy tale hopes, and I spent the next few years moping about how I'd lost it all. I tried to write, to express how I felt, but nothing ever felt right.

And now I feel I've lost my way. All my words have left me today, and soon there will be nothing to say.

So with the few lines I have left in my head, I just want to say that once upon a time..

I knew how to write.

The first was cursed to love a man,
Who never knew the word.
As though rehearsed,
It was his plan,
To leave her in the dirt.

He spoke of only lies until,
One day he had been caught,
And still she loved for who he was,
Though not the man she thought.

The second was beckoned,
To try her hand,
At a game of making-match,
Odds were low,
But chance be ******,
It was all the chance she had.

At first she found,
The game had worked,
Though not as was intended,
He struck her down,
With more than words,
And then their love was ended.

The third had heard her call to love,
But never did she listen,
She searched for those,
Who gave their hearts,
And all of their attention.

And so she saw that none would last,
Because she never looked,
For those who chose to call her name,
Were fearful, shy, and shook,
So they watched her slip away,
Until they stopped and walked away,
And all were left with longing.

I found one once,
Who stole my heart.
Though twisting pride,
Did tear apart,
All hope we had,
Of loving fate,
As she found love,
In many names.

As the simple man,
I planned to be,
I said to her,
With begging plea,

"My eyes see you,
As angles do,
Radiant and heavenly.
So if our love,
Should end this way,
Consumed by passion's
growing blaze,
By fate's decree,
I swear it true,
For now and always,
I love you."

She simply smiled,
And walked away,
With heavy heart,
She left my gaze,
And turned to meet
Another man,
Who offered gold,
With heart in hand.

He promised her,
A house to keep,
A car to have,
And a place to sleep.
All these things,
He promised grand,
Though never stopped,
To understand,
Why she felt,
So unhappy.

He gave her all,
But one great thing,
He left out love,
Which left a sting.
Upon her heart,
She felt a *****,
As cupid's arrows,
Did the trick.

She longed again,
For simple tastes,
Two tender hearts,
And love's embrace.
Though when she left,
Her house of gold,
To find a simple man,
She found he left,
A tombstone cold,
That softly read:

"By fate's decree,
I swear it true,
For now and always,
I love you."

Why don't I ask the one person I feel would have an answer? That's what I want, right? An answer. Something to live for, to be good at, to feel comfortable with? That's what I should want, right? So why don't I ask if it would help me find peace?

To be honest with you, I really think I'm afraid..I'm afraid because all I've had to keep me going since I was a child was this strange search for purpose. I've longed for it, I've craved it, I thought I wanted nothing more in this world than to find some reason for ME to be here..

And I found it, once...I saw that I was good at fixing things. Though my expertise wasn't cars or computers like some might think, it was broken heart strings...because It turns out that years of loneliness does wonders for understanding how the wounds we don't see can be the ones to bring us down..

And for awhile, I was happy healing those wounds..until a question hit me. Like a broken record doomed to repeat, It played over and over again, it kept asking me.
"Do you really care how others feel? Or is this all for you?"

And truth be told, I was terrified because I didn't know the answer. And rather than facing the music and asking myself honestly, I chose to just stop trying..I gave up giving myself for others, so that I wouldn't have to face the fact, that giving a helping hand, was my last stand for helping me..

So now a question plagues my thoughts, it's the question of my life. And I cannot dare ask loved ones, for fear that they would lie, yet through all the years that I have lived, I still can't seem to answer this.

"What kind of man am I?"

The only time,
I seem to care,
Is when the sun,
Swings 'round to call me.
When birds are heard,
Through morning air,
And no memories,
Dare befall me.

No twisting doubts,
Or nagging pains,
No binding chains to hold,
Though this is grand,
The fact remains,
The day will soon unfold.

And with it too,
My chores will come,
This thing I do call work,
Shall drive me mad,
And drive me numb,
And leave me in the dirt.

Yet still I rise,
To greet it strong,
Just as life demands,
"How time flies,"
"You don't have long,"
"So spend it with your hands."

Counting money,
Or busing tables,
And spinning fables,
To get you through,
This life of yours,
Which you call stable,
Though we know,
This isn't true.

So why on earth,
Do we live this way,
Spending time in foolish fashion,
We work ourselves,
'Til dying day,
And rarely find our passions.

Yet still we rise,
As days before,
And continue this "Nothing Cycle."
We give our lives,
To something more,
A state of true,
Denial.

The air seems cool and crisp in memory, and perhaps it was, then. Or maybe I'm simply lost now, and looking back to find my way, I couldn't say for sure.

I do know that something is off, though not to be penned to a face or a name. But what then could cause such unrest in so young a soul, to feel old like canyons, withered away?

Teenage angst may play a part, though years late on que, still seeing bits of broken heart, but this is nothing new.

Maybe then some trait of time does haunt me in my thoughts, a mid-life-crisis In my prime, to keep me lost to some degree.

My only way to deal with life is simply passing by, so I see it in nostalgic view, a vague impression of present state to keep me walking onward.

They clashed with pride, and poisoned word, plied their trade, and sowed deceit, for chance of love, they all denied, the meaning of humanity.

Like wild beasts, they tore apart, the fragile shells, that kept them safe, and found beneath, a tainted heart, changed and blackened, in its state.

A sign to them, the few with reason, to leave behind, their petty wants, while fool and friend, committed treason, to soothe the pride, which they had lost.

And those who stayed, would find themselves, soon fractured, and confused, for they had made, a living hell, which pride had led them to.

If my innocence had a name, how would it be spelled? Crooked with C's or crossed with X's, maybe straight-laced with L's, sometimes bent at the ends?

If my innocence had a name, what would it be? Simple like Adam, or sweet like Eve? Would it mirror mine, or choose to be free?

If my innocence had a name, would I bother to remember? Or surrender my thoughts to the remedy of amnesia, that seeks to soothe me in times of need?

If my innocence had a name, would I even want to know? So time could choose when it would go and leave me here alone, with nothing but a memory of who my innocence used to be?

If my innocence had a name, I've forgotten how to say it. Laid to waste in this mind of mine, that hates to hold on, to the good times.

Across the oceans and the skies, I've searched for angles low and high, some were bright and others dull, but all I'd hoped, could soothe my soul.

The first I'd found was fond of fun, a flattering sort by trade, used her wit and silver-tounge, to steal my heart away.

Her honied words the sweetest lies, ever heard by any ear, well rehearsed and often tried, though rarely true I fear.

I'd like to say, that it doesn't matter what words I use, what stories I write, that I don't lie awake at night trying to turn my broken memories into something, anything meaningful for others to use, so they get a better view of life than the bitter one I got. But I'd be lying.

And I'd like to say, that lying is something I'm not used to, that every word I speak is truer than the last, every "I'm ok." and "I love you." Is a phrase I never knew before the moment it's said, I'd like to say that.
But I'd be lying.

I'd like to say, that I've never rehearsed a fake smile, never been down for a while over something so heartbreaking it left me shaking in a fragile state of mind that drew a line for me to follow all the way to nowhere.
But I'd be lying.

And I'd like to say, that it doesn't matter to me, wether people can see what I mean, that I can put on a smile and tell them "It's ok." like a normal routine, and wake up every day feeling happier than I've ever been, but I'd be lying.

Ten words is just one sentence, no matter how powerful.

Now hope is good and hope is strong, but pain had stayed, for far too long, to see him cry and watch him fall, pain was there, through it all.

This pain he knew, now all too well, had swallowed hope, and left a shell, its brittle make, a jaded shape, left nothing then, for pain to take.

He cursed his name, and others too, because of pain, no one knew, but who could blame, a young mans curse, when dealt a hand, of luck reversed?

To live a life, of woes unfair, plagued by strife, as fate declared, that he would know, the pain of chance, all alone, in circumstance.

To make it worse, no one tried, to hear his words, and soothe his mind, they laughed at him, and mocked his pain, until he lost, all hope again.

No shock then, that he had shattered, weighed down so, by years of pain, though he cared, for all that mattered, no one dared, do the same.

So he gave himself, to all around, in hopes that he, could see them through, the pain they felt, when they were down, as pain to him, was nothing new.

Once taught, the value of self-worth by the worthless.
Once learned, to be a crutch for the broken to use.
Once traded, my own feelings in to feel perfect.
Once gained, an addiction to tales sad and true.

It isn't right, to know pain so well.
It isn't fair, when it can be a friend to you.
It isn't just, to help the broken who fell.
It isn't good, when their stories renew.

All faith you held, in your own worth.
All hope you had, once full and well.
All joy you gave, in merry mirth.
All peace you got, whilst curing ails.

The madness starts, when it's all for you.
This twisting tale, of parasite care.
Given in haste, in hopes to renew.
All promise of worth, in times of despair.

If nothing else, I hope that you can understand.

Be caring, be kind, do not reprimand those daring enough to unwind and tell you of the sorrows they face, because by tomorrow you could be in their place.

Wanting and wishing for those around you to start hearing and listening to what pains you've gone through.

To lend their ears to your words as if everything you've said is like nothing they've heard.

As though you hold the key to the universe behind eyes of despair, and all you need to reach it, is for one person to care enough to hear you.

So that all those near you, may  know peace in getting you through your space of sorrow, and by tomorrow, you'll be there to listen in thier place again so they may call you friend.

There's always a period of change. This blood of ours has a history of grand revolution, if we can't find a solution to our lives, we simply change to be someone else, and who could blame us for opting to run, besides ourselves?

We toss and turn, we earn the trust of those we love, and burn the bridges of our memory. Over night we seem to lose all traces of our former selves, and throw the remains of our old prison cells overboard.

We cast aside the truth for lies, in hopes of finding a better answer than the one we had before. We give ourselves a clever guise, worthy of a king, though jesters we are born.

And who could blame us, besides ourselves for chasing a fools dream? A fact of life, this seems to be, that change occurs constantly.

It was peaceful last night..I got on a bus, so happy about where we were going. Thinking of beautiful islands, ships, and little drink umbrellas, When I was informed by a holy man that you had died.

To my surprise I felt no pain from this, no never ending stream of tears to drown out my loss and make it whole, as though a single one shed could toss me from the outskirts of acceptance.

Seconds passed, this I know, then minutes, maybe hours before I dared to move again. When the bus screeched to a halt, the man who had told me, he said we arrived.

I simply reached in my pocket, grabbed my old phone, and told him I'd get off at the next spot. With a sigh of compassion, he said he understood, and I stayed quiet there, for long minutes of thought.

Then finally, what had been weighing so heavy on my mind had moved to my lips, and I couldn't bare the strain of silence anymore. Without thought or control I yelled, "How could you know?!"

The man smiled at me apologetically and said she went to his church. This had only left me outraged, as my mind was met with even more questions. Until he finally told me to check my phone.

Confused and angry, I nearly smashed the thing in protest of the entire affair. But the man could see this, and stayed my hand. He gave a warm smile, and told me that all would be clear after I read the messages.

Then for a moment, my senses returned and I took the man's word for truth. I looked at my phone, away from the games I had up to distract, and saw their, that my inbox read "2."

I paused for a moment, unsure of what to trust, or maybe to do, and hovered my finger over the keys. I wanted to move forward, I wanted to press on, but I knew I'd have to accept whatever I saw as truth, and for a moment the temptation was there to reject the affair and hit "delete" as a fool.

But try as I did, I couldn't bring myself to do it. To wipe away, what I knew could be your last words to me, any memories I could hold to in these defining moments.

So I pressed the button, to see the messages there. The first I read slowly, a note which read so sweetly as to say goodbye. It held your favorite slang, like a casual conversation. And had sections name by name, addressed to every person.

First your mother, then your father, then your brother, and sister too. Every name you had addressed, they loved you through and through. And when I read, your words aloud, it was clear that this you knew. But could not bare the thought of how, we'd all be missing you.

I read the words, line by line, and your sweet words rang true. I tried my best, but could not find, my last words from you.

Then I realized, that you had left a second note for me to read. Addressed to me in so tender a tone, that my heart did skip a beat.

I read the words and dropped my phone, I couldn't seem to move. I tried my best to thank the man through the tears that I was weeping. But he simply smiled and held up his hand, as his eyes followed suit.