Shadows rest upon this page
Mocking works of others
Stale and empty, a product of age

They sound so smooth and right
Twisting your feelings
Like ropes of pleasure, delight

But I dare not call them mine
I stole their ideas from another
From other authors with skills so fine

An imitation you might say
Striving to learn your craft
This but only one more way.

Gentle puffs on a clove cigar
Away from the icy chill
And outside in the snow
Icicles hang from the windowsill.

Curls of smoke twisting up
Into the rafters high
Snow flakes drift breaths away
Out under the clouded sky.

Tomorrow waits for us
But the night still has it's claim
Warm milk to help me sleep
For there are wild dreams to tame.

I remember before I was born
And everything was black
Before any clothes were worn
And the world gave me slack

I remember playing in the stars
Wandering in the sky
Before I knew about cars
I never knew I would die

My bliss was as large as space
I dreamed in waking and in sleep
There was no time there was no race
And in that peace never did I weep.

When I was little, I used to draw maps. Maps of everything. The world. Fairy tale lands. My elementary school. They were detailed, beautiful, had keys and compasses and everything.
Looking back, through out the years I wish my life had a map as fine as that. One that would guide me. Tell me which turns were the wrong ones.
I realized that it does. I draw it everyday. I draw it onto the pages of this earth. Each trail, mountain, stream and bridge gets added as I come across it. When I grow up, I will be able to look back upon this map, smiling at all the places I have been. I will be able to turn around, and walk off of it. Into the uncharted, with the knowledge that there will always be part of my map that I will never know.

All around us is silent. Nothing moves. It's just you and I locked in our own world. I can feel my heart pounding. Wondering if yours does as well. Looking into your eyes I see anxious excitement. We are about to break into something new... Suddenly I realize how close you are to me.. Only a couple inches stand between us. Still my eyes are locked on to yours, drawn into your smile. Nervously I step closer, closing the slight distance. You move your toes to stand on mine. My heart drums faster, harder as your hair brushes my face. So close... It's the hardest part. My palms are sweaty as I take your hands, through them I can feel your blood pulse through you veins, in sync with mine. Your chest presses up against me. Slowly, unbearably slowly I caress your cheek, sliding my hand behind your head. Our lip brush. Gently at first. My other hand rests on you back, Pulling you closer.. My heart skips a beat as our lips touch again, pressing together harder this time. The rush of blood making me dizzy as all I know is the feel of your soft mouth. Lost in the moment, filled with want. I can't get enough of you.

May3rd 2013
Stream of consciousness may 3rd
I am so bored. I'm sitting at work on my break. The atrium windows cast light all around me. I sat in the shadows though. The sun heats up the whole building. It's not summer so it isn't to hot yet, but just warm. I hate breaks. They are never long enough. Or short enough. The go by like a small piece of candy. Or a chunk of cookie. It's enough to wet your appetite, but not enough to stay it.
That's how I feel about sleep to. There's never enough, and when you can sleep as much as you want, it's never over quick enough. What is it with our minds? Why are they wired to be like this? Or is it just me? Am I the only one who is discontent? Unsatisfied with what I have? I know I should be. I try to be. I always want more. Or something else. Or something different.
Only on rare occasions can I sit down. With only the things I have. Or the people I know, and smile. Be content. Be happy. It's so strange. I'm not even focusing my eyes as I type any more. I'm typing on pure muscle memory. I don't even know what I'm typing really. Just going on and on and on like my breaks. It's kind of pitiful. I love writing stream of consciousnesses. They are like a little window into the thoughts and insights I don't know I have. They keep me entertained and they keep me going.
I'm just sorta rambling as usual. How many words can one kid put on a piece of paper without simply copying out of a dictionary? How many lines can I fill? It's like one of those video games where the levels never end. It just get harder and harder, but you can never win. It's just about how long you are willing to go before you give up. Isn't that the same as what life's about though? How far are you willing to go before you give up? How many lines will you fill? I don't know how many I will, but I want the content of each line to be bold. To mean something. When I look back on the lines of my life I want to see all the spelling mistakes. See how I've learned as they change and decrease. I don't care if it all makes sense, but I want it to mean something. I want it to be read by others who are just beginning to fill in their own lines. Maybe then the jumble of letters and lines and scwigglies will make sense. Maybe they will mean something. Or maybe not. Who cares though. We are all gunna die so let's have some fun.
See this is what I'm talking about, now that I'm on a roll. Now the the words and ideas are flowing out of me as easily as light from the sun, my break is over. Now I don't want to move. I don't wanna work any more. I have to though. Which *****. Even that will be over too soon though. Why should I want time to move faster? Shouldn't I relish in it all? Before its gone? Shouldn't I treasure every moment I work, every moment I'm on break, or laying down? I think I should. Should isn't though. I have to. I will. Maybe. Who knows, except that ill miss it when I'm gone. Woohhhhoooooo skiing sounds like fun. I love the Cookie Monster. He is kinda awesome. There goes Monica again. Hmmm there's a guy cleaning the atrium windows. Monica kinda freaked out. Not even in my words do I find solace now. No safety. They are not private, but what in my mind do I have to be ashamed of? I am a gift, as is everything in the world and we treasure it all, even if some of it may seem abrasive to our eyes. Godammit. Back to work I gues. Or maybe one more line to fill first. One more spelling error. One more string of useless, meaningless **** out of my head, into this note? I think that should be about enough though? Right? I miss you. Still love you. ****. Your still on my mind. Get out. Duck. Lol