I think of you
So intensely and
Thoroughly that
I think my
Heart might
Explode.

In an eggshell    
          The universe gives birth to itself

She purrs her r's to ****** the cosmos
     With a spell of linguistics

That we're all humming along to

I'm speaking in tongues
     Bowing down in worship
     vibrating the outside of my mouth

This is the new sensation
     Her aura's stimulation
     Like she read me like a book

Once she felt my touch of grace
     Convulsing hips
     and transcending taste
    
Some paradise of infinity lost in karma's translation
     Where we all come back around together
     Until we're light again
    
somewhere
     in time

She bursts

I stared down fine art to bring her back
    Big banging our broken hearts
     back to the start of stars aligned
          before we were gods
          before the chaos
          
     Scrambled back        
In an eggshell

Let's play "Whose tragedy is worse"
     Show me all your battle scars
     The zones where your mind initiated war

Where you wrote "love" on your arms
     And all you got was a t-shirt
     Capitalizing on a loss of blood

Streaming consciousness
     into status updates
     crying wolf is still a call for help underneath it all.

We all lead a masochistic path
     Pushed by a self-destructive past
     Razors tracing the way
     Mapping out the suffering

Spilling blood like divine ink
     Writing a story
     Just remember it's not done

We are everything we thought we wouldn't be until we re-write our own history
    
They say time heals everything
     But time is just another man-made
    lie like reality

What if we're just addicted to being sad?
     We get caught up in these negative thinking patterns
     And never go back to count the blessings

Bad habits dying hard
     Like a re-opened wound releasing endorphins
     When something doesn't feel good anymore
     or "no one cares about me anymore"

Think again

Yeah I get it you're broken
     But we're all a little broken

It's not about ruminating on that missing piece/peace
     It's about pulling yourself together

Find what's blocking the way and tear it down to size
     Every hero story requires one last ordeal with the shadow

Exploit your demons
     sleep with the true enemy

Don't devote yourself to a self-fulfilling prophecy

Learn to realize,
Life's one big question
     Death has no *answers

Are we listening,
     Or are we judging what we hear?

Staring into the depths of a bottle
Trying to warm my bones
"You look lost," he said.
Smiling, I replied
"Not all who wander are lost."
His eyes were sad and grey
Long roads I longed to travel
And then his sad eyes spoke
"Maybe not, but you are."
He knew me.
Knew how I'd been spending my nights.
Seeking comfort in the open road
Finding home with each new person
In this beautiful broken world
With its beautifully broken people
The only people who can know runners
Are runners themselves.
He takes my hand and the roads stretch and melt
The hallways dim and all the doors close
My heart races
"Run with me."

"if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or ******,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was." - Charles Bukowski

I miss the cold air penetrating my lungs,
Bringing me to life.
For once feeling cut off-
Independent
Completely free.
Its empowering
Entrancing
Intoxicating
Poisonous.
That feeling of freedom
"Just one last cigarette."
Repeated a thousand times
in dreams, on long highways,
at the corner buried in snow at midnight.
One last sin
Again
And again