Sometimes,
Everyone just needs
Someone to come find them
In the darkness,
wipe away their tears
And pull them from the depths.
A hand to hold,
A smile to save them.
Another heart
To keep their own beating.
Sometimes,
Everyone just needs a light,
A shiny knight.
A lover,
A friend.
Everybody,
Needs love
And help.

Let the masses dance, 
Around your god-like spirit
Before they feast
Draining your eyes of good will
And your lips of pink. 
Breathe
Before they inhale
Your existance. 
Eat your own heart
Before they suckle on your pulse
And set fire to your hands
Letting the wind carry
The ashes to the devil.

in that worst moment
I found out just how much
the human body
could bear

how much the
human mind could
understand

and how much
the human soul could
take

a wiser man
would not have been shocked
to witness it not only survive

but thrive

Words act as arrows
Fiery bolts on the field of battle
You've cut me down before breakfast is over
Somewhere between the poached egg on toast and
A cup of black coffee
You would never love me
That is all

All your life you have been in a rush
To get somewhere
Yet you never feel like you've arrived


Money is time
That can never reversed

How you preach time is money from your death bed
Not even the nurses listen

As your eyes fill with tears you will ask

"Where have they all gone?"


We were always there
Ever-waiting
For you to return from finding something better

A blank canvas
waiting to be painted,
waiting to turn into
the ocean
with gentle waves
slicing deeply
into the slowly falling sunbeams.

It waits
to become
the jagged edge
of the highest mountain imagined by its evil creator.
Vicious trees budding
giving birth to more complex ideas,
that will soon be on their own.

It waits
to evolve
into a mama holding her baby in her arms
in the rocking chair
in the front room
with a look
as if she'll always remember,
always remember that tone
in her baby's bright blue eyes
that's whispering "comfort"

It waits
to morph
into something it wants to accept,
something it wants to be,
something it wants to love.
It waits
for its future.

I realize now,
the futility of
forgiveness

we all want a clean slate,
the washing away of our sins,
but in the end:

we are never clean

you can paint over it,
or wear costumes,
or even spend millions
on special procedures

but it’s all just mask

we live with what’ve done,
each day, we must face the
man we used to be, and the
implications that man has
on the one we are now

(and that’s all that matters)

you can mix in new colors,
but never get rid of the old
ones

that is futility of forgiveness:

we cannot wash away the sins,
cannot wipe the slate clean,
the only solitude is forgetting,
and that, in itself, is flawed

(for the moment comes
when all those memories
come flooding back in)

but we carry on

forgetting or forgiving ourselves
(whatever seems better to you)
and trying to make ourselves
presentable

even with the
knowledge of our past
and future mistakes