...I am Kevin's needy self.. scratching the walls.
Holed up in my Key West hotel room and the walls are closing in,
pacing the walls of my mind.
Drinking my naked self into a coma, ****** in and out all weekend,
papers and empty bottles littering the floor and tables.
All to die like the best and go out like a pro,
gone mad, gone crazy in paradise.

Lying in my *****, visions of you walking on my vacant mind,
myself in question and my soul on exit.
I love you and baby you will find me in my glory,
tequila is a fine way to flame out.

In my blind drunkenness, I see my Grandfather before me in his Police Uniform drinking on 85th and Carnegie, hiding his sin in 1925. His will to choose overcoming any logic. His desire to lie about his age to fight the Germans when he was 16. Seeing too much death in France to ever talk about and fading out while I view him saying a gentle goodbye when we both knew it was the last time I would see him alive.

I come to laying on the floor in my *****. The warm air flowing in from the open front door. I am sticking to the ***** carpet and the smell is making me dry heave. I have lived a life, but I know I need to find Aine. She is my blood and I will die or **** myself slowly if we are not united soon. Its an act of desperation, too many ***** and ****** to fill the void. Never fulfilled and always needing more. I can’t lie to myself any longer. The lie burns into my eyes and soul, not to be ignored. She is there, we breathe in the same world. Her smalls hands and beautiful eyes always around the corner.

I’ll recover from this moment like I always do, but one of these times I won’t get up. I’ll die like a pro, in my crazy. I am desperate for the air , to breathe her into me. Breathing in life, my sweet Aine.

KT Mar 27,2014

Before it's too late,


                                                         ­  because nothing's worse than
                                                            ­                                                  too
                                                                ­                                                     late.

When are you coming back?

I exit the stage,
but the actor still lays.
I know the faking hurts,
but I learn it often pays.

I scream inside,
but it echos from the corners that I hid.
I get tired of all I tried,
but getting told, "You lied."

Cherry tree, cherry tree,
please won't you,
fall down on me?

I close my eyes for a brief,
but non-stop horror gives me grief.
I beg for some relief,
but I am buried deep beneath the reef.

I see the sky with hopeful eyes,
but inside the sun the devil maybe lies.
I know my clinging causes sighs,
but I fall apart after goodbyes.

Cherry tree, cherry tree,
please won't you,
fall down on me?