If I could whisper
more words
down this barrel,
Believe me,
I would.
But for now
I'll let the bullet
sing for me.

I don't need scars to prove I have a beating heart
and I don't need lines to make me divine
My life is just beginning
and the world won't stop spinning
Look up at the sun
and see that we are one
my palms are wet
my eyes are sweating
but my mind is racing through every setting.
Time won't give you a second to breathe
You have to make a move and not fall off your seat
Listen to what the wise man said back then
"You're more than your scars and the tools used to make them."

There are some things that hurt more than others:
(i) The moment before a purple-and-yellow bruised sunset
is swallowed up by the horizon in its flaming farewell.
(ii) The concave spaces in the landscape of your lonely body
when nobody is present to fill them in, to wander through.
(iii) The view of someone’s back, an omnipresent reminder
that everyone has to leave at one point or another.

There are some things that heal more than others:
(iv) The rush and ebb of the waves in the ocean,
they know that people leave and things change,
but they come back (and leave), come back (and leave)
until you realize that the return makes the leaving hurt less.
(v) The scars in your skin
which belie the ones on your heart
Not everything is able to form scabs so easily.
(vi) A good hug, the kind that picks you up and spins you around
and squeezes your heart within a fist of love and trust.
The best hugs are the ones that make you feel like
they never let go.

What wonderful
and terrible
things to behold in this life.

Depths of knowing
In this kaleidoscope of measurable thought with sight and sound surrounded in waters filling
The mind outward and inward dimensions filling the skull what beholding how it is unfolding reams of
Streaming ideas clash swirl ever deeper raw thinking plunges ever deeper in the place of wonder it all
Swells and with just the right time that it takes to birth completeness human understanding ascends
Against formidable odds expression pours forth in a torrent are we not the sum total of what we think
Then let us mine the extreme the conscious active world can only raise to the level we appropriate in
Private study no great accomplishments have ever come in any other way not all are all called to lead a
Nation or pursue medical breakthroughs but our lives are privileged it’s not find the lowest level and
Sink down no it is speculate about the stars lift yourself to unknown heights in this accessible quest
You jettison limitations you get a foretaste of glory the hidden future hints at thrills yet to be unveiled
As one awaking from deep sleep you will know invigoration possibilities are at the end of favorable
Questions that are asked if you squander in lazy unstructured thinking then you pass sentence on your
Self and your life will be captured in mediocrity the idea is constantly be one who reassesses each
Situation maybe there is a better way the pillars of society rest on the tried and true but not before
They are tested why build inferior structures you want your work your life to inspire leave others
Wondering how they did it this can only be after you have fought indifference much is won by just
Committing to the lengths that it will take not how can I find a short cut that will prove to be
Disheartening from that point your actions will conform to less and the first inroads to weakness
And small living takes over you will hear yourself say if only I wish I had done it differently you have one
Life invest it wisely it will be your legacy to all at a vital turn maybe your life will quicken someone else
When they rethink your life avoiding disaster for them

Hell is not made of fire.

A lot of people believe that hell is a world covered in flames, with heat that sears through your very being, scorches your soul, and inflicts terrible agony. They say Hell is a place for fiery torment, where fire is a vicious serpent that winds through your existence and seeks to quench every feeling except anguish, but at the same time refusing to let you be conquered by nothingness, keeping you wide-awake so you can feel every blistering sensation.

They're wrong.

Hell doesn't look the same for everyone else. Hell is a multi-faced mirror with countless reflections caging you inside the hollow of a diamond so you can see the glaring facets you refuse to look at. Hell is not always a place; sometimes it's a feeling, sometimes it's an event--sometimes it's a person.

Hell shows itself not only in death. Hell is everywhere--it's just somewhere around the corner of the street, hiding its face behind a newspaper, waiting for you to make the wrong choices. It's just somewhere behind you, an invisible fiend watching your every step, waiting for you to stumble. And once you do, it will laugh at you. You won't hear its sinister laughter, nor would you notice the subtle shift of the ground beneath your feet.

The odds are no longer in your favor.

Hell is cold. Hell is calculating. Hell is terrorizing.

Hell is reaching inside yourself, searching your heart, trying to find out how you really feel--but ending up finding nothing. Hell is opening your mouth to scream but nothing comes out because there is nothing left inside. Hell is the immovable boulder weighing down on your chest, it is the desperate need for the ability to cry, it is the panic and anguish that comes when you realize you can't.

Hell is watching him with his perfect hair and perfect eyes and perfect smile, knowing he isn't even aware of your plain existence. Hell is realizing for the first time that unrequited love is not as romantic as people say. Hell is waiting, waiting, waiting for something you know won't come. Hell is finally getting the nerve to say 'I love you' but only receiving silence in return. Hell is laughing it all away and saying it's nothing, I understand why, all the while wishing you could run to someplace where you can cry and scream without being heard. Hell is falling in love.

Hell is the red mark on your record, the frowns on your parents' faces, the pitying looks on your friends' expressions. Hell is the star you failed to reach, the shaking heads, the consoling pats on your back. Hell is the mocking laughter ringing in your ears even after they've long ended. Hell is the condescending voices echoing from somewhere in the back of your mind, reminding you who you were, who you've been, and who you are now. Hell is laughing at you. Hell is disappointment. Hell is trying and trying over and over and never succeeding. Hell is failure.

Hell is building your life with damning patience, with meticulous thoroughness, with painstaking care, and having it all knocked down to the ground. Hell is desperation, hopelessness. Hell is the blooming rose standing amidst a bed of withered blossoms. It's the touching beauty of life at its most exquisite, the surging anticipation, the reckless triumph, and the next day when you look for the rose you only find a withered stalk. Hell is hope.

Hell is the silent night torn apart by raging screams and flying furniture. Hell is the deafening wail of a child accompanying every insult, every furious, careless word that escapes your mouth. Hell is the empty threat he took as a promise. Hell is holding his hand and realizing it's no longer as comfortable as it used to be. Hell is the sadness weighing on your apartment, so palpable you could wrap your fingers around it and try to snap it--but you can't, because hell is already there. Hell is the silence, the eternal quiet screaming in your ears, as you pack your suitcase, as you stuff in old photographs trapped behind the cracked glass of their picture frames. It's the painful need to sit still and concentrate on breathing because you suddenly forgot how to. It's looking around you, seeing the stripped bed, the empty closet, the unsettling dust floating along the light filtering through the misted windows. Hell is falling out of love.

I could go on about hell forever, and I would never be able to enumerate all of them because there can only be so many words that can describe hell, and there are too many people in this world who see different kinds of hell. I cannot accurately define hell, I don't know much about it. I cannot claim to have seen hell, because I've never been to a place like it before.

But I know that hell is cold.

Because hell is not always made of fire.

often misunderstood
because I'm running.
no more keeping up
with myself.
fevered flowers:
the scent is toxic,
moist petals are
slowly drying as you stare.

love confessions, it's
intelligent not to touch
those thoughts.
my skin screams,
resistance is useless when
a mind is set.
let's enjoy listening to
the wind dancing with water.
abrasive weather
whichever way you stretch.

calm bleeding
only the eyes are shocked.
ultimatums of
healthy habits
only make the sickness creep
harder to keep
back from the surface.
sharp neglect    
there's a lot of goodness here.

cornered commitment
maybe all these tricks aren't magic.
ill tricks in disguise
all encountered is an illusion.
take time
see what pleases and let all else fade
or pass through the transparent torture
that is easily forgotten.

sweet spins
strong arms encase a shattered weakness.
strong sense
for breaking shells built based on fear.
some sanity
in telling the truth boils into insanity.
sane souls
just want crushing cement for breakfast.
smashed spine
twisted into fine petals which cracked.
slowly sweetly
the wind poured down upon the fire.
sweat soured
each hand that reached for another.
screaming search
eye to eye to soul to heart to ache to no.

frightened frustrations
confusion will keep the puppets hanging in waiting.
suspended in space, it's not a race.
a test in patience which will soon be aced.

It’s no longer the escape it used to be,
My thoughts- they’re too full,
They can’t let me be free.

The gift of deliverance,
How I cherished it long,
The hours of relief;
All those times I was gone.

I was taken away,
With people I trust,
But the gate- it won’t open,
I’ve allowed it to rust.

All those places I travelled;
That wonderful feeling of welcome,
It’s all starting to fade now,
No…I can’t let this happen.

But I know it’s no use,
I’ve tried again and again,
Reality keeps intruding,
I can still see its grin.

Oh, how I wish I could go back,
To how it was before,
When I could walk freely in that realm,
When there was no lock on the door.

But instead I’m sitting, staring,
And all I see are pages,
It’s not like it used to be,
Where are all the dragons and mages?

I stare intently at the words,
But register only spaces,
There’s no one there to greet me,
No familiar faces.

This is when it happens,
When my reality takes the wheel,
It scares away my one reprieve,
It tells me what to feel.

No longer is there comfort here
Between this tattered cover,
My real life is weighing down on me;
Begging that I take over.

I gently close the book I love,
And resist the urge to cry,
But it’s time to focus on myself right now,
It’s time to say goodbye.

And we showered in prison sized cells,
white tiled and PVC clad,
the B&Q; recommends it!-
hells.

And we died in those showers
that were prison sized cells,
white tiled and PVC clad,
doors-are-broken-again-
hells.

And we were saved by the
eat again yellow doors,
peering through blind black windows
into the clear streets at dawn.

And they yelled with a siren mouth
***** blue profanity and
you left your mark with a ****** white tee,
wet with the water that
hurtled down from the
shower head, unclean and *****.

I will do anything for you,

I would walk the earth,
I would try and kiss the stars,
I would try and give you the galaxy,
If I knew it would make you smile again.

I would turn your tears into gold,
I would be your shoulder to cry on,
I would be your light,
Because I know you're scared of dark,
If I knew it would make you smile again.

I would give up everything I stood for,
I would sacrifice my life for yours,
I would give my soul to the Devil himself,
And burn in hell for all enterinty.
If I knew if would make you smile again.

Because they say that the Saddest people are the Kindest,
Because they don't wish to see anyone else suffer the way they did.