There are times,
Life will seem to give more downs than ups
More losses than wins

You'll question yourself is life worth living?
Why do i go through these things?

Truth is pain is inevitable
But the good news is it never lasts
It was never meant to break our spirit
But to prove we have beating hearts

I hope you see the beauty in the pain
As better things are about to come

Everything happens for a reason
And with time you'll tell why

My mind resembles something like
a rabid VCR—baring its teeth,
foaming, unapologetic, at the mouth,
rewinding and replaying and repeating
all of the small cuts of two people
I swear I used to know and love.
Rerunning a patchwork reel of the scenes
I can stand to remember—
(which is all of them when I’m feeling
particularly masochistic).
Rhythmic static travels from
top to bottom of my mind’s eye—
a familiar flaw, cracking and popping
as the picture struggles to come clear.
I try to stop it—all of it.
Rip plug from outlet—
throw this snarling archaic beast
against some unsuspecting wall.
But it’s made in the good ol’ US of A
and runs on something
a bit more complicated than
any energy they can send me a bill for.
So I'm stuck
in this cyclical hell,
where there is no fresh air,
and the only oxygen I can get
has to be ****** through
a barely functioning dollar store crazy straw.
And, really, my only anger is directed at Dante
for not including this part
in his little ditty about the Inferno.
I swear I’d take
trying and failing
to escape a river of boiling blood
over whatever it is that causes me
to create a dramatic VCR metaphor
any day.

when you wallow in the past, the past is your future
dark days behind become dark days ahead
when those ghosts become your rulers
join them, because you're already dead

She’s been put together;
spattered with
handfuls of shiny warning labels that
no one ever took the time to read,
only to reside in a lonely wooden box—
sheltered, still, and safe.
Living unlit and knowing nothing but patience,
she’s unaware of all the wonderment
that resides just beneath her own surface.
When the box finally opens,
she’s handled carefully
by strong, gentle hands that recognize
all of her treacherous potential.
She doesn’t flinch,
when those trusted fingers
strike the match
to light her fuse.
She doesn’t fret
when the heat catalyzes
a chemical reaction—
one far beyond her control.
She only sings
when her own jolt sends her rocketing
a hundred feet into the night sky.
And when she can’t stand the pressure
any longer
she swallows what pride she has left
and explodes—
a million strands of glittering fire
decorating the dark, ominous unknown.
Just for a moment, she hopes
she’s the most beautiful thing
those hands have ever touched.
But as she fizzles out into a small cloud
of smoke and something that once was,
she accepts her purpose
as the short-lived,
soon forgotten,
spectacularly unsuspected
good time.

“Man is not what he thinks he is…”*

When the vessel is breached,
all of its dark matter seeps from
its fresh fractures.
No longer the secure transport
for such highly valued secrets,
its worth now teeters on worthless.
Weathered from unwelcome silence
and worn from
a thousand whips of the tongue—
it rests empty but easy;
never again to be admired
for its heavily cloaked mysteries.
And with every drip from every crack,
it finds solace in all of these
parted shadows;
it finds meaning in
all of this strange new light.

*“…he is what he hides.”

Dear lonely girl,

why is it that you choose to cry
about once again not having a valentine?

why does a stupid date
fueled by cheap chocolate
and ****** cards
make your very core ache?

you don't even really like flowers,
why receive a gift of something
that's overpriced and already dead?

having a valentine
would just be another broken half,
of a stalemate love.

you don't need no Romeo,
you'll both only end up dead.

it's just another day lonely girl,
another day for you to be happy
that once again, you get to live.

Love, Me
(lonely girl)

You're about to lay and rest and
I'm about to keep awake.
You, to dream of her and
Me, to think of you.
While walking under the moon
Waiting for the right time, soon.

But looks like I'm just like a woman
Hoping for the stars to come
In sickness
Of rain in july.