Twisted bone towers thirty feet high.
Etched with every promise and every word the doctors said to you. Resonating with the residual chemo left inside.
You collapse.
All those words,
All of those people building you up,
All of it just to watch you fall.

That moment, That realization
That all they say are pretty words
Ego boosters in forms of compliments
Reasons and excuses, realizing its not real
That all they're trying to do?
is make me feel better

one heart broken
two blood shot eyes
a cup of humility
a dash of kindness
and let it sit for a week
this is the recipe for new beginnings

This final day I write you.
My tragedy only to be statistic.
My thoughts malicious and sadistic.
I crave its emptiness more and more.

When strife matches love, as anger matches passion.
I sleep through  my painful recollections
before I take on water as cold as the reflection in the mirror.
Conscious but still dreaming.
Analyzing my dreaming
Understanding but not telling
Only for the sick pleasure of knowing.

Its time to wake up
Time to live my dreams
In a sick twist of fate
I cast aside feeling

As I looked into the face of a young boy.
I could see the explosion inside his pupils,
Almost as bright as the grin that pierced his closed smile.
It was all too apparent.
He had an idea.

nothing more than a child with a pencil
a mere morsel in an ocean of literature
not something to pay a bill
something I learned before I was mature
my words work wonderful swan songs that serenade simply bite by bite  slowly swallowing you body and soul. That my words make youforget that a poem is more than a string of words tied to a cannonball meant to make an impact. in fact is a cannon ball will explode somewhere behind the broken memories and hiding demons. That the "miracles" that flow from my mind is nothing but insidious illusions that are shrouded in deeper meanings. When in reality I just want to scream because I've been given all the pieces but I don't have the key.

my hair was harvested with the fall
my skull was frozen with the winter
my body was buried with the spring
I sprouted in the summer

A knight in shining armor where none no a shine brighter
That one that King Arthur had to make another seat for
Lux was her name, She stole the crowd with her laugh
She stole their hearts with her determination
Lux my angel, It's time to sleep, no more stories
You have preschool in the morning....
Maybe just one more

When you read this do not do so till you know it by heart.
Do not take such rich words and condemn them to thoughtless actions.
Take each word with its bite in hand and eagerly call upon the beast.
That today was not granted to you but it was seized by you. The moment u decided to open your eyes today you signed a contract. You signed under the clause, "Today is mine, I will take it by the throat. If I am to live today then so be it, If I am to die then it shall be on my own accord. That the will demonstrated today will be the call to my self to resonate within the reflection of my own image. That I will stand up against all odds daring those who stand against me to not do so one by one time.
After all, What is the point of taking on the world, if you expect it to come at you one by one. Your faults will follow you as long as you ask for the handicap. That when you rise to the challenge others will be there to challenge. That the time to act is now. And now does not have a later. You stand at the top of a mountain others wish to own, It is not the competitive nature of life that makes this so but your undying will to carry your loved ones upon your shoulders. Be proud of yourself because sometimes no one will
If you can read this and speak it, Then do it no disrespect and roar!

Standing in between two bodies. One is the same and the other I'm not too impressed with. What gives me this lump in my throat is knowing that I may never see either of these two again if I don't choose. I hold each individually. A warm tear rolls down my cheek onto the boy that lay in my arms dying. His red and black jacket that hid his worst fears. His torn jeans I couldn't ever find the time to sew for him. Never finding time to listen to his stupid insecurities.  His breath slowly reaching the point of no more, The feeling of holding back what I need to say to him burns almost as bad as the heart break he faced the day he was left alone.
I hold him close. If only I could have explained to him how stupid he was being. I sat there, I could hear the footsteps. I can feel Myself begin to walk away. And so he lay bloodied and bruised. Alive, but very much dead. I turn to Myself who is already halfway out the door? "Will he be alright?" I ask Myself. Taking a longing look at the boy on the floor.
I couldn't lie to myself anymore. I walked over, my eyes became solid,  no more blue and green with a sense of instability in my nature. Just a solid cold blue. I put my hand on my shoulder with a half ***'d grin. "No,but he's better off dead anyway." I look at the buzzing flies crawling on the boy, the supposed man holding him close. I know i'm only wasting words on a soon to be dead idiot.

My bones sing songs of distant memories
One's of my happiest days
Some of my worst
They retell stories of what I became
What was to become of me
My age
But it doesn't matter
I don't care what they sing
I don't care what their personification is
They will still find themselves in a dogs mouth
Some day

I learned to ride a bike today.
Eighteen years old.
Little late I know.
But you know what they say.
Better late than never.
Once again, kinda *****.
You weren't there for this one either

Ripped in two pieces at one place
At another time it could've been different
Now that the embers float in the air
Now that I know whats left standing
With the trees beginning to sprout
I'll survive

The Declaration of life is so:
The ability to introduce stimuli into your life so choose wisely
but not to soon
judge sparingly
but be ready when the  shadow of regret blooms

There is beauty in resolved emotions.
Storms quelled and waters without motion.

There is beauty in unresolved conflict.
the matter of misunderstanding because of instinct.

I have dined on cadavers of my broken memories.
I have whined at the intrusiveness of tragedy

My dignity denied and pulverized pride has left me thirsting inside.

Left to my own design I twist and turn into an image more stern.

In turn I can feel my match stick burn
I yearn.
I burn.
But i carry myself inside of nesting dolls that falls at the sight of you.

I can only wish you feel this way too.

My memories meddle in forbidden affairs
My eyes reflecting the sheen of the past
I open doors I thought I'd have the strength to close
bleeding hands teach me the lesson of what not to do.
It seems these days that I just can't stop the blood

I think, for a matter of fact.
I feel, I project, I confide, and of all things I hope.

With that in my mind, I reflect and coincide with these aspects so covalent.

But what about what I reject?
The matter of the individual is the gradual unequivocal repression and growth of that individual

It is required for the soul

Nothing is required.

Nothing is required beyond what existence requires.
"good" or "bad"

And just as people exist so too does existence.
We demand so much and request so much.

Existence can only provide what we provide for existence.

This is my semblance to actuality, not minimalism.

I reject what could be, for a future that's beyond me.

And there I saw it, the sky fell with burning cinders.
My mind almost speechless
"Oh ****"

Its a tragedy marked only by our own lack of determination
Its a sentence that breeds our own incompetence
Learning from experience
In the end, Your heart?
Always wins

We ask what it looks like, But you have not seen it
We ask what it felt like, but you haven't felt it
You assure us it's there, You assure us someone did something
Someone turned off the light and You want us to find the switch
You beg and plead for the light to come back on.
But we can't as much as we want to help you
Because the light,
Never existed...

You never fall in love with a poet
Just his words
The way they captivate you
The way they taste like honey to ears
It's alright though
Better only one heartbreak instead of two

Wisdom does not come with age
It ripens the same way a peach does
Wisdom can be plucked in the same way
one would a peach
with both experience
bitterness in hand

In the eye of the maelstrom I found myself. As the torrent of pain surrounded me from all sides. I began to rip torrents into tradewinds and I rode on that agony to new seas. my memory is clouded by the fog, but i search for familiar seas.

I took the core of my suffering out with a pen; with shakey hands I cut with my own words.
gusts of air left my lungs.
I danced for strangers to watch my blood fall. I medicated with carnival tickets and white girls to ease out of winter into spring. I relished in working till my bones bruised, and I still felt empty from it all. because it's empty and lonely in the eye of the storm. I realized that the wind that blows through my hair is apart of me. it is me. That every wave that dares knock me topside. is just someone i've grown to hate. and as my hate grows, the waves grow higher, and as I'm consumed with wrath, the wind blows harder. but i know now. through all the pain and torment. that I am the storm. and if I make it to land, reckoning is upon it. but if i'm to sink to the bottom of the sea I hope no one is hurt for it.

First girl I dated
Second Girl I loved
No need count the one before her
Brianna was so much more
and not much less
of what I expected
to fall in love
with

thirty is enough for one night or so I thought
why not one more
A flick of the wrist
dab of ink here
I play with the pen as if we're friends

I split my hand open just to watch the anger in me grow.
I tore myself deep inside to watch the boy inside suffer.
I took the time to call you just so that I would cry.
I stood in the doorway to show you how little I wanted to be there.
I could have tried harder, I admit it.
No, that's a honest lie, I couldn't have.

Remembering the death of yourself is as important as your birthday.
Do not forget the moments you spent devouring yourself for the contentment of others.
In remembrance, give memory to the times you've destroyed yourself for others.
what is more than you?
the others who've devoured themselves for you.
We've all got a cost; whether it's our plasma, body or emotions.
With this notion in mind, keeping in mind,
we ourselves are for sale.
Every transaction is not without gain and undoubtly with loss.
uncourtly as it may be. we find value in our transactions.
when we partake in putting weights on scales who's value only exists based on realities distorted by histories written by victors who don't care nor dare trace scars at two a.m.  and say.
...
...
...
I love you.
Because eight letter sentences don't make happy endings. actions speak louder than words so what the hell are we saying? who are we portraying  when we betray ourselves thinking eight letters can build a castle.

Memento mori  to the being who dies every day.

This is reality
It's not without burden and its not without wounds.
But the burden of living gives way to boons so flavorful and delightful.
I might die every day
Just to live once.

We'll Start off, making our way towards oblivion
The smell of cheap cologne and drinks
We'll ink the way our hearts bleed onto our arms
No reason to hide our motives when we cast a line
after all.
We both bit at the bait. And now you have me.
And I have you.
You're forehead pressed against mine
grins as wide as the man on the moon
Stealing kisses here and there, Its a shame
We wont remember the night

We debate and argue its meaning
Its ability absolute
Its hold without stain
It could have chosen differently
It could have given but today it took
Just give it up
Theres no point debating time and its meaning

I hinge words not for your benefit
but for my game of arousal
an amusement
because what's the point of life
if you can't turn on a dime

The curve of my body
The shadow that paints my bed and floor. My window tells me the tale of how the rain falls. Sometimes when I listen, It's a sad story. sometimes it's not. Today the rain just fits the scene. My eyes open slowly. My face shunning itself from the light for the sake of dreams. A childhood memory,  That I can't entirely recall. But it's morning now. Time to put that behind me. Time to wake up with the summer rain