I watched the clock
7:39
7:40

In that minute
108 people died

what if one of those people happen to be
someone I knew
someone I love

so I have come to this epiphany
what the **** am I doing

I just wasted one minute of my life
a minute that someone could only wish for now
so why am I wishing my minutes away

love someone?
tell them
they don't love you back?
let them go. now.
have a test?
study
feeling sad?
cry
cry and cry and cry
feeling happy?
spread it

because every minute that passes
will never come back
and even though I love you,
the minutes are still passing,
and I know you are not coming back.

exhale a blue-grey  
nothing makes me feel this way
light, inhale, repeat

party at my place
yet i'm here in my own room
socially awkward

can't stay here too long
silent alone in my room
deep breath, here we go

My morning is simple; It always starts the same way.
Alarm, shower, brush teeth, eggs, repeat as many times more
as I need to repeat; 365, 24, 7, I can take it. Because at the end of the day,
I hit the sack, and then like clockwork; like a broken needle record on replay
Alarm, shower, brush teeth, eggs, and I'm out the door.

I work hard all day; when I'm not on the clock, I clock my punches at the gym.
I measure a punch-card for holes, or a punching bag for holds,
and I take pride in either; I forsake neither; I breathe in the aether
and breath out blood sweat and tears... but mostly sweat, truth be told.
My sweat is a constant, and I'll tell you; sometimes that gets old.

That's me though. I'm a fighter on the mat and in the cubicle. I write words so musical people say "That's beautiful," and it fills me with pride.
Words, fists, ink.
It doesn't matter; I give it my all every time and never stop to think
about the consequences it takes on my mind and my body; I don't blink
at the cracked knuckles bad punches provide.
at the cracked mirror that I look into after a bad review.
at the crack-*** asshats that talk down to me from their penthouse view.
at the minimum wage pockets full of pennies and dimes.

I don't blink; I don't think...
because if I did, I'd realize this is it. This is Hell.
But... I still wake up,
and put on my leather shell,
and then take it off when I hear the factory bell.
And I fall into bed with a smile on my lips;
Because one day life is going to be better than this.

The voice in the back; the one I don't listen to...
The cracks; the cynic's view, it screams "Life isn't fair! Life is just this!"
But I don't listen. I close my eyes and I make the American wish.
Life and liberty; with both I'm blessed.
But the second ones the one to bring a smile to these chapped lips.
Pursuit of happiness: Hell yes! I can get behind that wish...
So I'll Alarm, shower, brush teeth, eggs, as long as my clockwork heart ticks.
Because I trust in justice,
even if it's only injustice. **Even if life's only just this.

I knew this girl.
A beautiful girl.
Prettier than any other girl I had met.
She  was a one in a million kind of girl.
Not many were like her.
And she swore they all wanted to be her.
But I loved her nonetheless.

She took these photos, beautiful, magnificent photos.
I would look forward to them.
They provided a certain service for her.
They filled a void.
They were personal.
Artistic.
Special.
But they were not simply of her.
They were of her mind.
Her soul, her heart.

That girl.
One day she stopped taking those photos.
She lost her mind,
She lost her soul,
She lost her spirit,
She lost her will.
Her spark was gone.


To this day, I still miss those photos.