I get nervous still, but not because I'm terrified of the crowd or the consequences but because I'm terrified of my words not connecting the dots between your thoughts and mine, there are uncountable ways of which one could compare the simplicity and tragic nature of a kite or balloon to life, the government, business, and thought..

And this seems to poetic to have any root in reality but maybe that's why I'm speaking this way.

I told you last time we met that I found myself thinking of you the other day and what are the odds of that, that we'd meet soon after.
But what I meant was I catch myself thinking of you every day in fact you'd be hard pressed to comb through my life with the Hubble telescope to find a moment I wasn't.
But I can't tell you that.
So dear sleep, why do you continue to evade me when I need you the most...
I'm injured by ricochet bullets from my own machine gun mouth.
And sliced open by my bladed tongue.
So come soon, because 911 has their hands full and I've been on hold for a while with a killer in the room and a little pink elephant.

The storm clouds outside refuse to cease and desist, the weather man has given up hope forecasting anything other than hail and grey skies, I don't mind that so bad, but dear sleep can I get a little break.
I've gone through three pairs of sneakers pacing around town already. The 3rd shift convenient store clerk has my usually ready at the walk through counter every night, but I never remember her name.

Work gave me a month’s medical leave, since then I'm not sure if I talked to anyone that wasn't a hallucination.
They all sound the same now, the only way I distinguish one from the next is if they are coming or going.
Those seem to carry their own tones, like some kind of polite masquerade where no one wishes to say what their really thinking because they’re not sure how it’s going to come across.

But it's all beyond me that anyone would care, because then what's the point of speaking?
Perfection as a concept is a sick joke and I don't understand why we feel restrained by it.
But dear sleep! please unlock the door and let me in,
for one the dog house ***** and two I get the point,
I should never have neglected your dreams.

My heart beat goes from obese to anorexic in a second
and it takes too long to fix it.

When you see me beating my chest its just to give it a quick rest.

Everything seems to take the best from me and distort it in an awful fashion like my most recent ex.

its like some horrible hex that’s been cast, my past keeps me guessing while my future keeps me wide awake.

I don’t always fit into the frame that I've claimed for myself, and those traits usually don’t look to good on me.

But I’m tired of feeling like I’m not worth it.

That frame I mentioned is still intact, but my pictures been defaced and the edges are torn.

I’m not asking you to help me paint over the profanity, just remind me of what I look like.

Be my mirror.

It’s back to apathy for me,
These aren't my intentions, but they are my retention's
I've wanted to live and love duty bound and nothing short of proud,
I’m loyal, willing to work, I’m honest even when you give me reason to doubt you,
I’m loving, even when you’re spiteful
I’m too willing to forgive,
But finally, I’m hateful that I can’t hate.
So I’d rather feel nothing.
If I could, but it would seem
I can’t escape.

To keep things simple, I'll stay outside of my mind and its overwhelming idealism that consumes everything I touch.
I'll simply dissect my vocabulary and boil my raw possibly misguided passion down for this last straw on my breaking back.

I've always thought how magnificent it would be to reveal everything that’s been drowning in my sea of anger slowly being picked apart by the sharks of alcoholism and other excuses.
But then I remember how much sweeter it is to say nothing every time you call me on the phone to say you’re sorry, and that you love me. Because it took you 20 years to realize you weren't really there, but I'm dam glad about that.
I'm dreaming of when I'm not the black sheep in the family anymore because by then I've turned every drop of sweat, blood, and whatever other ****** fluids there may be into pure gold!

If only to throw it at your feet and buy my ******* pride, dignity, respect, honor, and freedom from you and everything you represent and cram down others’ throats.
But I know I KNOW you won’t accept it... you wouldn't dare offer me that luxury.
So I thought I'd burn it right in front of you.
But the boy in me says no, find a better use or way, there is still a father in him, and the lessons he taught, you were blinded too due to your own stupidity.

He showed you respect, how to keep your spine straight when he spat in your face.
He left you plenty of space to become entirely your own being.
He taught you, that you should never turn down a man’s pure hearted generosity, it’s the easiest way to say *******.
He showed you that no matter how little you talk to someone, they will figure you out by filling in the spaces.
They will come to know a distant reflection of you.

And I watched you, collected finger prints off your unintentional ****** plans for your own soul.
All I can say that I really found out about you was that you were obsessed with a hate for your dead father and blinded by a rage to out due and condemn him in every way you could, even in the way you distanced yourself from your own wife.
I never could figure out why you two got married... was it just another business plan?
You know the sad thing is the men I respect the most in this world look up to you in some way or another.

And after all the silence I still haven't found a way to appropriately **** you off yet.
I am not worthless, I've spent an eternity trying to prove to no one that I'm not, don't you dare look at me that way either... I do it enough myself.
I've unwittingly fallen into the apparent family trap.
I just hope That the oath I swore to the devil and everyone that had more than a handful of conversations with me that I wouldn't...
That when I inevitably fail,  this ends with me.

Upon the day of my death, my last wishes are inscribed here.
I wish for Tyler Roth my closest friend, to hand down this will to whomever he sees fit, by chance I outlive him. Please had this to the next legal recipient.


They have granted me strength, enduring support, and became the mold from which I sprang from.

You, unknown to me who you are, yet it is to you that I entrust my bones and the flesh that expressed my wishes upon this world of which I can no longer call my own.

It is to you that I grant the strength of all my merits, and mistakes.
A dead mans wish, is the easiest to ignore, but with hope whatever sense of honor, respect, and pride you had in me you will not hesitate to bind yourself to the completion of this will.

To my people I give my wealth, my friends my property, my family my soul along with all its works, and to you my utmost important final desire, do not bury me!

For the love of all that is I.
Take my bones from my flesh, grind them down to powder and have them forged in a heat no lesser then the inferno in my soul!

Forge with it a tool, a weapon of the onward marching spirit!
Keep it close to you don't dare allow its blade to grow dull, its gleam to fade.
It is the embodiment of how you see not only my legacy but of what yours will become and of that to whom you will depart it upon.

Secondly take the remainder of what was once I and reduce it to a mixture of ash and dust.
Have it crystallized transmogrified in holy remembrance of what is unholy, because neither can exist Without the other.

Take it too the land of those who see value in nothing and yet still love everything.
Frame it high above covered by trees of beauty and grotesqueness so that you can only catch the light through this sprite of I on the entrances to my unnamed monument.
It will be my only way of saying hello and goodbye again.

Due this so that with the will and honor you've proven you have that you will not sit idly by saying he was a great man, or lesser things.

But that you will have no other choice but to say what have I left to accomplish of my own volition that blesses me with such honor, will, and pride as this old mans request to scatter his form.

To the forgotten words..
You will always be loved, from the moment I wrote you thought you discovered you were inspired by you, I imparted myself unto you.
You are my greatest failing, but it's not your fault.
As Lao Tzu once thought and successfully verbalized:

"If you are depressed you are living in the past if you are anxious you are living in the future. If you are at peace, you are living in the present."

You are because verbalization cannot adequately paint these things out so that they are recognizable, and of course my own neglect to nurture you.

You are beautiful, an elegant dance always retracing its own steps trying to find its name, its place on the stage of my tongue, you are bold and explosive, capable of crumbling the walls I've built.
But you are lost in line and the final contestants have already been chosen for this season.

You are forgotten, romanticized to ensure myself you were once worth it, but then wouldn't I remember you?
Wouldn't your name slip out under the covers of another's passionate explorations?
People often struggle to find something spectacular, constantly climbing mountains never looking anywhere but at the peak where the sun sits.
And although the view is gorgeous you may be blind by the time you get there.

Often we forget that before there was anything, a light to chase, glory for that matter, there was darkness.
An utter emptiness, which is now where you reside, and I've been to blinded by the light to go bumping around in that night to find you.

You, are not always wise, but you were mostly honest, although misguided from what I hear of you these days.
I do miss you, so if perhaps your rehearsals over.
The stage is set, and I've got my hands locked steady praying for your return, ready to burst into applause at the miracle of your existence.

A decade under the influence of a little devotional about faith and the greatest romances of the 20th century.

All of this time spent in Brooklyn, Miami, and El Paso yet you haven't replaced the ghost man on third. Someone needs to step up to the plate, put their money where their mouth is, and swing.

But in all of my blue heaven I've never known such divine intervention as sleep. Slowly sinking into me, capital m-e.

This photograph is proof only to your own disaster, this slow dance on the inside doesn't feel a thing like falling.

And since you’re gone, you got me. I'm still waiting on the pitcher’s mound screaming there’s no I in team. This is all now, a new American classic a one eighty summer during winters passing.

With that being said I wish I could say you’re so last summer, but the blue channel I watch now where our memories used to play tells me otherwise.

You know how I do, everything must go, and I don't believe it takes one to know one, because neither of us really were, but it made things easier.

Easier in way like what's it feel like to be a ghost, because my catholic knees aren't bent praying for you, I don't really believe that's god's sorta thing anyways.

And speaking of us I know you hated all the get rich quick schemes but who are you anyway, all your money let it go. You can't keep it,

I suppose the teams lucky that in the union we made, neither of us set phasers to stun. We were cute without the e and everyone knew it.

So I would say cut me up Jenny, but call me in the morning. Sometimes we need a sad savior to feel new again, sometimes if you see something, say something because I don't always know what I'm up against.

But I'll make **** sure that I'll let you live lucid. The light at the end of the tunnel is our last chance.

So good luck, this cruel word enterprise, this recurring dream of being painted in the dark losing color reminds me of wolves.

It's strange we should meet here holding the reigns together always being so apart. But I guess that's how you should live a day in the life of a pool shark. In record shape this violent tango has emptied the open register.