that cold, brisk sorta smokey smell of autumn tho that infuses your nostrils like an ancient tonic which abruptly awakes you from ugh slumber and blah dumb depression, and, somehow, weirdly heals the affects of those two festering holes left by energy vampires that ****, literally and figuratively

when your cold
fingers get the
chance, let their
haunting abilities
of ink dance
across the fine
white of paper
and choreograph
what it's like
to dance in
the vast nothingness
of an inevitability
you were too
curious to prolong.

I was ten when
I got caught stealing
blue chalk from the pool hall.

My daddy wore me out
with a black leather belt.

He said *What'd I tell you
about writing sad poems
on the back of the stones
at the orphan's graveyard?

I am leaving my dear
  one of us has to go
    and I don't think  
      no
I know that it won't be you
  my love
    we are haunting these walls
       with the memories of a beginning
          that has long since passed
I know my angel
  that this hurts
     I know
       that this is tearing a hole in your heart
I know because my own heart
    is moth eaten and
      and if I could find a way
        to rekindle this love again
I would my sweet
   I swear it
      but the nights are too long and we're shackled
    to a love that once was
a fire that burned beyond the obvious
  the obvious
the obvious that we could never keep
      the storm from eventually blowing
over
and I know I'm rambling on my dove
but
    but I can't leave until I'm certain
           positive
that you understand I am not leaving
because  
    I don't love you anymore
   I am leaving because I believe
that if I steal your essence any longer from the world
    that you shall crumble in my hands
   and I will cease to be
so you see my dear I have to go
    because I believe that we both deserve
more

When the voices of children. are heard on the green
And whisprings are in the dale:
The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,
My face turns green and pale.

Then come home my children. the sun is gone down
And the dews of night arise
Your spring & your day. are wasted in play
And your winter and night in disguise.

Reading to me is like being in a relationship. You invest your time getting to know characters like you do getting to know someone. There are no pictures in novels so you fall in love with a characters personality and heart instead of their looks which I think a lot of people don't do in the real world anymore. You go on adventures, you feel things and parts of you that you thought died are brought back to life with one simple quote, phrase or line. The characters may be fictional but the things the characters go through sometimes are actual things people go through. It's nice to have places and people to lean on when reality gets to be a little too much. The best part is that the characters never leave. If you miss them, just open the book and there they are. People complain that reading takes too much time. Books are like life. You have to take it one chapter at a time because if you move too fast, you will miss the most important moments. Life already moves too quickly. It's nice to be able to pick up a book, take your time and catch your breath.