sun, was done and dusted.

by the slate they talked, shining.
faces older now, friendship retained.

learned a little more on life, the small
things, the wisdom rings
the generations.

i did not need all the mange tout.

sbm.

The way you
  walked was
    vivacious,
and the way
   you spoke
was taunting.

       When you walked into
       the room my eyes became
                     hooked...
           and the fixation
      continues to
manifest.

how does something i love so completely
flood my heart
full of absolute and perfect happiness
and break it in two
in the same breath?

the road less traveled is the longest one.
the waters i swim are the deepest.
but if my blistered feet keep walking
and i keep my head just above the waves
i'll find what i always knew to be true
and trash the ideas of practicality

You were my rock
my shoulder boulder
eroded over time by mental health
that crept into the room by stealth
but remember all we talked about
you were the foundation
the building blocks
the "we can do this".

Navigate the spell of despair
bear the insignia with pride
dispel and expel the mental scars to bare
we were a team dude
you were my rock in the storm
we were shorn from the same cloth
you and I.

Never ones to shelter from the thunderstorm
arms outwards, dancing in hedonistic pleasure
revel in the present and like Leftfield said:
Release The Pressure.

We were Gods mate, legends in our own time
I am left to decipher why man why
you felt so alone you couldn't reach out
to family, to a friend and have a good cry;
I would've held you mate
like you held me that day.

I had a call from an unknown number
I picked it up in random wonder
to be told your body was found this morning
attached to a home-made rope
feet in shadow by your painted awning
utterly gutted
my brain waves disrupted
that my Sifu, my Teacher, My Friend
life was suddenly spent.

I just sent a letter of poems
for you to read with my consent.

I feel lost.
I feel broken.
The demons we talked about
I've kept them in control
now out of control
the devils have awoken.

You were my friend
like a brother
from another mother

I am left to wonder
where are you now
but know now that your pain has ceased
there will always be a jigsaw piece
of the blue sky missing;
go with God my friend
and forever rest in peace.

We are raised to fall in love. We are wired
to find someone, something, to make us happy.
We are told that it cannot be done alone. Hand flat
against my thigh. Neck crooked, arched in the broken
bone agony of release. Round rings of red inflammation litter
the surface area making up the forearms where ember
once touched skin. Each stroke of the canvas sizzling
into life with a calm hiss. Whites of sallow eyes are
juxtaposed by the dark rings around them before shutting
themselves to darkness. Another stroke, another hiss.
Head tilted back and our body is not our own. Her face is mine.
Our face is our own twisted in slack-jawed ecstasy.
Another, another. Clenched hands stretch lifetimes
across paneled floors. Remember the first time.
There in the laundry room. Pierced skin. Burnt flesh.
Remember the pain. Another, another. The *******
revulsion of knowing it is never going to end. The feeling
of emptiness. The feeling of never being whole again.
Another. Knowing that the body is only the conduit.
The surface area on which to catalyze reaction.
Where we end and we begin. It is all one body. Our hand.
Yes. Our neck. Yes. Our face. Our forearm. Our needle.
It is all one body. Another, another, we need another.
Melted into one. We twist and moan and **** and
bleed and bite and destroy another and another
and another. We are all the same. No longer feel
the cigarette, twisted and held in cauterized flesh.
Quickly. Each ******, each stroke a beautiful painting.
Colors blur the walls of vision and we are all the same and we
are all the same and we are all the same. Another.
We are raised to fall in love. We are raised to fall in love.
Another, another. We are all the same. Where do we end.
We are all the same. We are raised to fall in love.
Where do we begin. We are wired to find external happiness.
The needle in the haystack. Where do we begin.
There is a disconnect between the ideal and that first,
****** ******. There, in the laundry room, needle in my
arm and inside a girl I don’t remember.
Each stroke paints a perfect picture. Her face is mine.
Remember the first. Remember the last.
We are all the same. There is
no end. There is no beginning.
We are all the same.
We are raised to fall in love.
There is a disconnect.
Each ****** ******,
each whispered hiss.
Oblivion.

Here we come, happiness.

I hear the woman underneath me.
She’s sore, tired.
Worn out from some
other man, I’m sure.
She croons in my ear.
Make love to me, she whispers,
take it easy, nice and slow.
Not too much, not too much.

And the man at the bar next to mine,
talking to the bartender,
cautiously ordering a drink.
Can’t have too much, he says,
can’t get too drunk, he says.
Not too much, not too much.

It seems everyone is taking
it slow these days. Too much
caution for this shotgun
existence. Too much fear. You can
smell it on them like cigarette stench
from a guilty smoker.
Everyone is rolling up their windows,
staying indoors, under the covers.
No one lives much anymore.
Not too much, not too much.

I down my drink at the bar and
break the man’s nose.
He doesn’t fight back when
he gets up. I spit and walk out.
Home to the woman and
she’s crooning in my ear.
Not too much, not too much.
I am violent and rough and she hates me,
I can see it. Still, when it’s over she leans
towards me and asks if I love her.
She says it with hurt eyes.
“Well, do you!?” she cries.

Not too much, not too much.

The odds of being struck by lightning
Are one in 3,000
I watched from a window
As 13 people that were not me
Got struck by it
Just a few feet away
From where I was standing
And I am left thinking
About how that could have so easily
Been me
Out of curiosity
I looked up odds in a lifetime
I wanted to know
How often things happen
What came up
Consisted only of odds of dying
And I laughed
Thinking
About all of the other odds
That were more important than death
That were more interesting
Than freak accidents
And demise
How about the odds of meeting someone
With the same exact name
Or the odds
Of loving someone who loves the same stuff
As you do
The odds
Of throwing a perfect game in baseball
Are one in 18,192
The odds of finding your soulmate
Are one in 10,000
And more people are concerned
Of getting bit by a shark than finding love
The chances of that happening
Are one in 11.5 million
Sharks are not the enemy
We are
If you ask me
I would say
I'd much rather focus
On the rare positives
There are good things that happen daily
That happen unexpectedly
It is better to hope for those
Than worry about ones unlikely
You can measure the past
All you want
Give it numbers
And try predict future
But one thing you cannot do
Is measure life.