Some people listen to hear,
and some listen to respond.

Some people talk to be heard,
and some talk because they can’t stand the silence.

I had a conversation with the devil
off the books; it wasn’t recorded,
the correspondence was something to revel
but it can never be reported.
We sat across from eachother at perfect level
but I still felt small and distorted.
In his presence I was disheveled
but I wasn’t the one who was sordid,
it appears he intended me as a vessel,
viewing it as I had been rewarded.

I had demons on each side
striking a bargain over my shoulder,
the heat in the room magnified;
I started to smoke and smolder.
Then they began to attack my pride
while reminding that I’m getting older.
I couldn’t run nor hide
as their weight began to feel like a boulder.
Their evil grins stretched wide
freezing me in place; my soul grew colder.

The third course had arrived
a pound of flesh disguised as an entree,
and I was very quickly advised 

to be mindful of what I say.
As though I found it deprived
it would be wise not to give that away.
I knew the victim hadn’t survived,
and my stomach turned at the hue of grey.
They asked if I had been baptized
and if I did, how frequently did I pray.

The devil licked his lips
and he whisked his wine,
more aggressive became his sips
as he frequently eyed mine.
Providing helpful quips
like the year, saying it was divine,
and dolling out some tips
one being that it was rude to decline.
He told me that he held all the chips
and that I only had a vine,
and he was determined to have me in his grips
regardless of the strength of my spine.

I finally came to the conclusion
that it was my turn to speak,
but amongst great confusion
I made no sound, not even a squeak.
It had to be part of his illusion,
I refused to feel so weak.
He implanted the delusion
but each word began to leak,
and with each pull and each extrusion
I voiced of the havocs he would wreak.

He asked if he could reply
as he was just misunderstood,
and though I knew it a lie
I told him that he could.
So he began to fake cry;
swore his potential to be good,
while pointing up to the sky
blaming his flaws on childhood.
A story I knew better than to buy
paired with an excuse that I never would.

Now dessert, finally at the brink,
anxiously waiting to get up, away I’ll slink.
He told me not every soul is equal no matter what I think,
and the apple is poison but I should try the drink.
Held up the worlds suffering and made sure I didn’t blink
and said “you can fall deeper even while you sink.”
But the conversation was done, I realized I’d been hoodwinked.
He just grew in size, I was never the one to shrink.

I got up and I rung the bell,
announcing we were done, no need to dwell.
Extending my hand out to meet his cold shell,
I was no longer under anyone’s spell.
He bought my false thanks, as far as I can tell,
and I informed him he should return to his cell.
Meeting his eyes I pushed to wish him well,
I may not believe in Heaven but I have seen Hell.

I’m sleeping tied in knots,
I’m waking up still yawning;
it’s just become too much.
I’ve been multiplying my shots
looking for an ounce of calming,
but it can be hard to walk, without a crutch.

The stars are looking bleak
I’ve been busy living on the ceiling,
and prodding at my skin
as it’s become numb to all feeling.
And It’s always latest at night
when your head finds a light,
and your mind takes flight
then you gain blinding sight.

I’m sleeping with clenched fists,
and I assume with clenched teeth;
it’s just become this routine.
Body and soul contorts and twists,
layered both above and lying beneath
it’s the most flexible and restrained, I think I’ve ever been.

I had plans for this time,
but they’re reduced down to “oh well,”
begrudgingly accept that this is fine,
maybe dress it up with a “this is swell.”
I might never again see the light
but I’ll adapt to living in the the dark,
evolve, survive; flight or fight
I’ll be nocturnal existing in the park.

Victory has a hundred fathers
but it’s true defeat is an orphan.
The little things that no one bothers,
can be the greatest gifts; overflowing with endorphins.

Can you tell me where to find the bright side?
Apparently it holds all of the answers.
to cure the sickness that plagues my mind;
the worst but least lethal of all the cancers.

I’m counting the minutes
and I’m stacking the week,
and the intensity in it;
so insanely heavy I just can’t speak.
When will these thoughts diminish?
It’s growing stronger, it’s turning bleak.
The floors will shine and shimmer with wax and finish,
but it will never ever silence the creak.
The floorboards inevitably became weak.

You’re six feet tall and more feet apart
from anyone you claim to be close to.
Struggling to breathe and a defunct heart,
in denial of prophecy; inevitably it came true.

You didn’t even pretend you ever cared for me,
we both know we’re not the ones you wanted to see.
If only you could realize what was important in life,
maybe you wouldn’t face the close in strife.
If only you could realize what this was all about,
maybe your funeral wouldn’t be cardboard cut outs.
In your last breath of air,
was there regret or despair?

It’s the ones that you don’t peg for depth
that seem to never be fully understood.
I’ve watched how easily they’ve wept,
and immediately reverted back to wood.

You didn’t even pretend you ever cared for me,
couldn’t care less; we’re supposed to be family.
If only you could realize what was important in life,
then you wouldn’t have replaced your kids and wife.
If only you could look back on all those years,
maybe you’d hold your kids instead of your beers.

No invite for dining with the dead,
no faking pleasantries unpleasantly.
Breaking promises along with the bread,
and never present even presently.
No invite for dining with the dead,
ignoring a mess while eating messily.
Smelling copper while tasting lead,
feeling separated both separately.

In your last breath of air,
did you notice we weren’t there?
In your last breath of air,
did you start to care?

No invite for dining with the dead,
no faking pleasantries unpleasantly.
Ignoring last call and ignoring bed,
my mental exhaustion is kicking in mentally.
No invite for dining with the dead,
ignoring a mess while eating messily.
The scene will remain within my head,
and my refusal to be desperate has grown desperately.

Lying in your arms,
the light bouncing off your skin.
Pressing snooze on all my alarms,
Baby, we should be sleeping in.
Only you can gift the sun
and together we bask in the rain.
You’re naturally my only one,
you effortlessly exist and heal all my pain.

I wish to free up more space
for you; forever in my mind,
‘cause it’s such a messy place,
I don’t want you ever to be confined.
I want to write calligraphy on your skin,
illustrate every word I want to write for you.
Sail my fingertips up, down, around, out and in,
and on your gentle curves I’ll follow the map I drew.

You’ve got the eyes of the stars,
and your lips; as crucial as the air.
Combined warmth of the Sun and Mars,
and a heart of gold, but more valuable and more rare.
Only you can make a void gleam,
I’ve never loved anyone as I love you.
Darling, you’ve always been my dream,
and God, did my dream come true.

I wish to free up more space
for you; forever in my mind,
to memorize each feature of your face,
a more beautiful sight you’ll never find.
I want to write calligraphy on your skin,
illustrate every word I want to write for you,
and when I finish, again I’ll begin,
‘cause each and every time it still feels new.

Her sparkling shooting star eyes
stripped and read down to my soul,
I wonder how did she find a prize,
in what once felt like an engulfing hole?
Our thoughts meet eachother
and dance up in that invisible air.
Just us two, never another,
and I am already waiting there.

I wish to free up more space
for you; forever in my mind.
Any other thought feels like a waste,
another view and I might aswell be blind.
I want to write calligraphy on your skin,
illustrate every word I want to write for you.
Trail my fingertips to trace, caress, drag and spin,
deciphering each inch, fibre and clue.

I’ve got a journey to make
and I have a soul to feed.
I don’t know which path to take,
but I’ll walk on even when my feet bleed.
The backdrop of my surrounding
blends and blurs to a perfect grey,
out of breath and my heart is pounding,
when I arrive I just hope I can stay.

Life is not one single race
don’t expel your energy just to run,
but always find something to chase
as tomorrow is promised to no one.

I’ve got a journey to make
and I have a soul to feed.
Climb up hill or dragged by the lake,
no way of knowing where each will lead.
I didn’t come with a map or a plan
and I don’t hold any bags of tricks,
just the argument of a straw man,
determined to cross the River of Styx.

Life is not one single race,
just when you end, another has begun.
So strive to finish, disregard what you place,
as tomorrow is promised to no one.

I’ve got a journey to make
and I have a soul to feed.
With a sense of dread I can’t shake,
doubt and worry sure like to breed.
If I was lost would I even know?
And if I did, would I admit it?
I’ll be carried by the wind’s blow,
but she’s always been my path, no one could split it.

Life is not one single race,
it’s crucial to always find the fun.
You’ll learn to lose, but lose with grace,
still tomorrow is promised to no one.

I’ve got a journey to make
and I have a soul to feed.
To this point I have yet to break,
in-fact I found and planted a seed.
Gifted another soul to share the skies,
now I know warmth and feel that all’s okay,
and the breathless beauty that shines in my eyes
reassured me without a doubt, this is the right way.

Life is not one single race,
it’s enjoying each second under the sun.
Sharing your heart, mind, soul and space
and my tomorrow is promised to only one.