Death has a name and He plays a game with me every day
Tick tock the time on the clock is just a minute closer for the clock to stop ticking
Death, my old friend you're just mocking me
Running His finger around the clock and He
Just
Keeps
Ticking
Spilling precious seconds of bliss instantaneously like they weren't irreplaceably valuable
Dragging out months of misery full of tragedies that aren't in any way malleable
Death my old friend why don't you just give me a hand
So your time-keeping can end and I can just be as I am

Trying to write when your heart's not in it is like
Trying to breathe when your lungs aren't in it

Not only pointless, but also impossible.

Therefore, writer's block is a form of asthma.

I want to interconnect my soul to running water and rain and thunder
I want to feel electric shock waves of relief every time there is lightening
I want to crave sunlight on my skin after I take off the dark cloak of night that wraps around my body when the day breaks
I want to become weightless so I can take a nap on a leaf on a branch of a tree and find a home with the place that always knows how things go
I want to build a leaf house and forget about the world that kicked me out
I want to have a never ending love affair with those little ***** of rain leaking from the sky
That could be recycled dinosaur dragon sweat or the tears of Jesus and I want to revel in the possibility that the world can bring me
Away from the world that left me out

I fell in love with you because you were cautious with me. You were cautious with my heart. You were nervous and aware of every little thing you did or said; you were careful with me. I fell in love with you because you were my friend. You made me laugh. I started to feel safe and comfortable being around you because of how easily we got along, how simple it was being with you, and how happy I was in your presence. I fell in love with you because you listened to me. You looked at me and never averted your gaze. You soaked in every little thing I had to say. You made me begin to realize my ideas meant something. You became the ears for every idea that I felt able to share. You gave me the ability to share myself. I fell in love with you because you shared yourself with me, too. I fell in love with you because you were way more cautious with my heart than you were with yours. You were vulnerable with me; you let me in so quickly and so deeply. If you had any walls, then I never saw them. You made me feel like I didn't need walls either. I fell in love with you because of your interests, because of your intelligence, and because of your dreams and aspirations. I fell in love with you because of your kindheartedness, nobility, and because of your unfailing honesty. I fell in love with you because of your perseverance and your patience when I became hard to please. I fell in love with you because you saw me at my worst and still made me feel beautiful. I fell in love with you because you learned my deepest, darkest secrets and insecurities and still saw me as a whole person. I fell in love with you because you shared yourself with me and I was able to love you as a whole person, too. I fall in love with you every day. I fall in love with your smile and your laugh, just like I did the first night I met you. I fall in love with the words that you say and the respectful touches that you give me when I need them the most. I love you. I love the arches in your brows when you focus; I love the curves of your smile when you're intrigued; I love the way your hands fold over mine when you walk with me. I love the sound of your voice that feels like home; I love the sky blue color of your eyes that hold my gaze; I love the words that you say that make me feel safe. I love the way you love me and hold me accountable for being who I am. I love the way you encourage me and uplift me in every way that you can. I love who you are and I always will. I fell in love with you then, I love you now, and I will always fall in love with you every single day.

looking at an upside down picture of you
it would probably hurt you if you knew that i thought about it
i thought about looking at you from upside down
i thought about ending my life and taking a seat in the ground
it would probably hurt you if you knew
that i thought about it
i wish i could end the pain in my heart because i know it pains yours too
i wish i could smile in my eyes like yours do
i've memorized your face when you look at me
and yet i feel like i will never see what you see
i don't know how to cover the holes in my soul that bleed
i don't know if i'll ever do anything
but i'm pretty sure it'd hurt you
if you knew i thought about it
i thought about the life we would have if i could get there
i thought about the times we have had when times were better
i thought about the way things might end
if i can't figure where you and i can begin
again
i thought about it

I fell in love with the boy who thought he couldn't feel because he felt everything at once
I fell in love with the boy who was my home even though he was lost
I fell in love with the boy who taught me that love didn't come at a cost

I fell in love with the boy who broke my heart so many times I stopped keeping count
I fell in love with the boy who taught me love wasn't a thing to be found
I fell in love with the boy who made silence my favorite sound
I fell in love with the boy whose lies left a permanent taste in my mouth

With him time and place didn't mean anything
All I noticed was when the phone didn't ring
All these words to say, they were so heavy and silencing
He made me feel colors and
Like I couldn't be compared to others
But really he was just manipulating my emotions
Ruining my ability to trust without so many precautions
Drowning me in empty perceptual oceans
I thought I couldn't bring myself to get over it
But I did and

That's the end.

Kurt Queller uses narrative criticism to analyze Mark 3:1-6, the healing miracle story in the gospel of Mark.  Queller’s narrative criticism includes “echoes of the Exodus liberation narrative” , echoes of Deuteronomy’s covenant language and Sabbatical provisions , intratextual echoes in Mark , and independent echoes in the other synoptic gospels.  Queller uses these echoes to fill in the gaps he finds in the story of Jesus healing the man with the withered hand on the Sabbath.
In the beginning of his criticism, Queller lists the gaps in Mark 3:1-6’s narrative that he seeks to fill: the meaning of the withered hand, Jesus’ reason for healing on the Sabbath, His reason for considering the withered hand life-threatening, why it is a choice between good and evil, et cetera.  He begins filling these gaps by referencing intertextual echoes of Mark 3:1-6 in Exodus.  Jesus’ command to the man with the withered hand in Mark 3:5, “Stretch out your hand,” is echoed in Exodus 14:16 where God commands Moses, “stretch out your hand.” When the man with the withered hand stretches out his hand, his hand is restored. Likewise, when Moses stretches out his hand, the Reed Sea parts, resulting in the restoration of the Israelites’ freedom.
Queller’s reference to this echo in Exodus, paired with other echoes he mentions in Deuteronomy, helped me begin to understand Jesus’ insistence on healing the withered hand. Queller was able to use the echoes to fill in the gaps I previously could not fill. In Deuteronomy 15, God’s covenant requires liberal lending and debt forgiveness to the poor on the Sabbath year. God reminds the Israelites that He delivered them from Egypt in verse 15, and He claims that this is the reason for His liberal Sabbatical law. Thus, this Deuteronomic prescription for Sabbath observance is a continuation of the Exodus liberation narrative. Queller mentions these echoes in Exodus and Deuteronomy to draw a larger narrative framework for understanding Mark’s controversial healing story.
In my initial reading, I recognized that a withered hand is not necessarily a matter of life and death. Like Queller, this was a gap that I initially set out to fill. However, I was unable to fill this gap in a way that completely satisfied my confusion on the matter. Queller’s larger narrative framework for this passage led me to a better understanding of why Jesus considered the withered hand worthy to heal on the Sabbath.
According to Queller’s filling of the gaps, the withered hand is an affliction that can be compared to the Israelites’ enslavement in Egypt. The withered hand also embodies the economic predicament of the poor, who remain enslaved to their debt to the rich.  Such enslavement could be a death sentence, which is why the Sabbath requires the liberation of slaves and debt forgiveness of the poor. It seems plausible to me that a withered hand could cause a man to be enslaved and/or perpetually poor. This line of reasoning, provided by Queller’s larger narrative framework, allowed me to truly see how the Sabbath could require Jesus’ healing of the withered hand.
Another gap Queller and I similarly set out to fill is the question of what constitutes as doing good and what constitutes as doing evil on the Sabbath. This gap also arises from Mark 3:4, in which Jesus asks, “Which is lawful on the Sabbath: to do good or to do evil, to save life or to ****?” (Mark 3:4 NIV). In his analysis of this particular part of this particular verse, Queller points out a small important detail that I originally missed. Mark 3:4 does not set the frame for a passive, inner choice between good and evil.  The literal wording says, “to do good or to do evil.” The choice between good and evil on the Sabbath thereby requires action.
While recognizing that required action is problematic for the restful nature of the Sabbath, Queller supports his assertion by referencing Deuteronomy 30. Deuteronomy 30’s prescription for obedience of the Sabbath repeats the active command, “do it.”  Queller illustrates the parallelism between Mark and Deuteronomy by placing Deuteronomy 30:14 and Mark 3:4-5 in a figure side-by-side.  Deuteronomy 30:14 says, “The word is very near to you, in your mouth, and in your heart, and in your hands, to do it.” With this commandment as the framework, Mark 3:4-5 spells out the Pharisees’ failure to do good; It says, “But they were silent . . . grieved at their hardness of heart, he said to the man: ‘Stretch out your hand.’ And he stretched it out.”
From this, Queller concludes, “The ‘word’ to be done is already ‘in [their] mouth’ – but they refuse to say anything in response; it is ‘in [their] heart’ – but their heart is hardened against it. It is ‘in [their] hands, to do it’ – but as Jesus turns again to address the man, our attention is directed back to an inert hand, that, in its current withered state, seems unlikely to do anything.”  From this I am now able to conclude that which constitutes as doing “good” on the Sabbath is acting on the word. The word is completely accessible to us, and we must use our mouths, hearts, and hands to act upon it.
This gap of good and evil action that Queller helps fill also provides further evidence for the necessity of Jesus’ healing of the withered hand. Since the hands are required to carry out good action in obedience of the covenant, the withered hand is an affliction that can breach said covenant. Queller asserts that the withered hand symbolizes “the tangible embodiment of [the Pharisees] unwillingness, despite the ‘nearness’ of the word, to do it.”  Jesus, by necessity, must heal this affliction to show the Pharisees how to act according to the law of the Sabbath; “The stretching out of the hand then becomes a ‘witness against’ those who have chosen to forgo or even prohibit action because of exclusively sacral concerns.”  Without the preceding narrative frame of Deuteronomy, such significance of the withered hand for the Sabbath covenant was impossible for me to comprehend.
Though Queller is certainly helpful in providing evidence that enables understanding of the withered hand’s significance, there are parts of his criticism that I find contradictory and unhelpful. This occurs when he references echoes in Exodus and Deuteronomy to provide a framework for understanding the Pharisees’ silence in Mark 3:4 and hardness of hearts in Mark 3:5. He first relates the Pharisees’ hardened heart in response to Jesus’ plea in Mark to the Pharaoh’s hardened heart in response to Moses’ numerous pleas in Exodus. In my concordance work, I also made this connection. However, Queller and I differ in the conclusions we draw from this observation.
Queller draws from Deuteronomy to provide framework in conjunction with Exodus for understanding Mark’s interpretation of the Sabbatical law. He references Deuteronomy 29:19, which warns against thinking one can receive the blessings of the covenant while breaching it in the inner wanderings of the heart. This passive infidelity of the covenant brings God’s curse to the innocent as well as the guilty. Queller uses this context to explain why his literal translation says Jesus “co-aggrieved”  with the Pharisees because of their silence and hard hearts. The Pharisees’ passive, inner breach of the covenant invoked God’s curse on them, as well as the innocent Jesus, according to Queller.  
When I analyzed Jesus’ reaction to the hard hearts of the Pharisees in comparison to God’s reaction to that of the Pharaoh, I realized that the same Greek word was used to describe Jesus’ anger and God’s wrath. However, the consequences of Jesus’ anger and God’s wrath do not relate as clearly as Queller would lead one to believe. As a result of the Pharaoh’s hard heart, God’s wrath leads to the Pharaoh’s ultimate demise. Jesus’ resulting anger from the Pharisees’ hard hearts, on the other hand, catalyzes his decision to heal the withered hand. This action ultimately leads to Jesus’ destruction alone. Jesus, the innocent character, does not fall to the mutual destruction of the Pharisees, per Queller’s argument. I see no destruction of the Pharisees at all. Instead, Jesus restores God’s blessing of the guilty by becoming the recipient of God’s wrath in their place.
This conclusion, though differing from Queller, is consistent with his interpretation of the withered hand. Queller writes, “The withered hand embodies covenant curses invoked against those refusing to ‘open [their] hands’ in liberal lending, instead killing the poor by freezing credit in view of an impending sabbatical debt amnesty” . If the withered hand embodies God’s curse against the Pharisees, then Jesus revokes this curse when he cures the withered hand. Furthermore, the larger narrative framework of Mark’s gospel echoes this conclusion. Jesus’ crucifixion ultimately pays the debt of sinners and liberates them from God’s wrath.
Kurt Queller’s narrative criticism uses intertextuality, a narrative tool that “evokes resonances of the earlier text beyond those explicitly cited”  and “requires the reader to recover unstated or suppressed correspondences between the two texts.”  Such intertextual echoes he references from Deuteronomy and Exodus provide a larger background for interpreting Mark’s healing controversy. This granted me the ability to fill many gaps in the narrative that I was unable to fill prior to reading Queller’s criticism. In a footnote, he explains that his “metalepsis” uses such intertextual echoes for analysis, and, “In narrative, the resultant new figuration operates at what Robert M. Fowler calls the ‘discourse level.’ Metaleptic signification is thus transacted between an implied narrator and an implied audience – as it were, behind the backs of the narrative’s ‘story-level’ participants.”
The intertextual and metaleptic tools that Queller uses for his narrative criticism have proven to be very insightful and helpful for my understanding Mark 3:1-6 in an entirely new way. Even as I disagree with Queller on certain parts of his argument, these points of disagreement pushed me to deepen my own individual reading of the text. In comparing my argument to Queller’s, I realized just how far my initial interpretation was able to go. This narrative criticism answered a lot of my questions and filled many gaps. However, most of my conclusions about the implications and ultimate consequences of the text remain unshaken.  
Bibliography
Queller, Kurt. “Stretch Out Your Hand!” Echo and Metalepsis in Mark’s Sabbath Healing Controversy. Journal of Biblical Literature 129, no. 4 (2010): 737-58.

Today I woke up early and I thought it was important! I thought today would be a day for me to do things that were worth it. I woke up early and I tried hard. I walked around and I asked people questions. I tried to ask questions that were important. I looked at people into their eyes and I tried to actually be present. I ate food and I saw things. It's hard for me to wake up sometimes, actually all the times. I never really want to wake up. I try hard and I work hard but I always forget to ask people questions. I'm not always present. When people are around me and my eyes are open I don't look into their eyes. I don't often think about food and I think eating is inconvenient. I guess I thought today I'd pretend all those things were important. So I woke up early today, I woke up early can you believe it? I woke up early because today waking up was important! I walked around and I asked people questions! I looked at them in their eyes and only saw my reflection. I wished I hadn't woken up early when they walked right past me and didn't answer my questions. I tried eating and pretending that it was convenient, that eating was important. The food tasted like the lie I knew it was; with each bite I felt like I was more a fraud, an actor, an imposter. As if I was someone who could believe I was important. As if I was someone who woke up early and looked at people in the eyes and asked them questions. As if I was someone who felt like a time for food was convenient. Maybe I'm a liar, maybe I'm something more. Maybe people didn't see the truth in my eyes when I met them at their core. Maybe I didn't need to wake up early to have time to focus my gaze. Maybe I don't need to ask people questions to make them see that I'm awake. Maybe none of these things are needed to validate that I'm important. Maybe I'm the one that needs to realize I'm worth it.

Words that made me feel safer
Than any arm that's ever been around me
Or any hand I've felt on my back that
Pushed me up or guided me along
Eyes like puddles of chemicals
That contained the ingredients that were
Able to neutralize the poison in mine
Traits that resembled calm seas of calamity,
Cool waters that sizzled on the firing coals
Of the volatile volcano whose unpredictable
Spouts controlled the swing of my mood
I tried so hard to tell myself that
Black and white together could make
A nice shade of grey and broken
Pieces of hearts with jagged ends
Could be put back together again and
White might just be the absence of color or
Maybe my colors completely faded and
Black might be all the colors put together
Or maybe all of your colors just stayed

you're the sparks of an electric wire not properly insulated
don't want to start a fire just can't relay the message
you're trying! halfway through the wire and then you're like this
unoccupied swing swaying despite the lack of wind
i guess someone was on this swing before but when will that ever really end
you're sparking like crazy but the electric signal never sends
they say "just try again!" and you swear
its really just that your fibers are beginning to tear
you just had to leave that tree stump in the middle of the parking lot
YOU JUST CAN'T move on without leaving a trace in that particular spot
you're moving forward, one step at a time!
you just keep tripping through this
fog so thick it's a never ending mine
you were on the other end of jumping before you realized time had ceased
what goes up must come down but what if you didn't mean to bend your knees
i'm in the back of your mind when your hands won't stop shaking and
your voice quivers when you're finally undertaking
the idea of waking that elephant in the room that fell asleep and is snoring
how was I really so boring?
but it's like that loaf of bread you watched so slowly rise
that you couldn't eat when you realized it was made of lies
you thought time would heal but it just buried your eyes
apply some heat, the mold will go away!
ignore your problems,
you CONTINUE TO SAY
don't pick up that
torn dollar bill laying on the sidewalk on the bad side of town!
no, don't you dare!
don't stop and look around
before too long you begin to identify with that old aged piano resonating in that empty house
and you're sewing the buttons back on my favorite blouse
you've changed your tune so much you can't even harmonize
hopefully you'll get this out before EVERYONE DIES
you wanted to be the one to rip the buttons off
but you waited so long you thought they were already gone
i knew what you were trying to say before your sparks didn't make it
let me be your insulation

i woke up with his arm around me
his heavy arm keeping me still
i saw the anchor on his skin
like he could nail me to the water
and i didn't even know how to swim
i was trapped under my drunken sailor
aboard his flaming cruise
his eyes that once loved me
relayed empty words that bruised
they filled my lungs with every breath
there's no room for me on his life boat
i'm just breathing in the water
as if suddenly i'd float
i don't even know if i made it
but if you're wondering, i probably didn't
you'll find my bones on the bottom of the ocean
next to the remnants of his ship

Remember me as a time of day
If you ever get an autopsy of my brain
You know it's all clockwork
Beneath all the dust and murk
Take a look deep in my mind
Even where the sun won't shine
Remember me as a time of day
When the light doesn't matter
Anyway

theres no better feeling than a night when everything is right when you close your eyes to go to sleep
the rain is dripping outside and he told you he loves you
and you know that tomorrow he'll love you too
everything's alright when you close your eyes because you trust that your rock won't crumble
and everything is alright when you turn your head to the side against your pillow
because there's no better feeling than knowing you're worthy of a person loving you back
and after so many people proving you wrong there is at least one that its okay to trust and
i remember a night when everything was alright when i went to close my eyes but its keeping me up this time because
no matter how many times i toss my head against the pillow i know he won't love me tomorrow and
when i turn off the light my heart won't be less empty than the night before and i'm running out of nights to remember that i could
close my eyes knowing everything was right

White.
White's what you saw when you looked at that dog, running away from it's home.
Maybe because the dog was white or maybe because the dog didn't have any color.
A home has colors.
When your mom does the laundry after she tucks you in at night
There's a rainbow.
Green grass stains on your new white pants and
Blue for the marker you accidentally got on your sheets that you
Kinda forgot to mention until she put you to bed that night
Red for the blood stains from when you tripped fleeing from your angry father on your way out the door
So now you're a dog because
You don't have any more colors or
Because your mom is gone and you ran away from home or
You've just always been white and that's just what you saw, right?
I don't know anymore.

Time is something that is always changing, yet it always moves at a constant pace. My story includes such a small period of time. In one day, there are twenty-four hours, and somewhere in those few hours of January 15th, 2011, my life changed in the blink of an eye. Within seconds, someone I love stopped breathing. It changed everything. But, my story begins a few hours before that.
Wake up. I always have to tell myself to wake up. I wake up and it is a beautiful Saturday. I walk into the living room of my house, where the sun is shining bright through all the windows and I feel like it is going to be a good day. I usually wake up on the weekend home alone, but this time I walk around until I find my dad and my little brother, Phillip.
Dad: “Phillip and I are going to a Valdosta State basketball game later today, if you would like to come.”
I immediately think of my best friend James. James is a part of my family. He got along with my dad and brother better than I did. The basketball game with them would be a lot easier to endure if James went along. He is the older brother I never had.
I pick up my phone and call James, to invite him to join us. He doesn’t answer. James always answers. His phone goes straight to voicemail. I remember a time in the past that I called James with a stupid boy dilemma. James was in the middle of football camp, but he called a timeout. He picked up the phone for me then. I am always James’ first priority, so something seems wrong. I call Drew, James’ best friend, and his phone goes straight to voicemail as well. Something definitely seems wrong. I try to convince myself that I’m overthinking. I always overthink and I always worry too much, so this could be nothing. James is just busy. He’ll call me back later.
An hour or two pass by without response from either James or Drew. As I am cleaning up my room trying to keep my mind busy, I receive a text message from my friend Emily.
Emily: “What’s wrong with James?”
Emmaline (me): “What are you talking about?”
Emily: “I see on Facebook that many people are writing on James’ wall, saying that they are praying for him. Why are people praying for him? What happened?”
Little did she know that I was asking myself the same questions. What in the world is going on!?
Emmaline (me): “Umm, I’m not sure. He hasn’t been answering my calls. I’ll try to find out.”
James was a huge part of the church community. He was the first person that brought me to the church I’ve been attending for the past three years. He was a mentor to me; if it weren’t for James I would not have found the faith that has saved me. After those texts messages, I decided to call someone from the church to see if they knew what was going on with him. Mackenzie answered my call.
Mackenzie: “James and Drew went out duck hunting this morning at a place called Ocean Pond, and James is missing. Drew is fine, but he doesn’t know where James is.”

My heart immediately dropped to my chest. The gut feeling I had been experiencing all day that something was wrong was rapidly increasing, and I suddenly couldn’t keep still.  
My thought processes jumped to visualize duck hunting. I thought, when you go duck hunting, it is a little different from hunting ground animals like deer. When you hunt ducks, you spend the entire time on a boat. You don’t go missing on a small boat. James wasn’t playing hide-and-seek. James being missing meant that he was lost somewhere in the water. The odds weren’t looking very good. Maybe I’m worrying too much, but I’m being rational. Right? I put my phone down and slowly slid out of my chair onto the floor. I lay on the floor for hours, crying. My brother came in from outside and just stared at me. My chest was on fire; I have never felt so much pain in my life. The amount of emotional pain transformed to a physical pain that I felt in the pit of my stomach. The sun that made me happy when I first woke up now began to burn my eyes. I felt like I was sinking, but in reality the only person sinking was my best friend, drowning in icy water.
When I could finally stop crying enough to talk, I call my mom. My mom was not home this weekend; she was at the beach with some of her good friends from college. She did not take the news as heavily as I did.
Mom: “He’s just sitting somewhere in the marsh where the water is really shallow. Someone will find him. He’ll be fine, I know he will.”
I begin to feel somewhat better. I tell myself that this does not have to be a death sentence. James could be fine. I decide to call Mackenzie from church again and invite her and her mom to my house to keep me company while we wait for news.
Hours and hours pass by, yet still no news comes. The church and community decides to hold a prayer session at a local park for all the people worried about James. Mackenzie, her mom and I drive out to the park. Hundreds of people were at the park. All of them were there for James. All of us stood in a circle, teary-eyed, and prayed. I have never seen my community come together like that. Rival schools and teammates, people old, young, and teenage. Teachers, preachers, friends, athletes, fathers, mothers, so many people were at the park for James.
We went around in the circle and each person told their story of how much James meant to them. James was a brother to many. He was a mentor, a friend, a shoulder to cry on, a pal to laugh with. James was the one person that convinced a girl to graduate from high school. James was the friendly face that ate lunch with a boy that was alone and contemplating suicide. I had no idea that James meant so much to people other than me.
All it took was seconds, maybe minutes for James to drown. The water was below freezing. The gear that he was wearing was built to weigh him down in order to be able to wade in shallow waters. In deeper waters, he would surely and quickly sink. He drowned quickly, and within seconds he stopped breathing. However, it took search and rescue a month to recover his body. Days of worry and prayer turned into weeks. I had to return to school and try to go on with my life, as if I didn’t feel like it was all falling apart.

Finally, one crisp February morning, a search dog found my James’ body.

I was in my Advanced Placement Environmental Science class, and my phone rang from a number of different people. I went to the bathroom to return a call and found out that someone found my best friend’s dead body. I knew it wasn’t smart to hold on to any kind of hope that he was alive, but knowing he was actually dead made the situation suddenly very real. I tried to return to class, but I ended up sitting right beside the door, crying harder than ever. I had to go out to Ocean Pond, where I spent most of my time for the past month watching divers search for him. I had to go out there and see it.
By the time I arrived at the site, there was nothing left to see. James’ body had been recovered and I would never see him again. All that was left was a teary funeral, and abrupt good-byes that I wasn’t ready to give. To this day I don’t know how to say good-bye to James. I visit his grave, and I don’t know how to leave the picture of his face.
Losing someone you so deeply love so quickly is probably one of the most excruciating human experiences. I am so thankful that James left behind such a beautiful story, and such a powerful legacy. The first day I met James, he told me, “Hey girl. You know, I love you. I really do. I would take a bullet for you.” When someone says those kinds of things to you without even knowing you for twenty-four hours, it feels strange. But, James knew time meant everything. He knew that all it takes is minutes, seconds, to change someone’s life forever.
The thing that is so astonishing about James’ story, is that he understood how quickly everything can change. When James was alive, a fellow student of his died in a motorcycle crash. James was devastated that he had not reached out to this boy before it was too late. That night, in a note on Facebook entitled “The Clock is Ticking,” James wrote a short paragraph that showed the depth of his understanding of life. He wrote, “Take time to love someone. Today, Tomorrow, For the rest of your life. Because when that unexpected day comes that they pass on, you'll be left wondering what you could've done better. How you could have made them feel more welcome, and show that you do care for them. Don't wait until it's too late like I did. Show the love that Jesus has for you to everyone you see. Let your heart break for what breaks His. Christ is enough. Let Him show you life. You never know who He may touch through you. It is so sad that it takes a tragedy like this to comprehend how our days are numbered. Only He knows. Keep your faith in Him. He will bless you beyond belief. Our job is right now. This very second. So often, God gives me a little nudge towards someone.. and I put it off until the next day.. and then the next and then the next. Stop stalling. God put us on this earth for HIS glory. Not ours.. and so many times, the things I do always point back to me and my stupid self righteousness. So do something with me. Everyone. If this just touches one person, I will have done my job. Don't stall. Judgement is a heart beat away.”

Today's the first time I've allowed your image to play across my field of vision in a while.
I let myself remember the smile that made me come alive and I'm rotting.
I was always taught not to trust the things that were unknown but the only words I ever believed were those you spoke to me in a language I never knew existed.
I studied you like I did for all my tests in high school. I memorized what I thought was important. I looked at the main points on the outside;
I never connected the dots.
I didn't analyze the deeper meaning of those bolded words in your textbook.
I wonder why I was so shocked when I failed the test.
I've taken plenty of these tests before. Just about all of them are the same.
You were just one of those teachers that knew how to make me feel like I would pass.
That deep, red ink you used to grade my paper matched the fire in your eyes when you handed it back to me, as well as the blood spilled now across my skin, yet again.
That half-smile written across your face
I'm looking at it from in the grave
So it looks more like a frown, to me.

We say things like "farewell" and "goodbye" but a lot of times we don't actually fare well and the bye isn't good.
This bye isn't good and I'm not faring well.
I've said goodbye so many times now I don't know what goodbye means anymore but I think it means that this is the end and I won't see you again.
I don't really want this to be the end because it feels like there's a fire in my eyes causing them to melt and there's a fire in my heart causing my chest to burn and it's moving down to my stomach like a *** that's starting to boil and I can't hold anything down.
I'm rarely ever at a loss for words and when I think of you the only thing I can muster up to say is I love you and I know this bye isn't very good but I'll say goodbye if that's what I'm supposed to do. They said I could visit but your face isn't quite the same when it's a picture on a grave.

Fare well.
I love you.

Whenever I think of dysfunction I think of all of us together. What causes us to function is each other. We never function when we're all together.
If you looked at a picture of us you'd see fragmented faces and aching stitches holding up the frames of our smiles.
If you looked in my brother's eyes you'd see the red around the edges that tells you how much he hates it. He thinks he'd break the function if he let the blood spill down his face. He can't close his eyes, he won't blink, he won't make a mistake, he's so tired, he has to fix it, he doesn't know. He's still bleeding.
If you looked into the creases of my mother's smile you'd see that she is tired. Her smile doesn't know how to smile all the way anymore because the creases have to hold up everyone else's. They're growing weary and fading into a slant. You'd see that she's tired of holding us all together.
If you looked at the pieces of hair that fell across my father's face you'd see a few gray hairs. You'd see that nature took a few too many spins on his life and that things aren't going right anymore. His shadow is following him from underneath the ground.
If you looked at me you might say, "she looks fine."
I am fine.
I'm perfectly functionally fine in the most dysfunctional meaning of the word. I'm smiling, see?
Lies.
Lies make you appreciate the truth, but who wants a picture of a family in misery?
If we were never so broken we would never be this whole.
We never function when we're all together but we function because of each other.
We dysfunction together.

For in dreams we enter a world that is entirely our own. A world entirely my own consists of nothing less than the entirety of you. I've always liked how things that oppose so boldly fit so perfectly together.
You know how they always say opposites attract?
Subconscious thought and conscious thought may be opposites like hot and cold, but I swear when you burned me with your everlasting flame it was so hot that I felt like I was freezing.
My conscious thought is always filled with your life. You're alive in me. Whenever I'm awake, you're fluttering inside the structure of my mind.
My dreams are filled with your death.
You're sick, you're dead, it's too late, I couldn't save you.
Your life flashed before my eyes so quickly your life and death are a blur.
Are life and death opposites or are they just two variations of the same form of perceptual experience?
When you're alive and I'm conscious are you just as much a part of me when I'm unconscious and you're dead?
Opposites attract and our charges couldn't be more polar but the gravity of you has me so magnetically drawn that I couldn't stay away if I tried.
For in dreams we're in a world that is entirely our own and yet to oppose that my world is yours.

The walls around the labyrinth that is my mind aren't very tall or thick. They aren't difficult to tear down. You're just scared because you've never seen this kind of wall before and you don't know how to get around it.
Or maybe you were initially intrigued by this maze that suddenly fabricated around you, but you grew weary trying to find your way out.
Maybe you just had some time to spare and that's why you gave it to me.
You had no idea that while you were circling around them, the walls of my mind were studying you too.
Maybe your arms wanted to see if they could hold up my flaws and thats why they wrapped sturdily around me.
You analyzed the direction of this maze trying to find your way in the same way you found your way out. The direction of the walls of my mind were following the direction of the curves of your sly grin.
You were following the lines of my internal structure and that's when you figured out that you were running in circles. You were following yourself.
Maybe your heartbeat wanted me to know that it could beat on its own and thats why you pressed your chest against my ear.
That's when you broke out of the maze and left it unfinished.
The walls of my mind stopped twisting in the place that you left.
Maybe your feet wanted to seal the walls of mind and thats why they burned your footprints in them forever.

I don't really know what I'm writing about because I'm writing about everything. Yes, right now, this. This is about everything. All I know is that I don't know everything. And I know that in life there are some things. Some are good things some are bad things. You're a good thing.
Good things are things like when the sun shines in your face and it doesn't make you mad because it hurts your eyes, but instead you think its pretty cool that it stopped raining. Good things are like when you're driving and instead of just driving you have somewhere to go. Good things are like when you jump in a pool and feel the water splash and you don't sink down because you don't want to drown.
Bad things are like when you're walking down a street through a crowd, and you see everyone except that one person. So you bump into everyone and trip a couple times and just keep walking without a destination. Bad things are like when you're running and running so you can hide from that monster that's chasing you. But then you realize that the monster is you.
All I know about life is that I don't know everything. But I know that the sun comes up every morning whether you want it to or not. I know that if you throw a rock into a lake it'll ripple and make waves. I know that when you give your heart to someone most of the time they'll end up breaking it.
I don't really know what I'm writing about because I'm writing about everything.
So tell me.
There are good things and there are bad things and I told you I was writing about
Every
Thing
Am I a bad thing?

Worthless. I am worthless.
Stuck in this hole I dug myself
I forgot which way is up
"I'm digging, I'm digging!"
It's worthless.
I am worthless.
Am I digging myself out or
Digging myself deeper?
I should give up.
I can't give up.
Fingers bleeding as I
Tightly grip the shovel
Sweat dripping down my face
"I'M DIGGING OKAY!"
Pressure closing in around me
Dirt clinging to my waist
Where your hands should be
I see your face
I was never good enough
Thats why you left
My aching bones are crumbling
"I'm... still... digging"
Maybe I should rest
I'm running out of air
Breathing is worthless
I am worthless.
Is all I see darkness or
Just absence of light?
Were you ever around?
Or just dirt under my feet,
A figment of my imagination?
What was that sound?
I put my shovel down.
It's worthless.
I look up
I see you
You were there all along
I just didn't notice
I am not worthless.

slowly approaching a stop sign
to some it means to slow down
to others it means "be aware of what's around"
to me it means broken promises,
empty words,
meaningless meanings,
twisted intentions,
vacant significance.
they always said, "you stop at a stop sign."
this inanimate object
at the end of the road
it's supposed to have this strict meaning,
"stop"
but what does it all really mean
if you saw the stop sign
and thought it meant
"go"

The last day I spent with you is the ink that's splashing around in my mind, trying to make its way to parchment, though it'd much rather be the ink tattooed across your chest. The easiest confirmation of our love is the infinite complexity of each simple moment we shared. There is a memory of you burning through the walls of my mind, and the longer the fire burns, the more susceptible I am to its heat. As we walked hand in hand approaching our favorite spot by the lake, you stopped to observe a metal pole sticking up from the concrete in the ground. You were always intrigued by things I never seemed to notice. You were intrigued by the hopelessness that faded from my eyes as I looked at you, the way my hands always found themselves wrapped around your waist, and the way my eyes watered every time you said goodbye; but I never stopped to notice these apparent qualities until you spelled them out for me. I watched as you begun to push on this appendage projecting from the concrete ground, testing your strength. You pushed and pulled, excitement pumping through your veins as you began to realize how easy it was for you to pry something out of the ground. Eventually you grew bored, lost interest, and left the pole slanted, nearly parallel to the earth: not completely yanked, but pushed and pulled, stuck in a writhing position.  Since I've had the time to replay this image like the song I have on constant repeat, I realized that it spelled out exactly what you've done to my heart. My heart like this pole stuck in the ground.

While I was sitting in the passenger seat watching you drive my car, I held my breath. I was all too familiar with your sweet addiction to danger. I felt the pleasure seep through your skin as you accelerated the speed beyond the limit. I felt the waves of excitement ripple off of you with each sharp turn. Every now and again you would glance in my direction and see paralyzed fear on my face. You kept driving. You knew I trusted you. My life was completely out of my control; all my power rested within the firm grip of your hands and the smooth glide of your feet. All the direction I could ever find was within the road you mapped of me in your eyes. You slowed down long enough for me to think you realized what you were doing to me. I closed my eyes, exhaled, and began to relax. I trusted you. The next moment came with a shift in paradigm. Like a tsunami wave that crushed my lungs and yanked the atmosphere from around me I froze in fear as you accelerated to the maximum speed within a second. I felt the control of my car slip from your hands as you tightly gripped the steering wheel. Gasping, I looked into the reflection of myself in your eyes. The slim moment I doubted your omnipotent control evaporated within the fire deep in your gaze. With that sly smirk in your eyes I knew you were finally pleased. You finally confirmed complete control over me. You had been rewriting my internal software, replacing every fiber of my will with complete dependence on your touch. As the world finally returned to me and I knew where I was, I relaxed again. However, this time, when I looked over at the driver's seat you were gone.