I fall
away
to remain
together.
This is
my way.
To hold
my breath
before
diving deeper.
To hold
my bones
just a little
closer.
This is
how I know
I am whole.
When
I have
nowhere
else to go.
No one
else to
rely on.
I count
on my
own soul.
It might
lead me
through
the snow
and cold,
but I know
it will
always
lead me
back
home.

Hold on,
and hope for the best,
tomorrow will come.

Fear her if she gazes toward you.
She will steal your heart,
and leave you
howling at the moon.

When it comes
to loving me,
there is something
you must understand.
I am a hurricane,
moving hundreds
of miles across
the open sea.
Strewn in all directions,
a chaotic symphony
of madness
and clarity.
When you are
standing in the midst
of my storm,
do not fear my thunder.
Know it will pass,
with a delicate rain,
and the sun shining
bright overhead.

I can smell
the soft floral remanence
of blue hyacinths in bloom.
The smell lingers everywhere.
It reminds me of you.
How you always smelled
so sweet,
like you'd just had a bath
with fresh lavender,
and rose petals swimming
all around you,
gathering at your feet.
I miss that smell,
almost as much as I miss you.
It's been a long time
since I've thought about you.
I've pushed you from my mind,
from my scarred up heart.
It's better that way,
keeping those memories
locked up inside me.
It took a long time
to stitch together
the pieces,
after you so carelessly
ripped my heart apart.
I'll always resent you for that.
I'll always love you for it too,
and whenever those hyacinths
are in full bloom
outside my window
I'll think of you,
of how much I loved you,
and for just a moment
I'll feel a touch
of the hyacinth blues.

I'll meet you
at the beginning of time,
where the stars
cross the milkyway.
Where Saturn spins
on a golden axis.
We'll watch
as stars condense,
and collide,
as creation reigns
through the black veil of space.
I swear to you,
we will get it right.
No more cursing at Gods
that never seem to listen.
There is only us,
drifting through space,
10,000 light years
away from home.
My love,
never have we
been more free.

I have tired eyes,
with a sweet soul
under a black veil
disguise*.

I rose to
the setting sun,
dove into
an indigo sea,
and let the ink
wash me clean*.

I feel loneliest on nights
when I'm laying next to you,
but you are a million miles away.
What do I do when it's 3am,
and I need you to hold me,
but you are fast asleep,
and I am as wide awake
as the moon.
Do I wake you?
Of course not.
I let you sleep,
undisturbed,
by my anxious thoughts.

I see
swirling colors
all around me,
they are moving
to quickly for me
to focus my gaze.
I am
in another dimension,
following fractals
through space and time.
I feel
the world around me
moving slower,
speaking to me
through patterns and colors.
I am
lost in fields
of iridescent flowers,
following the path
of my ancestors
to the holy
tree of knowledge.

She is exotically sweet,
like cherry blossoms blooming
in the warm summer heat.
She is softer than spring,
and more delicate than daisies.
She sleeps in the rain,
bathed in the moonlight.
She loves like the sun,
and lives by the moon.
She is a creature of holiness,
her soul made of sunflowers.
She is a beackon of light,
for ships lost at sea.
She is born of the earth,
made of dirt,
and the leaves.
She is a **** that grows wildly,
among a field of planted seeds.
She is free in her spirit
for what she believes.
She is a guarder of those
who have no voice to speak.
She is heaven and hell,
mixed up times three.
She is an angel of earth,
given the force of the sea.
She is a rose without thorns,
and white as could be.
She is a rare expression of love,
favored by the bees.
She is a perfect jasmine flower,
the most beautiful you will ever see.

Jealousy comes
in many shades,
from the lightest grey
to the darkest black.
In every form,
it poisons the heart
filling it with pain.
Once it's reached
deep inside you,
it almost never
goes away.
It creeps up
your throat,
during the most
unexpected of days,
forcing you to spill
the most hateful words,
things you didn't
mean too say.
This is how
it spreads.
It pours
from one heart
right into another.

The sun glimpses
through the trees.
Casting a shimmering light
onto a dust covered world.
You can taste it in the air.
War is coming.
But, is it enough
to breathe life into
a race full of martyrs?
Probably not.
Only to those who see
through divine eyes
know the end is near.
By the hands of man,
not God,
the walls of the world
will crumble like Jericho.

We cannot
rush our healing.
This life is a journey,
and darkness
always
holds
a teaching.
Love is the light
at the end
of the tunnel.
She is there.
She is waiting.
She is never leaving.

By the time I reached the end,
my mouth was tied in a twist.
Salt water and smoke
rose up from my throat
caged between porcelain,
and sugar sweet lips.
I lay awake,
swaying softly,
in a cacoon of strawberry silk.
Carefully contemplating
the white spaces of time
that kaleidoscope like fractals
between the shades
of falling leaves.
I am at peace,
fully aware of the world
around me.
I am happy,
dreaming of summer sunsets,
and kissing the cherry trees.

You have no idea
what you mean to me.
You are a lighthouse
when I'm lost at sea.

I look at you,
and my heart
begins to bloom.
I know that
you can't deny
your heart
is blooming too.

I'm dreaming
of laying in a field
of wild poppies.
Their fragrance
sweet as sugar.
Their petals
softer than silk.
I imagine
them wrapping
around me,
soothing me,
singing lullabies,
as I slowly
drift up high
into infinity.
Where the moon
shines bright
guarding the heavens.
I will kneel
before her,
asking her
to hang me
as one of her
most beautiful
stars in the sky.

The moon
is my only company
when I'm walking
down dimly lit streets.

I don't mind
that she knows
how I think.

I can tell she likes
the secrets I keep.

I’ve traveled
a million miles
on an open road
with memories of home
strapped to broken bones.
Mama,
these dreams are heavy
against will
that’s strong as stone,
but I’ll carry these feet
across the desert ground.
With the moon above me
I’ll hear my spirit howl.
Like the wolves that run
protecting
their forest ground.
Mama,
I’m meant to roam,
to let my spirit soar.
High as condors
above the mountaintops.
I know
freedom
comes at a cost,
but so does
happiness
that has to be bought.  
Mama,
don’t you worry
I’ll never get lost.
I have the stars,
and a thin blue line
between the folds
of my map.
I don’t know
these strangers
or places I stop,
but my eyes are open
to the hourglass of time.
Mama,
I’m not scared.
I know
where I’m going.
My destination
is everywhere.
Mama,
don’t you worry
I’ll be fine.
When my cup is full,
and my heart is whole
I’ll follow the stars,
and wander back home.

It's winter again.
That time of year
when I fall victim
to my hopeless
melancholy.
What eases the pain?
Pouring my soul
onto paper at 3am,
while you softly
sleep next to me,
completely oblivious
to the catastrophe
laying beside you
and of course,
alcohol.

Entry ~
*I'm lost in my head, staring at an ash tray in the middle of the coffee table. It amazes me how a simple object can hold so many memories. I've had that ash tray for so many years. It's moved with me from 5 different houses in the last 10 years. It holds a piece of my soul locked up between its clear glass walls. I can't even remember where I got it, but I remember it wasn't always an ash tray. I used it to hold random little trinkets, like necklaces and earrings that didn't have a match. That was when I was about 13, before I really even took up smoking. By the time I was 17 it was used for cigarettes. I remember opening my bedroom window, climbing out to the flat roof of the sun porch, lighting up my camel cigarette, and staring up at the stars. I would sit there for an hour after my last drag, my glass ash tray sitting on the open windowsill, contemplating my existence in the hundreds of galaxies swirling above my head. I remember thinking they were close enough to know they exist, but far enough away for you to doubt it. By the time I was 19, I was no longer using that ash tray for cigarettes, but for joints and spliffs. It sat on the corner of my mahogany dresser, right next to my incense and antique lamp. It sat there for about a year. Until I left it behind to drive across the country. That was just a few months ago. I'm 20 now, and have just returned from my journey. I've come home to the same house I lived in before, to my glass ash tray sitting in the middle of the coffee table. I can only imagine what it saw from its resting spot. I'm glad it sat there, collecting memories like settling dust. It makes me feel like I never left at all. Like a piece of me remained here with the people I love. They just didn't know it. I think when I leave for good, I'll leave it behind once again. It'll be like leaving a piece of my soul with them, to leave my mark on their existence. They may not realize it at first, but at some point they'll look down at that ash tray, and think of it's origins. When they do I'll cross their life for just a brief moment. They may not even know it was my ash tray, but it won't matter. They don't need to know it was mine for our paths to intersect. The past is a witness, and I can live with that.

If you had
a beautiful girl
lying naked
in your bed,
would you
take advantage
of her innocence?
Or,
would you hold
her heart
in your hands,
and love her
the whole
night
through?

I am lost to the midnight moon.
I sleep beneath her,
during the warm months of June.
I lay beneath her,
and hear her sweet tune.
It tugs at my heart,
just like a balloon.
I gave her my heart
to wrap in a cocoon.
I pray when it hatches
the sky turns maroon,
because I need her to hear me,
as I sing my sweet tune.
I need her to know,
I'm coming for her soon.

We are
on the forefront
of a revolution.
Our generation
holds the key
to eternal peace.
We are
the rising tide,
the ones
that will shift
the tipping point
of our world.
We will
ride the wave
to a new millennia,
or let it crash
against
the breakwall.

We have a choice.

Be the lighthouse
that shines
through the storm,
or repeat history
in one more
****** war.

What will you stand for?

I'm slipping again,
and I am so tired,
that I can't fight it.
I feel more alone,
than ever before,
but I can't tell you that,
because I'm fighting a war,
that you can't help me win.
I don't have the energy,
to try and fill you in,
on this demon
that has been haunting me,
since I can't remember when.
I know how it hurts you,
to see me give in,
to the restricting of my diet,
just to be thin.
I'm fighting this battle,
deep within my skin,
but it's so hard to understand,
just where to begin.
I take one step forward,
then two back again.
This starving of my body,
it's the worst kind of sin.
This demon latches on,
then twists me to spin,
and it's so hard to see forward,
when you're in a complete tailspin.

I gaze across the dry desert land.
It goes for miles,
nothing,
but long stretches of valleys,
tucked between mountain walls.
It's like being hidden in a dust bowl.
It's so hot,
and the traffic of cars
kicks up the desert dust,
clouding everything in sight,
but it is a place of refuge
for those seeking
a spiritual revelation.
I certainly understand
why these lands are sacred
to the Native Americans,
and to the indigenous
people of Mexico.
I have only spent
a few days here,
but I already feel more at peace,
free from the hussle,
and shackles of our society.  
I have been contemplating
my place in this world,
beneath the heat of the sun,
with the sand between my toes.
I can't help that my mind wanders.
I wonder who walked
these lands thousands of years ago,
that I am now trespassing on
with my pitched up tent,
and campfire.
What was there purpose?
Were they simply settled here,
or were they just walking
in search of something more?
Possibly for a rite of passage?
Traveling across the desert,
to commune with their
Gods and Goddesses.
These are the questions
that float through my mind,
as I meditate in the dry desert.
I wonder if these
thoughts are my own,
or if the spirits of the past
have placed them in my mind,
to rekindle the magic
that used to fill these lands.
A place now,
where the wonder of the desert
has become a mirage.
A place of beauty,
but barren of magic
to those who live with eyes closed.

I'm too much of a mystic.
I live in my head.
I always know the words,
before anything is said.
I can see the future,
before I get out of bed.
Sometimes I lay there,
and let it fill me with dread.
It's hard to get up,
when it's written in red,
but these visions have led me
to share my bread,
because I always know
when a heart has bled.
I'm a mystic that lives
too much in my head,
but these visions don't always
fill me with dread.
Sometimes they give me
happiness to spread,
because a mystic knows tomorrow,
you could wake up in bed,
with a vision in your head,
that someone you love
will pass on to the dead.

It took me years
to fall in love with myself.
It was a foreign idea
throughout my childhood.
I remember the jealousy I felt
for the girls with flawless skin,
and perfectly straight hair.
I thought they were beautiful,
and they were,
but not in the most natural way.
I wanted to be the girl
who was beautiful
after rolling out of bed at noon
without any makeup
besides the mascara
from the night before.
I wanted to be the girl
who was effortlessly beautiful
without giving it a second thought.
I always admired those girls.
I loved the security
that radiated off them,
like the shimmer of sunshine
on delicately tan skin.
It took me years
to become one of those girls.
It was a slow process.
It took the shedding
of a society built for
flawless makeup ridden
artificially created beauty.
It took acceptance
for who I am without the mask.
It took forgiveness
for the flaws I was blessed with at birth.
It took years,
but I'm finally there.
I'm one of those
naturally beautiful girls.
I'm one of those girls
that could careless about shaving,
or washing their hair.
I'm a girl without cares.
I'm a girl in love with herself.

I can't fight
this retched night.
I'm praying,
beneath moonlight,
to give me light.
I'm losing my might,
on this cold dark night.

I am dreaming
beneath lilac skies
of a world with you
where it's easy to find
love and light,
raining down
from the minds
of those like us,
grateful,
blessed and kind.

I’ve been traveling for about a week now. It feels strange to be back on the road. Living out of a backpack and driving until I can no longer see the lines on the road. Pulling over and sleeping in some sketchy walmart parking lot in some random southern town a thousand miles from home. But I know this open road is leading me somewhere. I can feel it in my bones. I was meant to drive from coast to coast. To see the sunrise over new places. To spark my soul into remembrance — *you are still alive.

There is a point
of no return
when it comes to loving
your messed up soul.

I'm walking down
the railroad track.
I have a cigarette,
a bottle of jack,
and a wife at home
that thinks
I'm coming back.

I am crying,
and I can feel
my soul dying.
I am drowning,
beneath the weight
of heartbreak.
I'm slipping away,
and I am not okay.