This game is hard
It makes men's hair go gray
And gives women crows feet
That follow them into their thoughts
Staying up late at night
Victims of the game called life

No not the board game
The one that cost you one life
Death plays with the coin
As you step on Legos
Pay taxes
Or even, a Colinoscopy

We become all victims
Of living by the rules
By people
Who have played this game before.
33 pecent of life is sorted to sleep
18 percent for prison,
I mean school and work.
The stuff that people told you to do.

The idea that my life
Was a puzzle
With missing pieces
Sacred me.
But of course
That was before I meet you
You skipped over the mess
I made in the living room
Called my mind.
All of the domino's feel out of place
And the houses of cards
I made fell a part.

When you came to me
You held out your controller
As you asked
If I could be your player 2,
And now my living room is tidy
You could even see the floor!
Now I knew what people ment
When they said
It all falls into place.
The domino effect looks cooler
When it involves you.

As you asked
If I could be your player 2,
I realized that this puzzle
Doesn't look too difficult anymore
Now that I can work it out with you
Your eyes stop me in my tracks
Prettier than any finished puzzle,
I felt complete
When I looked at you.

As you asked
If I could be your player 2,
I looked the numbers again
And realized that 33 pecent
Doesn't sound so bad
If I slept with you
And love, work will never feel like prison.
As long as I know
You will be there when I return.

As you asked
If I could be your player 2,
I felt like death
Gave me a sack of coins
Because the adventures
I'd go on with you,  
Never felt so right
Through valley's and cayons
Through mountains and trees
When I saw your smile
I knew that you would never leave me.

As you asked
If I could be your player 2,
The only thing I could ever say is
Of course.

A red checkered fleece
Wonders through tall oaks
That pose for photos
Waiting to be remembered in time.

Like all of us
We stare at satellites
That try to blend in with city skylines
Praying to the nearest star
That we can be remembered.

Not in the man
In the red checkered fleece though
He practices being mechanical
By repeating the same tasks
Of knocking down
These photogenic trees.

It all is the same you see
Same fleece ,you better believe
Same dirt on his knees
Same dirt that is in his shoes
To remind him
Of his ***** stance
On his actions from his past.

The past isn't the past
If it's accompanied
By the purest of souls.
Each time the trees dance in sync
With the howling winds
He hears the moaning sorrows
Left on his porch side.
On the 3rd of July

Everytime he takes a break
From breaking these trees' dreams,
His hands shake
From his attempts
To cold turkey the drug
Called her eyes.  

His sore veins died in vain
Slithered into these trees,
Hugging the roots of these oaks
That creak from time
That rest on their shoulders

Time
Time is his enemy
As lumberjacks stray from time
As they don't wear watches
When they work
As managers watch watches
To tell them what time to go home However this lumberjack
Slaves over the labyrinth
He created for himself
For the punishment
He feels he deserves.

He digs his tail
Of destruction through these trees.
Hoping that his path to self discipline
Freezes with the autumn snow.

This gun feels heavier
Than it does in my dreams,
The dreams that were constantly interrupted
By ***** of paper with familiar names I am called
By these people I can't show my face around them,

Especially during lunch time
Where I mold into my hunch again,
Don't you dare you call it a crutch again,
As I limp into the familiar stalls
Of this ****** bathroom
Where the **** I scream out platters on the stalls.
I keep praying to those walls
Until the choir next door
Starts balling to the basketball stars in the classrooms
Where they are taught
That everything is going to be okay

This blood feels sadder on my skin,
Each door I lock behind me
Doesn’t seem the muffle the police sirens
That echo through my memories of better times.

I plead once more to the walls
Please oh please!
Until the wrinkles on my knees
Were just as red as my white t shirt,
I don't want paper ***** to be thrown
At the Pinstripes I am forced to wear
Written on the crumbled paper
Would be my failures
That my mother would write to me.
And feed it under my jail cell
To help grow the fact that she failed

So here I am
Praying one more time
To this wall of old stuffed animals
Before the police kick the door in.
I’m praying to find happiness
Regardless of how many happy meals
I by for myself,
No matter how many full metal jackets
I pump out of this Glock
It does not cure me of my hollow heart.
I prayed and prayed
And no matter how many times I crossed my fingers
I could never escape to a better time.

"That is final!"
The last words I say
As I slowly meld all the epilogues
From my favorite stories together
The Last words I have said
To the woman to raised me from the tin cans
That rattle in my brain when I think of her.

Saying I love her
Is the beautiful struggle
I arm wrestling with every day
As I look at the ceiling
Trying to use my eyes
As a cradle for my tears.
Hold them back,
Hold them back,
I say hold them back
Just the ******* gates called shadows
That would would slam her head
Against the door
Because I wouldn't clean my room.

When people ask me about her
I hide the truth under my hoodie
Don't show the truth
Like a weapon
Of awkward conversations
And nervously say,
“Same old same old.”

Forgiveness is only used
With people who like their music on repeat.
I used to subconsciously.
Oh yes,
Played each song perfectly
“Wait I've found your stash
In the same place last month.”
Oh yes I remember that time,
When you were tripping
Over the bottles that held memories
Of when you said
That you would quit
The liquid demons this time

"This time"
The only song I'm thinking of
When I'm thinking
“Mom why are you pouting
On the floor of the market,
You’re 48?”

Her demons constantly grab at my ankles,
Whispering it won’t happen again.
Yet here I am,
Running from the missed calls on my phone,
Sitting in this vacant apartment,
Terrified that I made the wrong decision
Of starting over.

I force myself
To endoure the treck to my past,
The source of why
I don't leave
My vacant cave at night.
Every now and then,
I scavenge this place
We called our playground
Looking, searching
For last batch of complements
To motivate my ego
To treck these tragic events
That partook in this place.

Every streetlight
That pierces the night
Reminds me of the new fashion trend
I picked up called loneliness.
I wish I could take
This coat of depression off of me.
No how many times
I can't shake the feeling
It sticks on me like the Elmers glue
That I stuck to my hands in preschool.

I wish this conflict would subside
Through the silence.
All I can do now
Is climb this familiar path,
Draped over the clouds
Where I can't see my future for
Miles, miles,miles.
Just being stuck in the crevice
That wispers in the wind,
"I'm not as magnificent
As you thought I was"

I slave over slabs of stone
To practice the art
Of being called an artist,
Falling behind consistently
Has taught me
That no many slabs
I slay by your bedside
And pray by every book
I will keep getting trophies
For showing up

Please, oh please!
Could I be good enough?
Yet the howls of the titans
That rest on my subconscious
Screeching on the windowsill on my cranium
That I'm not good enough

Funny
The Mating calls
These gods cry out to my fate
Reminds me of my mother.
Calmly mentioning the same phrase
When she threw my PS2
Down the hollow stair cases
That lead up to my innocence,
Teaching me that life isn't a game,
No matter how many times
I would reset it.
It would keep playing
The same thing.
Why oh Why
Do you fall short.

Why am I not good enough
To be remembered?
No matter what I scream
I seem to be stuck in this bubble of
Who?
Whats his name?
I keep forgetting
That I was targeted
As being Incredibly forgettable.
For my punishment
I shall sit there

Wait what?
How Was I going to finish this again?

I saw his name again,
Plasterd on my mind
Like the cast around my heart.
Doctors told me 4-6 weeks
For my heart to mend back
To the way it was.
Yet it seems
That when I was in comotose
From what you have done,
They switched out my heart
With a counterfeit one
And now,
It makes me feel
Different.

I loved to be used for your ambitions
To meld myself into strange poses
To make you, happy
Until you find someone else
Who can make a stranger pose
To make your new instrument
Hold your hand tighter.

"I don't see the big deal here."
That quote seems to harmonize
With ny biggest fears
Locked away with the smells
Of not being good enough.

Love is on the move,
It drags its callous feet
Carving valleys,
Scooping out the ability
To sleep at night
Because wait,
You heard that right?
I swear my phone just rang.
My mind needs to be a inhaler
So I can learn
On how to breath again.

This tale of sorrow
Isn't portraying forgiveness,
Yet it's how I opened the gates,
Not knowing
That she would blow up
The entire wall.