I’ve lost my motivation to write. I’ve shared oceans of emotions to countless strangers, the Pacific runs deep, so does poetry.  It’s ingrained into my veins, the poetic blood is running thin. I’ve given my mind to putting pen to paper, in the hopes of sharing what won’t be heard.  I’ve screamed out my pains to crowds of has-beens, wanna-bes and random men buying their coffee.  No body ever listens. A great poet once said; “listen to the words, never mind who says them.”  How can you listen to my words, when I don’t even believe I’ve spoken?  I’ve become tongue tied, I’m caught between the lines of false hope and empty pages.  The somber truth is, I don’t know what to write about.  All my scars have been shown, tears have dried up stage floors and self-drawn blood has been cleaned.  What is left to write about when sadness is my motivator?  Everything.  I have more to write about then I ever did.  I can share the moments that cleared my skin of all anguish , Times I sweat poor-appointed fears away. I can tell stories of when I banished a fire-breathing female that took my heart, cooked it like bacon.  The only hope I have left is that it still tastes good to next elegant beauty that comes my way.  I’m the sea of open ideas, an unquenchable desire to fill empty pages.  I’m no longer caught in the web of words I trapped myself into.  The broken promises of “I’ll write tomorrow” no longer exist, just sub-conscious here-say. Approaching from darkness, I whisper to my finger tips and pencils, here comes a new motivation.  It’ll lead to sunny summer Sunday’s, rainbows follow thunderstorms.  I wonder if the leprechauns left me the *** of gold.  I won’t know until I set fire to my graphite flamethrower.  So if you’ll excuse me, I must getting going, my words are getting hot, and I’m ready to write.

I often wonder what stars look like during daylight.  Understandably, that seems contradictory, seeing as daylight is cast from a star.  This isn’t starting out so well.... Just.. Hear me out on this one.... Alright, let’s start again.  I often wonder what stars looking like during daylight.  Do the spread life-giving rays toward deep space or is that just the ignorant optimist speaking too quickly?  I tend to speak first, question later, Standard american wisdom, does anyone else think it’s cool that the hottest stars are actually blue?  Blue... Like the eyes of pretty girls on TV,  Blue, like the first T-shirt my second love told me I looked good in, for a third time.  Blue... Like... Blue’s Clues?  So far, not so good.  I’ll apologize to the audience right now, It’s been some time since I’ve written, Feeling like a typewriter collecting 50 years of dust, my words are quite antiquated. Now... Where were we?  Right! The stars!  They scream to me, words, I only wish I could understand.  I can hear the right side of the sky when the wind calms, and clouds disappear.  “ gaze upon us, let’s fill your emptyness, enjoy the abundance of mysteries sent through your squinted eyes and released from your over-bearing shout.
Hey now, I don’t know about you, that sounded pretty good.  Definitely going to keep that in here.  I think I’m unraveling the mystery, The stars are magicians.  A bit of sleight of hand, now you see me... Now, only they see me.  I finally understand why the ends of stars are pointed, it’s the edge of their wands.  Cascading star dust over what they see fit, I remember being told humans are made of such a thing.  If truth is spoken from these lips, Color me blue, I wish to be the hottest thing in the sky.  Sadly, I’ll be an infrared Super giant, just wasting up space.  Maybe I’m not to know why I can’t see the stars.  I’m not meant to know the mysteries, after all, a good magician never reveals his tricks.  Tonight I’ll look up towards them, infinity between us, I’ll speak to them;         I still can’t see you during daylight.  I can’t hear the left side of the sky, it’s whispers  clouded by Andromeda. However, this stellar disappearing act has allowed one piece of light to shine through the cloud cover and dust I’ve collected.  They’ve helped me finish the poem.

Welcome to the fast lane of...
hold on I’m vibrating.
Cell phone flips open
thumbs move like clockwork
even when inattentive eyes start dead
at the chalkboard.
1st period notes
to last period quizzes,
the mind makes no error between the difference where letters A
and S go.
The world is filled tweets on Twitter
and texts to Timmy’s tiny little brother.
Excuse me please,
I’ll take a super-sized Facebook
but please
leave out homework
because I’d like a tall glass of procrastination.
I’ll take a ride on the super highway that is a cell phone.
Mile long texting to the person right next to me.
  Hey generation X take a seat
and have a laugh at generation TEXT.
I’d like to be the first to say welcome to end of conversation.
Please take a look around
but you might miss the latest drama
if you happen to glance down.
Life is quick
, easy
and painless
but didn’t momma always teach us that that **** was dangerous?
But, hey,
what can I say to change the minds of those who have change their ideas on life about a hundred million times.
I’m just another face in the crowd that has a phone out and my face down.
Whatever happened to actually speaking words that could open doors and let loose a sense of humanity?
Would you like to know answer?
Well here it is....
wait,
I have check Facebook.

I've been locked in a prison.
My chains double binding,
clinching on skin follicles.  
I speak to the emptiness
My echo won't reply,
afraid of the beasts unseen.
I look toward the stars
this 7x7 just got a bit bigger.
I see the winter halo,
The angels surround the moon.
maybe,
they could surround my heart.

Sand paper bags scratch empty city streets, like nails on chalkboards.  It’s amazing how silence can be scary.  I gaze upon empty playground grass, the rampant, rapacious children are no longer able to climb jungle gyms to be king of the world.  Why?  I believe someone invited the Devil to dinner. He scorched earth and burnt tears in barren city streets, I alone see the beauty in the destruction.  Amongst anguish and anger, lies pure serenity.  An ending is just as beautiful as a beginning, like light to files, I’m addicted to pain.  If you’ll allow me, I’d like to show you how demise is perfect.  It’s starts with a smile, broken.  Too many demons spiting languages of hot lava that sounds similar to the solar maximum, It’s my mind that breaks from reality.  Unstable and unappreciated, pain is the only way I can rid the stress, So I have believed.  Starting like a headache, addicting like ****** or cough syrup, The rush of blood spiraling round my upper thigh is something I used to look forward to,
It was the only thing I could say I did for myself.  
Moments spilled into months, months pouring into one self-inflicting year, If only I could show the buckets I filled with the sadness I was afraid to share with the world.  I finally put the blades away when I made a mother watch her baby boy dig scissors into his wrists.  Rosy-red cheeks and rain-drop tears slipping down her face was enough to know I could I do better. I needed to do better.  So, I washed the blood away, erasing every past memory I thought I should regret.  I know life is no ethcy-sketch, the marks I once was proud of bare the same weight of shame.  I consider my addiction to be my savior.  If I never landed on rock bottom, I would never know the power it takes to stand back up.  Now I wake among empty city streets, Sand paper bags sit silently, It’s amazing how silence can be comforting.  I alone see the beauty behind the monster that tore apart my freckled canvas. I look at the Devil in the mirror.
Dinner is finished.

He’s broken promises and lifetime regrets.
He might not win daddy of the year,
he spends his evenings and early mornings wishing he could’ve been a better father.  He’s not a role model,
he made mistakes.
He smoked the things he couldn’t,
he forgot the things he shouldn’t.
He’s so much more.
A leader
an army of youth at his side,
spiting fire that he lit the flame to.
He opened the doors to our poetry,
letting us become the people who we are and what we want.
I never liked having my work judged continuously, until I met him.
His judgement is not for life or death
, it’s for the words I could never speak unless I wrote them.
  A friend,
with the best advice,
a man with a past is a man with experience.
  He can tell you all about late, hazy nights in smoke-filled hotel rooms and polite crack heads in Portland, Maine.
  A man,
willing to address his mistakes and send them flying back to their rightful place,
the past.
He’s the toughest man I know and the only father-figure I like to look up to.
He is.
A role model.
Because,
contrary to popular understanding, a past of mistakes leads to a future of knowledge.
  If I become half the man he is,
I’ll know I’ve lived my life as a good man.
  I can see passion in every word as a slightly under-confident man shoots bullets with poetic lines that can make a room,
pretty **** quiet.
Most doesn’t see him like I do.
  They see tattoos and “*******’s” and assume he a part of the lost youth.  
They’ll never know he’s the compass leading us out of the cave of darkness.
I see a man who smokes too much because he cares for every poet who steps to a mic.
  I see broken promises and lifetime regrets.
He’s all of those things but,
in reality.
He’s.
So.
Much.
More.

It’s more than friendship for us.  We’re closer than that.  we never needed the same blood to call each other brothers.  We bleed similar ideas and thoughts, like telepathy is our only way to communicate.  We’re linked in ways most will never know, See, we’re cut from a different cloth. In our ragged robes we feel like kings because we know we have the greatest jester at our sides. Mind that this is a love poem, love for my friend, my brother, my phone call at 1 am, chatting about everything and anything.  I never walked down streets with such confidence before. his are my guard rail, stopping me from slippery streets and inattentive eyes.  I don’t think we can count the times we’ve defined our code.  It’s not a code of arms, we don’t need to arm ourselves with each other at our sides.  I’ve gone from the boy I was to a man I want to be, thanks to him.  I don’t think he’ll ever understand how much he’s done for me.  It’s been such roller coaster ride, dating best friends and losing loves, we stuck by each other, Spartan warriors would be proud.  He’s like a spider web.  Hidden in small spaces of serenity.  He catches anything that we need to survive and destroys anything that could harm me.  serendipitously our friendship evolved like Pikachu and Squirtile.  We have that Pokemon type of bond, I’ll choose you, every time.   No one will understand when I say, Saving him from SunKist liquids is our defining “broment.” See, in that moment having a bottle rise to his lips, I knew that he needed me to tell him the dangers that lie ahead, as he’s have done for me countless time.  Now, It could have been the time you  told me you hated me in middle school, or the time you tried to save me from a fire breathing dragon. He became the one person I can count on, in a world where a clock ticks too quickly.  It’s you and me against the world, They don’t know what they got themselves into.  We are soldiers, brothers at battle, we start wars with words because our poetic voices are needed in the struggles of a lost generation.  But,  we don’t need to take up arms, we pick pens and write the words that no one has the heart to say.  Our words prove that we never needed the same blood to call each other brothers.  Because it’s more than friendship for us.  We’re closer than that.

It’s the strings of a guitar that remind me of coca butter skin. A warm-hearted harmony transfixes my mind to the california king with ripped bed sheets.  If only you hadn’t tickled the left side of my heart, I could’ve hidden my smile.  You were unexpected, a scientific anomaly.  Blind sided by nervous laughter and beautiful eyes, You’re my Sandra Bullock. You’ve saved me from the darkness of my heart, from all the self-appointed doubts and belief I am everything... But a good man.  It’s the white of your eyes that tells me I’m safe, the dimples of your smile let me know, you trust me. In the years before you, I lived like rusted iron, never thought about, never cared for, looking used and broken.  I was all of these things, because I wanted to be.  I feared of caring, petrified to look into blue eyes, saying, I love you. Weather with luck or broken tan lines, you’ve frozen my fear.  Our first memory is beneath bedsheets, hiding from the friends on the other side of love.  If curiosity kills the cat, I believe I have 8 lives left.  That’ll be long enough to show you that wrinkles above your nose during laughter, is the cutest feature I see.  It was a clouded night sky when we first swapped, I love you’s, I still smell the apple pie we shared.   I’ll cross my heart, hope to die if I forget our five hour mindless midnight argument, we are young adults with minds of children, only we find ice skating funny.  Everything I have is yours, praying that it’ll be enough because when the sky falls down, I’ll want to be standing right next to you.  You’ll be the calm before the storm, the rainbow after rain has seized it’s descent toward troubled grounds. When oceans become puddles, I’ll look back for nervous laughter and beautiful eyes, saving me from the darkness of my heart. I know it’s darkness shall never return, the white of your eyes enlightens the charcoal pieces.  So when the sun burns out, I’ll never be afraid. I’ll have you shield me beneath bedsheets, hiding from those on the other side of something, not yet known.

It's been days since I've seen you.  Your sharp blue eyes are starting to drift away.  Your freckled face has faded itself to white.  I wish you would talk to me.  My head tells me your sorry, but my heart says you're playing me like a drum.  I can't tell you how much your voice excites me.  The tone in which you speak can make my body, tingle.  Too bad you ****** that up.  how dare you try to force me into the oblivion that is your love. You've been all the things i never wanted and the best thing I'll never have.  I won't apologize for the lies you told, I won't feel sorry for the things you did.  I'll just smile, saying "thank you, please don't come back again"  contrary to popular belief, I think you're ******* beautiful... in your own mind.  I hope I don't offend you with these words.  your arrogance is blinding, ignorance is bliss.  Take time to think about this, you won't.  your too stubborn to give in to your long-lost confidence,  your too divided by the drama and cigarettes, I can see right through you.  I guess, you've given in to all the thing I said you would.  I'm tired of giving you all the answers, have fun with life's test, all of what I've said is lost because, Its been day since I've seen you.  Those blank blue eyes, have faded to black.

Maybe it was the first time I gazed upon brilliant brown eyes that needed a second look to satisfy my desire. Maybe it was the moment when greetings dropped from your mouth, my eyes transfixed on the sound resonated from within. The seconds we spent swapping hellos down hallways made my smile glow, I can’t define perfect but, you’re the only one close enough to tickle its chin.  Skip five paces forward, now we aren’t like two peas in a pod, we are too tight to snuggle up close to anything.  I can still smell the scent of cheeseburgers and teenage angst as you and I wasted away our day with jokes filled with *** innuendoes and american stereotypes. The face you make when laughing causes me to reclaim my thoughts of what universal beauty can be.  You made forest fires look like buckets of ices when you stepped in a room, wearing that navy blue dress with ruffles filled with humility and self-confidence.  Maybe it was the moment you can to me for help. I would do anything for a third look at brilliant brown eyes, enough time for me to escape any painful memory from first period.  It could have been the first time I saw you blush when I called you beautiful. Rosey red cheeks never looked so good on tan skin before. I don’t think I could go without saying, it might have been the first time I was able to wrap my arms around your waist and lift you from tiled floors, giving you freedom to fly. My dear Julia, I hope these words shine a light of perpetual friendship, because that’s all I’ve ever wanted from you. So in your native tongue, Eu te amo.

I
Am
An american
I take too much.  
I take everything for granted.
I have more than enough food to feed a family of ten,
Why not waste a meal or two,
who am I really hurting?
I don’t see the scars I’ve dug down deep in the skin of others.
I don’t know the pain I’ve caused.  
The wounds are oozing over but,
I don’t have to worry because
Momma says “shh, baby, it’s okay”
If only she knew that I’ve sent a 6 year old boy in a grown mens battlefield,
land mines and bullets surround him,
I’m corned by MTV re-runs and empty Pepsi cans.
I’ve never had to deal with the pain of watching my mother be beaten in front of my eyes
Just to instill my loyalty
I’ve never watch everything I love burn down to the ground,
I’m too busy chatting up the latest blockbuster movie.  
The money won’t pay for the 9 kids walking the streets,
It’s not much of a game when theres actual lives on the line.
They’ve been bashed and bruised,
Claiming their okay,
Even they know Mona Lisa has a fake smile.
I wish I could show the demons I’ve sent out in the world
They’ve been torturing the souls of the weak and hopeless
I’m hopeful I’ll catch the next Jersey shore episode.
How can you expect me to understand my devastation
when I’m told it isn’t even my fault.  
I’ll never be able to tell you all of the wrongs that I’ve done, because I don’t even know what they are.
They’ve been melted and creamed in a blender
Take a sip from the cup of destruction
Genghis Kong
would be proud.
I guess I’ve taken too many steps in the wrong direction,
make an exception
because the expectation, is that
I can’t be the one to blame.  
My pride is set before the fall of ours,
I’ll never get to see where they land.
Maybe they can find their way to a place where they can hurt people freely.
They’ll take too much.
Take everything for granted.
They’ll waste a meal or two
But,
Who aren’t they really hurting?

I was once told to edit the world. I grabbed my colored pencils, my childish ideals thinking I could simply, go over the imperfections left by my predecessors. Soon I would come to realize, life is no etchy-sketch.  I could shake the world, twist, mold into anything I wanted.  It’s still ****** up.  I’m still trying to color the problems.  I shade the unwanted, masking it over so I can pretend it’s gone.  My day dreams continue further as I sketched over past memories,   just want to edit the world.  But, colored pencils become daggers when in the right hands.  I’ve leaped into this idea with no plan, Standard american wisdom.  Act first, question later.    my first action should have been to ask, is the world a canvas?  Maybe it’s a kindergarden sandbox, 5 year old fists and 6 year olds toes smash and pound through.  Maybe it’s a thunderstorm because, I was told life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. All I’ve seen is dark clouds and lighting.  Maybe the world is me.  Poetic angst without fail, too much energy to use, to many words spoken at a rapid pace. Maybe the world is you, you, or you.  It’s not just its own story, it’s a combination of auto-biographies still being written.  Maybe... Just maybe, we are all editors.  The world is constantly being edited, no single person should aim to do it themselves.  Our world is force, a group, a team, a family taking the pens from our mothers and fathers, writing our chapters into the guide on how to edit.  Sooner rather than later, we’ll pass our pens down to those who will write the chapters we never get to see.  Hopefully, 5 year old fists and 6 year old toes become 20 year old champions and 30 year old heroes. We can share our stories, filled with the people we’ll never forget, and the nights, we can’t seem to remember. In the end, editing the world will never finished, it can be forgotten.  We hope shedding sun rays on a rainy day, might convince our successors to never forget.  Sadly, We can only hope they wish to edit.

In the moment I heard your sweet embrace was lost, I could see the safety orange jacket, six layers beneath that coat of so-called protection.   I can hear the cracks of the leaves beneath your boots, the ever-moving grip of your hand on your gun.  I can feel the tension tipping timelessly toward the moment the grip changed from the gun to something more... precious.  Step by step, you’ve made all the right moves in all the wrong places, and now that snapped twig underneath your foot has become more than a distraction to the deer.  From afar, another like you hears all the steps you’ve taken, and being gone with the wind, he takes his shot, in hopes for the prize buck.  You are a prize, but one meant to be shared, and still around to give your little girl the power she needs to get passed all the boys you wish she’d never met.  I can see your eyes passing through you’re fondest memories, you had no time for all the things you would never do, your humor and love of life out weighs the pain everyday of the week, and twice on Saturday.  I can remember the first time I met you.  I have met dad’s before, but, you will forever be my favorite. If only you’re gentle hands could rest on our shoulders, just one. more time.  I wish I could tell you all the things you want to hear, but, it’s not my place and, not my time.  but, i do know that your babygirl is safe, she’s still the best part of you and she’s going to shine like the princess like you know she is.  your wife, your best friend, she’s going to be the best person she can, like you know she has for so many years.  So, yes you’ve passed on to the next great adventure and we all miss you, but always remember P.J.K., you’re gone, never forgotten.

I didn’t see it coming,
It wasn’t set on my nightly planner.  
4 sober hours ago seem so far away now.  
On my left hand,
cherry red lipstick smug stains shows memories of a forgotten night that I’ll always have to regret.  
See, I only wish it was lipstick.  
Truthfully, I know that 2 hours and a 5th of ***** earlier I was all to worried about which girl I want to take home.  
Stumble 1 drunken hour later,
keg stands and **** rips have me defying gravity and federal law.
My beer googles are activated,
I’m captivated with the idea of driving.  
30 smashed minutes forward,
I finally reach the forbidden fruit with
2
beautiful blonde blue-eyed babes.  
Tumbling into our seats,
we were invincible.  
Plastering our way forward through empty roads and city streets,
I’m reminiscent on stop signs and brake lights.  
I hear cherry red lips speak sensual words into my ear,
whispers of achieving my goal.
It’s stated eyes are windows to the soul,
this is true because I could see it in the reflection of pupils,
a single tree along with it.  
I turn my beer goggles quick enough to see this wasn’t a tanked-up nightmare but,
the bark of a beast that makes no noise.  
I saw 2 beautiful blonde blue-eyed girls fly threw my windshield,
I wonder what their moms will say.  
I got wrecked to wreck the lives of not only myself but
of entire families and lives
that weren’t even created yet.  
I’ll never know the wonders I killed,
the hopes I stabbed,
the dreams I cut down deeply into their veins and watched them bleed out.  
30 somber minutes I spent finding nothing else to blame,
it’s all on me,
I was the drunk judge, jury and executioner.  
Now, I look to my left hand,
wishing 4 sober hours ago,
I could’ve saw it coming.

There are times that I feel I don’t even know you. Times that seem to never fade away.  But, as a child who dealt with you leaving day after day I feel like I shouldn’t be so scared. At age 5, I was little boy wishing to be all he could be.  A kid that any dad would want.  I wanted to be just like you.  Big muscles, strong voice and my own company.  At age 10, I was growing tired of you.  But, I was still a boy, unwilling to see what was actually happening.  You’re seemingly unending verbal abuse secrets a deadly poison into my veins.  Now as I slowly creep my testosterone levels up, up and away, I’ll start to pull down your kaleidoscope colored curtains.  By 15, we couldn’t be more separate.  Divided by dinnertime arguments and back-talking homework battles.  The more you speak, the more I want to leave this house and never come back.  I sometimes wish I could change things but, it’s too little, too late.  At age 16 to the day, I step in the labyrinth that confines me to find you raged and red-faced and she is on the phone, canceling the party. My not-so-sweet 16 ended in a hotel room, filled with unshown tears and bags of Cheez-its. Then, I finally decided who you were to me the day I went to tell my mother about my day at school.  Tears ran like the free-flowing waters of the Amazon as she tried to defend you’re already broken armor.  My brain ran 653 miles an hour as she spoken of a deed I thought unspeakable.  You call me on the phone and say “I don’t know what to say, bro.”  Well, “bro” how about “I’m sorry for literally breaking every life long lesson I’ve taught you and I’m sorry for smashing the hearts and minds of our family.”  That can get you by on our 3 minute 27 second phone call.  Now, I look at you and can’t decide.  Are you still the man with big muscles, strong voice and his own company? or are the shell of a man I still wish I knew?  I wish I could answer but, There are times that I feel like I don’t even know you.

Sweet sing-song kisses take time to times forgotten.  I’d compare you to semi-sweet chocolate chip cookies.  giving me taste of worlds known not to be.  I’d make you the sensual honey in the bee hive.  so sweet, I can’t share you.  You’re like the tall glass of lemonade on sweaty summer days.  quenching my every desire.  The binding touch of your lips is a prison I will most certainly enjoy.  The words that you speak so softly makes my ears tingle.  With you, I can float around galaxies. no gravity exists in this rotary revolution.  If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d like to tell you how beautiful you are, how your eyes are more than windows to your soul, they show mine too.  The amount of words I could write cannot scratch your diamond hard surface.  If I could put poetry in motion, you’d be the ever-so sweet line that melts hearts like butter.  I could use these hearts in semi-sweet chocolate chip cookies, with tastes of worlds only known to us.  We can fly around galaxies, save a dying world and if there’s time, we could possibly fall in love.  You would be my light at the end of a tunnel, casting small pieces of serenity.  You could show me all the things I never thought beautiful, having all of there delightful smells and sounds cascade over me, dripping like raindrops.  The ways you have shown me. bring me back in time to a history I perceived long lost.  This place has sweet sing-song kisses that takes time to times forgotten.  It makes me think of you like sensual honey in a bee hive,  I’d go searching from flower to flower with weepy eyes of joy, knowing that no matter how far I’ve gone or where I’ve been, I can bring my discovered treasures back home. When I finally return to our loft so high about unforgiving soils, I would swarm you with hugs and kisses. I’d love you so undoubtedly,  gods must kneel before its power.   So when our final curtain closes, our show meets a lovely lullaby-style ending, we could ask the world, How does being GAY change love?

I’m sitting on the edge of my bed.  The room is pitch black, hidden in the absence of light.   How many times could I fool myself into thinking I was the only thing she needed?   The fist-shaped holes in the wall and 2 inch deep cuts in my wrist are the only things I have to remember her by.  The how ever many nights I spent running my fingers through my hair, wishing I could take back all of the things that I’ve done. Now, I’m taking a turn onto a new road, a road I’ve never been through.  It seems to be the longest journey I’ve been on and I can’t seem to find a way off this highway of low self-esteem and fake smiles.  The room is cold, just how my blood runs through my veins.  I can’t seem to come to terms with the idea that I just wasn’t good enough,  wasn’t her anything.  Pillows become memories, Xbox is my time machine, sending me back to the day so that my Modern Warfare isn’t dropping nuclear bombs, but the dropping of words that I didn’t have the heart to say. But, the words are just battles, the thoughts become mental warfare.  No way back to past I wished to call a future and if the present is a gift, I’d like to return this for the one I wish I still had.  I cannot even stand on my own two feet without triggering brainwaves that send a suicidal sea into an apathetic ocean.  No one can hear the sobs I’ve cried. The tears that run down my face feel like acid.  Every tear with the burn of you not coming back.  There’s no light at the end of this tunnel because, I’ve been bouncing of the walls just waiting for you to flip the switch.  So I’ll ride this road into oblivion, no stopping a man who’s incarcerated his soul to a demon of deceit and false promises of the heart.   The darkness is caving in and I’m having trouble breathing but, I like it.  In this moment of certain demise, I finally find something to fight for other than you, it’s me.  So, I’ll leap off the edge of my bed,  in a room so full of darkness, hidden in the absence of light, and hope that I can catch more than this final breath.