I took off...

As if I ever landed.

Like my landing gear actually deployed this time.

It was a crash.

A beautiful escape.

Directional disappearance into an oblivion of no regrets.

The smoke settled to reveal emergencies.

Love me like something tragic.

Stretch your arms across mountains to reach my heart so it will continue to palpitate.

I can't teach myself to feel the love you give me.

Let's have a show and tell.

Show me your love and I'll tell you all about how a universe of explanations won't relate how I feel.

We flew together.

In no specific direction.

But it was our exact path of destruction.

Destroying every falsified rumor ever fed to us in sippy cups made from our spilt past.

So we never really landed.

Let's never arrive.

I want to be torn into shreds.

Take me apart at the joints.

Break the best of me.

Destroy all the human in me.


I need to be rebuilt.

A new start.

Something better than before.

Build me into complete again.

Montana will never be complete as a full state. The west side of the state has always left the map lopsided with mountains and beautiful lakes. While the east side is an overly unattractive sheet of black white paper. plain.

I grew up in kalispell. A whirlwind mixture natural with casinos talking to the trees. I was 8. Tommy was my best friend. He was a rolling fire ball full of oxygen waiting to breathe molecules dripping of rebellion.

We made this pact. Now I can't tell you the name of it. Well because I don't go back on that ****. We climbed trees with t-rex watches wanting to jump years ahead with springs for ribs that expand as our imaginations launched backflips through dusty alley ways.

We never once lost a game of cops and robbers. A grown up now. By age. I found a place. It was hidden in that tree in Montana. Lost in translation between the waves and the shores. Fallen somewhere after the suns rays and the way plants will always gravitate towards warmth.

I burrowed into my own synapses to find something more than right here right now. A place of altered reality sliced into a 7 piece pie. Slice one.

The scent of this place alone is enough to leave me undone and ready to fall.

Two. Penguins.

Three. It's an underwater cave. Hidden in your chest holding out reasons to let everything go and work right.

Four and five are somewhere dropped down a water fall trough the canopy of the napali coastline.

Six was in my legs as I ran through dusty pages of libraries full of knowledge I can't wait to learn. Drenching my veins in liquid inquiries.

And 7 is a place I call home. It ends up being wherever I am. Home with a marching band heart and quarters lost in couches.

When you fall asleep I will still kiss your upper back.  This does not take place in hope that you will wake up, I want my kiss to seep into your nerve endings and find myself in your dreams. Dripping my kiss into every ounce of your future.

The acrylic style that found a gap in my brave flavored fortune. Writing me off like a bad tattoo at 15. I found the ink left in your blood dripped house on the prairie. Discovered fossils of ancients. Left the air heavy around the place. Dusty shelves filled with eyes that have watched lives move around for years.

Discovery found in the cobwebs in the corner. All eyes on the show. The one on repeat in black an white. Playing static on hollow walls, Inner ears and plastic heart beats. Detected the frightened feelings inside the couch. The imbedded body parts left over time. Avoiding the obviously oblivious.

Cans line the walls of denial built on falsified rumors of comforted table cloths. Crock of **** that was. Crock pots are the best. Just let everything boil all day, then accept and devour. Heated heaven in a porcelain platter dished up by perfect palms pausing to elate you. Here have another one.

Avoidance techniques only hold their ground for so long. Winter will wander off and this ground you stand on will thaw. Those footprint will stick in the ground like the ink the typewriters would explode on papers untouched. Stuck. Leaving particles of life across the windowed season.

I want to tell this to you now. But I could never find the words to tell you. I wrote hieroglyphics across your eyelids, stapled memos to your chest, and flew banners in the scenery while you dreamt.

Translations of these words alone will not be sufficient enough to tell you what I want to share.  I... Miss you. I miss you like a front tooth on picture day.

I sat on a hill one day. It was spring. Maybe. Or maybe it was winter. Spokane can't make up it's mind anyways. I watch while the horizon tucks the sun into the blanket of darkness as night falls upon the everything bright. I forget that I'm still moving. That the earth doesn't slow down for me. Or that the eucalyptus forest in western japan still feeds pandas while I sleep.

There was a new feeling of glory that day. Of power raining down into my fingertips. The kind of rain that won't stop when you dry your hands. This long awaited arrival doesn't have a a departure time. Full steam ahead and best foot under.

I built a mountain once in 8th grade. Molding every tip and compressing every valley. That's this moment right here right now. I will stand on the top of this elevation, all 13853 millimeters of it and I'll be proud of the mountain that lay under me. We are too tragic to think we must all conquer mt Everest. That we must be the first and the best in the west. I want to be first at the trivial accoplishments. I swear on everything I'll be the first to find my miss matched socks. Or that one time I was the best at listening. It's so hard to listen when there's an orchestra in your lungs waiting to be heard. I want to be the first to the playground to show them how serious I take this thing called life. How I'll swing on those swings with the confidence of a bald eagle. Did you know they can glide for 3 hours without flapping their wings. If only I could focus for that...... There is a bird in my chest is what I mean. One that wants to fly. It's stuck in this cage of opinions and small talk keeping it at bay. Telling it how there is no time to reason with centrifugal force. You get too dizzy when the time comes. I'm dizzy with life. I have spent the last.... Too long trying to see straight. To figure out what path I should take. I want to be a teacher to help things with their smarts and stuff. Or maybe I want to be a garbage man to help people get rid of all their regrets with non of the space. I'll tell them to have a nice day as I tuck everything they stopped caring about Into my pocket. I want to be better. Better than I was before. I will be more than everything. Because right now I am more than a 10 letter word and I can prove you wrong with a pen. So as I show you 5 pairs of matched socks, holes in my 3 pairs of underwear, and a closed drawer I don't want to talk about, I hope you know that I am trying to show you how much I care. It's the trivial things that matter to this ghost box of a heart I have.

If I could serve a buffet of every word I have ever thrown up out of this mouth, I would lose my appetite.

It's natural to be afraid

So step into this

Be terrified with me

This is the picture painted to represent years of learning in a warehouse hidden in the hills of yesterday. We gain knowledge by digging neurotic craters, filling those holes with interesting things like the evolution of humankind, the platypus, or how politicians sleep at night.

Arts not the same for all of us. We all know I'm better with painted fingers, because then I can redesign my scars with regrets i have not learned from yet.

I will be able tell you every detail of why, just not now. Attempt to Imagine art so intricate that we never let anyone see it, we keep it locked away for years and years. Stored away in a dome of stay out of my occupancy.

I Built barriers buried under burned books and belated beautiful bones that never knew who they were in the first place. Praying to a god that doesn't speak to me in the first place. That guy hasn't said a **** word since I went deaf.

The trepidation was evident by the gleam over her eyes. Fallen books in an empty library don't tell secrets. Open the page to find a broken story of success under a starlit world. Hiccups only trouble the weary. Chase a dream of band wagon dreamers told of constant maintenance. Figure out the cost of being lost to find the difference in pure pleasure. A difference of angles and trajectory. The degree is far greater than the temperature of sadness allotted by your heart. Filling up on diesel for an electrical Heart box. Logical algorithms are not needed for oblivion . Simply factor in the tangible feelings of reality. This will guide the principle notion of being afraid. Divide that by unknown to the forget real power. After all the figuring, planning, and  orbiting, I shall place this here for the return of who knows. Because math is no way to solve a hitch in the mainframe.

My brother,

You are my brother. A man of bones and too many cigarette ashes lacing your lungs.

My brother,

We are a bond. One that got chewed up by the next door neighbors dog but is still his favorite toy.

My brother,

I am so sorry for the things I believe you can do.

My brother,

From the second she left I have been saving my water for the day you run dry.

My brother,

Drowning is not the cure.

My brother,

Distance can sometimes be the best thing for someone. It gives you perspective. And the further away something is the bigger you feel.

My brother,

Please, be my big brother. Be bigger as I go further.

My brother,

Let me crack your back. Stand up straight and look me in the eye. Wash this moment with the idea that we are water. Running through a valley of flash flood and we will overcome everything here.

My brother,

Take my hand. Let's snap this broken wishbone in half and make our own dreams come true. Let's become everything we thought we could be when we where five. Let's fight like tomorrow is waiting for us. Like mom, maybe like mom can hear us. Let's show her how much we truly love her.

My brother,

I know this is not easy. No one ever said it was. But pick up your bootstraps. I need you... My brother.

The stale ring left in my ear. Walls covering eyes and memories. White as snow, dull as a knife. The constant movement of this place is

unsettling. Comfort of the hurt and hurting. Bandage me up and break my spirits. Give me serenity in these broken moments. Hallways tunnel out of my sight.

That bed that too many people have been through. The pain that was felt, struggles, tears, blood and fluid. This place holds history.

The kind of history in that one book in the library. Furthest row from the door, tucked in a blanket of dust, top shelf. The book no one will read because of the way it makes you feel.

Helplessness and earthquakes.

Break trough this heart and tumble me wave. But I'll puff up my chest for you. I'll wear my steel chest plate. Arrows won't penetrate these reinforcements.

I ate my wheaties this morning. Prepared mentally and set out. I stepped through these doors only to be vulnerable, shot down, weak. Defenseless like a sloth. Grabbing my own arm for comfort, while falling too many stories down.

A Desolate attempt to show courage. I'll burrow back into my hole. The observed pain is too much. The false promises of health, fortitude and strength never taste so bitter.

If your strength didn't prove so much this would be long over. Over and out. Under the blanket of clouds and relief. You care too much. You proved your worth with a heart of diamonds. Home is a moveable fortress. One I'll never step in again.

I want to be your forest fire.

I want to burn down all the good in you.

Everyone needs a fresh start at some point.

The times when our hearts interlace their deepest roots.

That's when I feel the most sober.

When your voice is the honesty I swallow.

That's when I feel the most sober.

The times your eyes promise me an upside down future that you flipped right side up.

That's when I feel most sober.

I want to be sober every moment with you. Because you are my finest form of inebriation.

Feels like you.

Or a whiskey bottle.

Two things.

I get drunk on too often.

It's as if a storm blew in, torrential rains, metal bending winds and standing in the eye was you.
Waves crashing. People locked up for days, hours, as time danced around -- the clocked stopped ticking.
A foolish venture to see the cause of such array. To see. To touch. To feel. Your sight penetrating through the clouds, ripping apart my seams. You watch as I came undone; undone by the velvet in your eyes, the bend in your smile. I twirl as I am stripped clean in your eyes. You see every scrape, scar, bruise and every moment I have tried to sew back together. Your touch burns my flesh. Sear into me a moment I cannot forget, a moment I grasp for in the darkness when I am all alone.
It's as if I can feel your fingerprint on my heart with every beat. As I stumble towards you, exposed and raw --- you absorb me. Absorb my pain, struggles, my darkness. You hold me so tightly it's as if when you breathe, I breathe the same breath.
Your embrace calms the storm. Calms the rush of thoughts, fears, worries and emotions. As I look up into your eyes, you see my future. My happiness. My vision of happily ever after -- holding hands in the sunset, in the rain, in the snow. As the winds die down, as the rain lets up, as the oceans settle -- I see you clearly. I feel your heartbeat. I know I am right where I should be. The eye of you.

I want to read you

Like the fine print

In the Terms and Conditions

Written in Braille

So I can feel

Every word written

On your heart

In elementary school you learn about the importance of the 8 parts of speech. That with these essential bits and pieces of the English language you can grammatically slay dragons, build empires upon prepositional phrases, and verbally split wigs with hammering conjunctions.

Spitting flexible adjectives in general directions with a chance that someone might listen. I wish you could still listen.  I want to tell you. Verbalizing verbs with vicious vernacular. I shipped it. Wrecked it. Mauled it.

I want to fix it. I can't. I'm waiting. For the day I can hug you again. To apologize for the lack of complete. In life you complete stuff. Like when your mother tells you that you can't quit clarinet in the 5th grade, because once you start something, you finish. We never finished.

You left before we could complete. I didn't say goodbye or even hello. I guess I could blame it on pronouns. I could say well she didn't let me know, he was lost in his words. We didn't want to intrude on the walls they built with words that I never spoke. But without them I would be so much better off.

Or That we need to talk. We need to figure my **** out because some days this iceberg set of lungs I have, only melt when I don't need then to. So pass through me. Across the tremendous skin across my body in order for me to feel again.

The skin is tucked under this hard shell I learned to build after being poked all too often. Poked with things like goodbyes or when I can't tell time on analog clocks. Numbers are hard to compute when all I see is you. I want to quickly get over the slow process of slickly sliding into a hole I'll never figure out.

I'm in a directional pull towards who knows where with nothing but my brain space. We all know how dangerous things get in there. Like that time, when I was 7, I was convinced you were kidnapped by the bandit in my dream. Sleeping is hard these days.

Laying straight across my bed with images painted of you charges the waves in my head.
Hair flown through the air capsules occupying space across your shoulders.

The way your face glows like snow on Christmas morning.
Giving my spine flowing shivers of elation and angst.
Formations created by muscles fibers, causing a earthquake in knee joints with a simple smile.

Never seen a softer jaw line fill my imagination so often.
Under flowing gorgeous hair your shoulders sit curved and forward like a anxious cat ready to pounce at the way I can't breathe when we catch eyes.
Moving down your body your flesh draws my attention to complete obliterating originality.

I know you love math so maybe you could understand, that there Is not an answer for every equation.
Like how when you take the square root of beauty, divide it by a curve, and rethink the small of your back you get knees that shake with giddy.

This doesn't quite make sense anymore because my thoughts become paralyzed at the possibility of you actively playing the violin strings between my ability to feel. I want to listen to the orchestra of your body every moment of my awaken state.

It plays love. It screams in the face of didn't think I had a chance to catch my heart from running off into the sunset. Let's run away together. That way I can learn every part of you deeper than this simple poem I'm writing.

Your sun shining on my face through the tinted windows of restraint. Walls broken down though drop kicks and hammer hits. Crumbling to the ground with an earth shattering I love you.

Arms open take me home to somewhere unknown. To the distant unfamiliarity that I call comfort. Trust fall, head slamming smitten. Dazed as a tacky cartoon character. Blistering wind of happiness content.

To where I will go as the heart I carry. As a rock in my chest waiting to be moved by the storm of absolute ness. Walking through a curtain of shivers. Drop me to my knees as I fall forward. Catch me with your strong will and acceptance.

Be able to take this to a different dimension. Somewhere far away from what it once was. It being the thing that is not clear. The pure feeling of electricity in your touch of eel shock. Breathless and abandoned in pure form. Leave me elated again and I promise. I promise.... Ill show you

Love, well love is like a good cup of coffee

We all want to drink it without getting burnt

Cedar armored walls.
Defined by addition.
These 4 walls are only limitations.
Multiplied by distance .
To equal a
Freedom cut down.
Chipped at with a dull ax.
Bring the house down.
Glory and drink in hand.
This carpet captures secrets.
The spills of wine and tears.
Stains on character.
This chair stands strong.
Faultered? Not today.
Antique like your bones.
Fragile pressure of air.
Pressing on your pores.
You light this room.
Presence of fireflies.
Light my will to the door.
Step into the world.
Through this lanterned heart.
Use your butterfly eyelashes.
Flick the snowflake.
Guide your melting steps.
Snow disapates into forever.
Your an angel through purity.
Lungs flushed of ability.
Stutter stepped stupid.
Beauty of freedom.
Nature flexing possession.
Captivated.

Drink me up

Tell me what your heart really feels

"God why, why god? Why me? Why is life so miserable? I want to give up. Show me. Help me."

These words. The ones weighed so heavily on a hospital bed. They dragged the air down to my shoes leaving all lungs without oxygen.

The walls felt deep.

Never ending abyss of confirmed failures. Continuance of a ringing that still bleeds in my ears today. The slow beating of a flatlined life.  

This was simply the bad news on repeat. Stuttered and obliterated my brain waves that couldn't find up from down.

I've never seen a heart spread so neatly on the floor.

The pieces too small to pick up one by one. Instead we stare and observe a life not wasted across the linoleum. Watching the pieces flutter and shake in their space

So we swept the pieces into the corner. No need to keep this reality playing like elevator music. Stand by if you know what's best for ya.

These walls are for the broken hearted, the wretched, and fallen, you'll fit in just fine.

Lets push this bed out the window, it will be the first time we've been free in years. Like a bird? **** that, today we are our own.

Find wing tips fluttering fallout baby balling on a window sill. Haven't felt this way before. Outpatient freedom that will last as long as that nice pair of socks that somehow, your dryer ate and turned into lint.

I'm gonna need some therapy with that noxious cup of coffee. I can't simply continue the same beaten path.

The acrylic style that found a gap in my brave flavored fortune. Writing me off like a bad tattoo at 15. I found the ink left in your blood dripped house on the prairie. Discovered fossils of ancients. Left the air heavy around the place. Dusty shelves filled with eyes that have watched lives move around for years.

Discovery found in the cobwebs in the corner. All eyes on the show. The one on repeat in black an white. Playing static on hollow walls, Inner ears and plastic heart beats. Detected the frightened feelings inside the couch. The imbedded body parts left over time. Avoiding the obviously oblivious.

Cans line the walls of denial built on falsified rumors of comforted table cloths. Crock of **** that was. Crock pots are the best. Just let everything boil all day, then accept and devour. Heated heaven in a porcelain platter dished up by perfect palms pausing to elate you. Here have another one.

Avoidance techniques only hold their ground for so long. Winter will wander off and this ground you stand on will thaw. Those footprint will stick in the ground like the ink the typewriters would explode on papers untouched. Stuck. Leaving particles of life across the windowed season.

I went rummaging through my mistakes tucked under my bed behind the closet. I have skeletons sleeping back there that don't exist in the future.

When I opened my heart to grab onto my spinal cord and snap myself out of it I found mirrors of my childhood girlfriends, a picture of the time I went to McDonald and got the chicken nuggets when I was four, and a bucket hat that my mother never should have bought me.

These were things I wish never happen. Hannah, she cracked my femur with the pressure of a goodbye laid across the never happen. We were 1822 days old and going on stronger than ever.

It was here that I learned that I love my stuffed animals too hard, because I often wear them down from all the attention smothering their jugulars and stitching my loneliness into their knee caps. We were. There is a storage space so wide open and full of grace waiting for a  soft hand to lift its spirits, i need a drink.

It stands two feet tall in a colony of insecurities so intricately woven into patterns of bad ideas that i don't think it ever had a chance. I've never been good at telling the difference between the color of the floor board and the bleeding pattern of the ceiling.

And I could never fully grasp the reason why ***** packs are not only socially looked down upon but completely misunderstood. Efficiently storing every secret at waste level.

I have a lot of regrets. I'm not proud of most of them. But from them I was drunkenly spit into my present form. And from here I will always wear ***** packs.

You know I'm gonna need a hand with these limbs.

Flowing rivers of everything we have hidden behind dams.

Life will continue up stream in spring.

Lets follow footprints and splashes that disappear in season.

I know things aren't easy to see without your spectacles,

So let me help you feel spectacular.

But this experience is nothing but a shade and shadow.

Find the form to work through the creases in its eyebrow.

Drop everything to analyze something flown past with preoccupied neurons.

Don't walk around the welcome mat when you're welcome here.

Come on in, enjoy the meal of real and irrefutable.

It's tastes good if you stop chewing on your tongue.

Share oxygen with the operating punching bags in my chest.

They operate under the condition that they listen to me.

Sometimes I forget to broadcast my hearts intentional reasons for beating.

I guess that's beside the point.

Just come with me. Let me spell it out in the clouds.

Nature has always given the disclosure you've needed.

Screaming silence and belated adulation at the peak of tomorrow.

Two breathes away from your next breathe.

Relax, see now for how it is.

A release of yesterday's promises.

When I was a volunteer fire fighter I found out that when a human being is trapped inside of a house drowning in fire, often they do not burn to death it is the smoke that kills them. My biggest fear is being burned to death.

So what's it like to inhale so much smoke that you quickly become it. You drift through the broken air full of charcoal grays attempting to find anyway out. A floating wish of a better tomorrow.

A window, a vent, a mouth. How much longer must we test the the water slide of convincing cancer. Smoke can lure you in oh too easily. Inviting you. Reaching for you. Holding you.

Boy there are so many thing I would rather be held by. Like koalas. Loosen your grip and follow me away from this place. You deserve better than an empty promise. I know dad conditioned you to eat them up.

But this is a broken promise. One that is going to break a family of two when you break a family of two you end with one. I know you want to feel like mom did, but she should be endured that pain and taught us how hearts can break when perfection is drifted away.

My friend, step off your pedestal. Mercy won't stay with you forever. And you know for a **** fact we don't have forever.
Open the window and flee. Drop your cigarette and grab my shoulder, we're in this together.

So when I realized you are in a house fire. I understand you are not going to die from the fire alone. I get that you will smoke yourself out before I get the chance to save you.

We are fire fighters. Mom taught us, so put our your fire.

Cover me like snow.
Sweep me into your pocket.
Loose me in your sunrise.
End these faulted comforts.

Pick me above head for a view.
Take me through the tunnel.
Break down the iceberg.
It's all fresh water.

Can I walk through the door?
Maybe have a seat?
Ill stay for as long as you ask.
Faint presence in a silent room.

Tread the streets lightly.
Make me a reality of adulation.
My ear loves the patterns of your breath.
Breathe into me.

Lets walk these paths through the forest.
The unknown ones.
Just like fresh steps in the sand.
We know they are washed away.

Get lost in focused tension.
This rock of solitude doesn't move.
Fallen tsunamis on soil.
Immovable occupied space.

These days will end out of storms.
in warmth and peacefulness.
Laid down soft pillow cases.
Accept this excitability.

Use your snow to make angels.
I'm not some lint in your pocket.
Keeping me warm summer.
Faults filled. Solved.

I'm drunk.

Off your presence.

Intoxication never felt so good.

I hate planes a lot. Mostly just the cabin pressure. It makes me feel real uncomfortable. Like peer pressure in the 8th grade. The snacks are good. I love complementary trail mix. Reminds me of filthy peanuts in a biker bar somewhere in montana. So here I am one seat away from a new destination. A new place where people know me... Or they don't. Either way I'm surrounded by strangers. Here on one side of me I have a California king. I'm not talking about a mattress here. I mean a man so tan his skin looks like stretched leather on a cowboy boot. Flip flops to match the watch that tells you time, or how much money he spends on accessories. He sits big in his little chair. Like an over filled glass of milk. A tan mark where his wedding ring use to sit. Divorce was spelt out along his confidence. And his MacBook.  And on the other side we have hello kitty. Dropped out of a commercial with zebra print pillows covered in comforted teal stories. An Asian girl. Traveling alone with a mouth full of things she will never tell me. Like " I hate that you hog the arm rest" " I don't like flying" and " where are you from?" We separate ourselves with awkward tension that you can't place in first or last. I'm 3 inches away from two parts of complete that I will never get the chance to know. So I realize this is the closest we will ever be. Me and you. In this space. Sharing this peer pressured air. Stuck between you and a compliment. I will never know what to say in these situations. So I will step of this plane miles away from anything I believe in. I'll drink a beer in the memory of every moment I did not take advantage of. Maybe I can step off this plain at 30,000 feet and fully recognize the brilliance of our time here.

That vibration you feel. It's like tuning forks ringing through your elbow begging of you for something more. Get me off. Slide me right. Let me see the dirt under your fingernail and maybe I can see the moments of our past. It was scratched up and forgotten about. But for now just answer me. Now. Give me release. I know you don't know who I am. Although I give you promise that I could be your everything. There are 829571 different people I could be. Open your heart and let me in. I'll warm your fire. I'll tickle your pickle. I'll, sell you a get away cruise to the bahas for the small price of your identity. Maybe I'll be you. Sitting behind a desk, waiting to exist in every position you wanted to fill. Society needs you. Like we need you to fill spots many others can fill. You are replaceable. Calling center one O one, let me make you believe you're an individual. Because to me, I have always needed another stud on my heels. Another piece of gum to fill the space between my heart and lungs. Breathing is harder than felling. Feeling is harder than playing dead. When I am dead I still hear phones ring. You're here. With me. Let's do a 3 way call. Maybe we can convince someone we are something better than bones in a bag. Deeper than fossils in poor neighborhoods. Let's make a power plant out of our facts. They are energy, existing in temperature Change within our friction. I'll rub this heart raw until I can calculate who you are. Come inside. Let me change you. I'll show you everything more than a social perspective. I'll show you passion. Release. Let me be your rebellion. I need a cause to start a fire.

You never answered. No voicemail. Only left with extreme wonder of something extraordinary mystery. Wonder of the possible greatness we could have been if you would have picked up the phone.

Sincerely,  

Unknown number

A Ball of flame stuck above the spinning overpopulated ball of mineral.
Thanks.
This is a letter of appreciation to you.
To show the abilities you possess.
To your boring appearance.
To gas, from me or you.
To orbital seasons.

A letter of the heat you have allowed for my skin to absorb.
The heat that tells ice to run free.
The heat allowing the helpless to survive.
The heat giving power to a solar panel in a 3rd world country.
The heat taken for granted and cursed after a forest fire.
In denial that you are simply allowing a rebuilding of nations.

A letter created because of the light you provide my fingers.
Light that refuses close quarters with darkness.
Light providing rays of D to flow into happiness of flesh.
Light showing beauty on the faces of those on this bruised up earth.
Light giving life to all forms.

But,
What about that time you gave me false promises?? The sunrise dissipated by clouds and loneliness. Or how about when you burnt my skin. I remember that vividly. Lobstered up walking like a robot. I know the feeling because of the skin on my body told me so. I see straight through you, go pick on someone your own size. There's an entire universe out there waiting for your powerful engulf. ******* and up instead of down.

Or maybe you can turn off. We can pollute the ozone, block your outrageous rays, and slaughter the heat you produce. Then maybe we can live somewhere where feelings don't melt so easy.

Drifting through my mind, resting, dust particles no one notices sitting on the shelf. Observe life through a fuzzy spectrum. Slam your feathered pillow under my falling brain. Cushion this sky dive with your silk hands. Don't conduct this silent choir. Things work fine without your general commands. Just watch. Watch the leaf fall, dew form, clouds cumulate. It happens so naturally. Us. Natural. Pure. Exemplary. This course is self taught. Traveling at a speed of self worth and Discovery. Fumble down your righteousness. We all have dirt under our fingernails. Lets play in the dirt, sand, snow. Get lost in our time zones. Playing the same notes to find a symphony behind your eyes. Lovely is the way you see this world. Come see it. Float like the boat crossing the canal. Taking days to cross a minute. Storms and coves unknown to any. Your arrival is so important. Come rest in the lions mane. Enter this habitat of slips and tangles. Intertwined in me. Be fierce in your passionate subtleties. Float with grace and comfort. Lets float.

Own you.
Own things.
Own spaces.
Own desperation.
Exhale. Release.
Pick it up again.
Pick your actions.
Pick the way you say
The way you care is so fragile.
Don't diminished the experience.
Know you place.
Back right, second to last row.
The place where eye contact is a rarity.
Tucked in on comfort and limitation.
Give half *** is all that is asked of here.
Pressure is minimum.
Exemplary is less than effort here.
What are the expectations?
Inhale, move, live in a space.
Space is what you make it.
Classrooms, ballrooms, fields.
Own you.
Own presence.
Own breathe.
Own time.
It's of the essence.
Drop worthless.
Drop loneliness.
Drop perceptions.
Expectations catch you.
Trap door spider.
The shifty silhouette in the corner of the room.
Applying societal pressure on your jugular.
Snap the twig blocking your airway.
Rebel against the flow.
A river of that and this.
White water never felt so sharp.
Leather skin never fails in a rodeo.
Cowboy up.
Own you.
Own identity.
Own pure.
Own reality.
Head high. Heart strong.
Finish up.
Finish through.
Finish what you started.

Desolate spaces filled with stories, love, despair. Lives lived through tubes and screaming machines. Channels comforting the wave of medicine crashing into veins. Flooding sloppy hopelessness into the oxygen we call life. It's okay dear it's only temporary.

So I hold the hand of strength. Walk me through this town of pain. Breathe into me, grab me by the bootstraps. Pile my issues into a storage room. Puffed up chest acting bigger than the sickness. A kick to the lungs left deflated birthday balloon. Pump me full of it, I'll take the bullet

Common sense doesn't apply here. Making words out of these hieroglyphics. The writing on these walls is in sharpie. Struggled effort blown into the wind. Experience life with me. Here. Now. Forever.

Take this place out of your blood pumping heart. You belong elsewhere. Somewhere of comfort and peace. A day of content together pure. So I'll take you away. Away to that place. To elated smiles, moving hearts, unfiltered bliss. I love the way strength radiates bodies. Flex one more time for the cameras. This show will play on repeat

Hold me together
Pierce me with your silver
Mend me

It is still blurry,
The times you held me helplessly. Holding this flesh that blinked with desperation. The glasses of problems brought to bed. Complete care with a side of beauty. Electric fingertips flowing along my sides. Stunning the flow in these veins.

It is still blurry,
The words that pressed off your tongue. Words that finished sleep and solid thought. The same mouth that has changed lives, comforted family, cursed like a sailor. Giving strength to simply continue. Moving mountains, depending on your approach. Making mornings sunlit on cloudy days. Your sunlight showed this life dissipated darkness.

It is still blurry,
Angst and tension between bones. The tension that can't be resisted nor denied. Giving me the strength transverse miles each way, just to sleep next to your breath. Open this heart, cuddle with its inners. Cut this tension with your actions knives.

It is still blurry,
The elation you delivered to my doorstep. Served purpose in my life. Giving me a chance to release all those dusty window sills in the attic. I complied an archives of you in my senses. The way you gave that heart of yours.

It is still blurry,
The times you settled the fears resting on your ancient dresser. Yeah the one you brag about. The one that held our water during rest, held our alarms to begin another day, and even our books of education shared. We have split these lives in so many directions. All ending in the same bed. Closer than my skin is to its bones. We were one in that bed. One after a life lived in every direction.

It is still blurry,
Your purpose. Actions and words in separate realms.  All it would have took was a phone call. You insisted the benefits. Leaving us in seperate beds, different countries, different mind sets. Why not just enjoy love. Love lost in a storm of self discovery.

You never want want to listen anymore. I couldn't tell  you everything I never knew you wanted to hear. Things about moments I wished I could burn under a magnifying glass. These were not ants. These were regrets. Lions in dens that couldn't remember to breath. laid down sulking over memories of feeling alive, licking their paws waiting for the world to spin fast enough that a gazelle might stumble in silly and dizzy. There are days I still don't see straight. Broken cave roof tops drizzled full of saliva from every time I didn't open my mouth to tell you the debts of heartbeats I owe you.  The days split in half like a curtain before a bad play that no one came to see. Self loathing is a term we avoid in these parts. A town full of mirrors hoping to find the reflection I want to see. You are so beautiful. There was a moment of silence. I spoke. You weren't there. You never will be. Pillows full of feathers that hold every word you spoke in that bed. A memory that has been on repeat in my head. Every time my head hits the pillow I hear your voice. It's almost like the cold side of the pillow. Shivers chime down my spine with eccentric rhythms. Speak into my breathe. I've been dreaming.

You grasped my hand with your cold fingertips attempting to give me all that you have. I took it all. I wanted it. I took the clock and made it rethink itself for ever thinking your days were labeled by numbers. Numbers are for math we both know math doesn't tell the difference between a heart beat and a morphine drip. So I held your hand to slurp the pain out of your veins. It didn't work. Because electricity doesn't pass through empty spaces. This heart doesn't conduct sparks. So I held your hand to feel yours. A spark so ready to burst out anywhere but here. No I'm not holding your hand for comfort. I am simply too unstable for that. I'm holding this flesh because we are one. A united force of perpetual movement. Pen to paper. Peanut butter to jelly. My life to your effort. Complete harmony. I hold this hand to ease the pain. To  just maybe steal some of it from your fingertips. I'll rob you of this ache so you can get some rest. Take deep breathes that come from wretched lungs. Ill hold my breathe for you. I hold this hand so just maybe I can breathe life. This life you created. I want to give it back. Any of it. All of it. I want the enjoyment received so freely, paid back in full. I hold this hand because that is not a possibility. The end of this rope is too frayed to tie knots. No solution to grace. Facing trials like moving mountains. The ones that fold over rivers. We will never make this what we intended it to be but I will hold this hand because you held mine. Led me through the puddles, through the storms, led me along Side of you. Greatness in its purest. I give back through this pulse. Fully flawed and not ready. Too young to be so wrecked. I hold your hand to fight back. To attack at the weak points. Fight against the odds. That one day maybe one day, we can see victorious celebration. Elated moments spend through our unity. Be in that space with me. I hold that hand because I refuse to give up.

I have the special ability to spit spliced railroad tracks into all the right places. I Filled my ears with drainage tubes down complicated compliments through subway grates to visit the homeless man that believes in a better tomorrow. Because someone has to. Now I have never been on a subway, but the way your presence flows through my veins like a bullet in a barrel makes me feel that maybe i can be the one to deliver this moment. The moment that I was late for. Two years late. It took me a while to understand that the platform we have eloquently been slapping graffiti across will one day be our home. A home of every moment we have shared. Home has always been a place of here and there. I have never been able to stay in a specific longitude for more than a lifetime of awkward moments shared between a ******* and a clergy man. I choose to live in a mobile home. With wheels built off rotating personality disorders that refuse to believe in teamwork. We traveled through state borders leaving the past inside us for all to confide in. In my home, I have a room. I keep in there everything you don't know about. It builds comfort through my sternum. Exploding into my ribs that hug my organs with safety. Home is the place I want to be. My veins are electrical cords spitting energy though plywood walls charged with dreams about a remodel. A 4x2 for a spine stiff enough to support this bobble head of mine. My knee caps still need to be replaced at some point. They don't know how to walk in a straight line yet. Finding curves in my consciousness. Although  Constructing this safe haven has been a Wreckless abandonment of everything I have learned from informercials at 4am. It started with a foundation of this will never go anywhere, transitioned into a tumbling saw blade crashing through dandelions for being so **** confusing. I still can't tell the difference between those and flowers. We ended here. In the dumpsters Bags I hide under my eyes. Full of memories from every time I said "I can sleep when I'm dead". Its all stuck in my head like a diamond plated dorito that was prized in a box for those who want more than good enough. So as I cough up my confidence I will sit next to you, on this subway, the one I have never been on. I will muster up some courage to honor all the good in you, and ask you simple questions like how was your day? What's your middle name? And where do you paint your home? Spray me across the definite realization that home is where you are.

The more you talk
The less I retain.
The more attention I lack
The less motivation I contain
The more I want to leave
The less these pages ring pure and true
The more things that mean less.
Give me meaning. Application. Knowledge.
Until then, be silent, let this experience speak.

A Ball of flame stuck above the spinning overpopulated ball of mineral.
Thanks.
This is a letter of appreciation to you.
To show the abilities you possess.
To your boring appearance.
To gas, from me or you.
To orbital seasons.

A letter of the heat you have allowed for my skin to absorb.
The heat that tells ice to run free.
The heat allowing the helpless to survive.
The heat giving power to a solar panel in a 3rd world country.
The heat taken for granted and cursed after a forest fire.
In denial that you are simply allowing a rebuilding of nations.

A letter created because of the light you provide my fingers.
Light that refuses close quarters with darkness.
Light providing rays of D to flow into happiness of flesh.
Light showing beauty on the faces of those on this bruised up earth.
Light giving life to all forms.

But,
What about that time you gave me false promises?? The sunrise dissipated by clouds and loneliness. Or how about when you burnt my skin. I remember that vividly. Lobstered up walking like a robot. I know the feeling because of the skin on my body told me so. I see straight through you, go pick on someone your own size. There's an entire universe out there waiting for your powerful engulf. ******* and up instead of down.

Or maybe you can turn off. We can pollute the ozone, block your outrageous rays, and slaughter the heat you produce. Then maybe we can live somewhere where feelings don't melt so easy.

For some odd reason I have always prided myself in my taste in music. That I could get lost in a new band I discovered. That maybe I can catch smooth riffs or ***** drum lines. This got me thinking, you remind me a lot of music. The way when you blink your eye lashes reminds me of the eloquent strings of a cello getting played in a 4 strong quartet in front of busy lives that never took the time to stop and listen. Your voice reminds me of the universal noise that everyone hears that moment you pick up a shell and put it to your ear. Not a single person can explain how an ocean can fit into a shell, but somehow the sound makes you forget the impossibility. The sound turns you into a kid and softens the sense of gravity in your knees. Your walk in a dope baseline hip hopping up and down my iris. Playing a steady rhythm I will spend each and everyday memorizing. Or the skin on your body. Shining like a fresh sheet of music. I can't read music. The different signs and symbols will always keep me in awe. That something so complicated and beautiful can fit onto a single sheet of paper. I take pride in getting to experience your music. I will put you on repeat. You are the most played track on my iPod.

Do you ever wonder about the speed of love? Dashing through molecules infecting everything It touches. Probably slower than I talk because love doesn't need the words I speak to make sense. It probably takes its luxurious time moving in and out of spaces. Making room for exceptional.  or what about the way it moves. Dancing away like a beautiful Brazilian belly dancer, or maybe it slithers like a sneaky South African sea snake with Parkinson's. I've never seen the formula for such an anomaly. So I gave up on digging for disclosure in a sandbox full of worry. Instead I'll just watch it unfold over the soft crevices of life. Finding burrows to build up and burst over us. The kind of love I'm talking about is  love like when the sun loves the earth  with each and every one of is rays of happiness, daily smothering its every surface. love like the way water loves a body and the way that it gives so endlessly to someone who does nothing but *** in the pool of all it's family members. This is the love I'm talking about. The type of love that gives unconditional oxygen so we can be ungrateful and cut it down. Love can be selfish. Yes it can. But I refuse to believe love is always selfish, that we always cut it down. I have seen Forests for miles loving the earth nonstop. Love that will stand up for its other like the Venus fly trap eats flys only so we don't have to hear their buzz. Love is. Well love is us. We are wrecked cars, all eyes on us nice and tangled up. So let's love, harder than we were meant to.

I was there.
Never left.
Aware.
Consciously waiting.
Waiting for that break in a second. The kind of break you feel when you see a window obliterate into a thousand images of its former self. The break you see in a bad romantic comedy.
That moment.
I was there.
Standing firmly.
Chest out.
Arms open.
I've desired under my skin for decades to be wanted. For someone to pick me off the top shelf. Back left. Tucked behind the bandages. Hoping to be picked to cover up someone else's mistakes.

There are no stars in Hollywood

That's why they are buried in the ground