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kyle chapman May 2016
Addiction experts claim gambling is so difficult to break because no one knows for sure what will happen.
You see, ****** always gets you high and alcohol always gets you drunk, but nothing is absolute when you roll the dice.

So I'm curious.
Do you feel the euphoria of uncertainty?

I'm sure, at least once, your heart skipped a beat when someone yelled, "head or tails".

And I suppose you could say Lady Luck is my vice.

There's a game where you sit across from another person and tell them things you're afraid to say out loud.
But first, look at them.
Make sure they have pain in their past and fear in their future.
It's the only way they might understand.

The rules will be cloudy at first but you'll learn the Queen of Hearts is wild and she has all the Aces up her sleeve.
I just wish she would keep in mind what is lost when much is won.

Did I mention to keep your cards close?

And I promised myself to stop putting her in metaphors but here she is holding my emotional availability at gunpoint.
Well spin the barrel and pull the trigger darling because I'm no longer scared of how they play roulette in Russia.

Guess I have you to thank for making me bulletproof.

But it was worth stepping into your line of fire just to give back your letters.
These crossed T's and dotted I's wreak of your ******* carelessness.

I promised myself to stop putting her in metaphors.
So I'll find someone else to gamble with.

She'll tell me the things she's afraid to say out loud.
Like how she's tired of feeling the light going down around her.
So stay.
And we'll run east chasing sunrises.

Gambling addicts aren't so crazy.
We're just scared people who believe.
kyle chapman Mar 2017
I know a girl whose affection is for sale on the weekends.
The equation for time travel is written with ink on her left thigh.
And you’ve never seen eyes with nostalgia like that.

I suppose I can’t blame her.
Who doesn’t wish they could rewind?

But what if I told you to be present in your pain?
To not wish to be someone or somewhere else.
That freedom is knowing there are no knights.

After all, who needs a ******* savior when you have grit.

So don’t you dare be a runaway.

Happiness will not be gifted, it must be held and defended.
Just understand you’re pressing a toy sword to a monster’s throat and daring to win.
Just accept happiness is nowhere else but here.

When they tell you to trade your ambitions for milligrams and your passion for stability tell them to keep their white flag because you have war in your ******* veins.
As a matter of fact, tell all your devils you’re coming with your guns up.
Tell them the love in you is not for the taking.

The next time razor blades look romantic and pills look promising remember the best gifts are the ones we allow ourselves.
Like forgiveness for who you were and the heart to change who you are.

Remember fate is what you allow it to be.

Remember neurosis will be at your door every day looking for a fight.
Oblige him.
kyle chapman Jun 2014
I tried explaining you to someone

But I can't describe a smile July sunsets will never touch
I can't illustrate my enthusiasm no longer belongs to me, it's been stolen

By the way, the best thieves wear high heels

I tried explaining you to someone

So I told them the 8th wonder of the world lives in a midwest town with caramel skin and smells like wonderland
I told them there's a petition to put your name in the dictionary because you're the only girl with oceans for eyes
I told them I would thank you for educating me about the past tense of love and teaching me the most important three words:

Everything
Is
Temporary

I just thought we could be the exception

And I heard if you stare at anything enough it loses its perfection but they've never seen you in a sun dress

I tried explaining you to someone

I told them look for the girl with necklaces made from hearts and worn like trophies
I told them imagine the most fantastic storm with electricity and heat and wonderful chaos

I tried explaining you to someone
kyle chapman Jan 2014
I heard a rumor part of the reason Amy Winehouse died is she abruptly stopped drinking and her body did not adjust well.
  
She harmonized with poison.
She needed this.

Isn't that interesting?
I wonder if a similar rule applies to other poisons.

Let me tell you about the time I got really, really wasted in Spanish class.
The bartender sat directly to my left.
She would give me dopamine bombs with oxytocin shots and serotonin chasers.
She poured me love in a pint glass.

I was drunk every day.

One day the bartender cut me off.

My body did not adjust well.

I harmonized with poison.
I needed this.

But it's okay, I have different flaws now.

I have SSRIs for synapses.
I have whiskey for frontal lobes.
I have potassium cyanide for contemplation.
I have THC for memories of her playing symphonies on heart strings.

Also the guy who sold me these colorful pills is a ******* liar.
Ecstasy feels like those fingertips.

Now every birthday I wish for smiling wrinkles when I'm old.
I'll do with these blisters on my passion and these calluses on my character and if she really is gone I hope sunshine takes it's job back.
I apologize.

Blaming her isn't fair.
I'm just tired of my reflection at the bottom of whiskey neats.

But I do hope she pours sparingly now.

Over-serving is ******* reckless.

— The End —