I understand.
But you didn’t have to do all that.
Try not to do that again.
You’ll feel better if you don’t.
It feels cathartic in the moment, but it’s bad for your mind and body.
We have all done regrettable things, but the idea is to grow to the point to where you see your bad actions in the past as regrettable. Once you see how much of a fool you’ve been, then you’re in the position to make adjustments.

I meet the eyes of a stranger. They look at me like I’m the knife that stabbed them. Why are you hurt by my gaze, stranger? Why are you afraid of me? What have I done to you? I don’t know you. Do you know me?

Screaming underwater,
I look up to see no bubbles.
My damaged lungs explode with regret.

Spasmodically gasping for air,
I choke on the tears of my words.
My eyesight closes in around me,
As I plummet into the abyss.

If I hadn’t have opened my **** mouth.

Locator beacon

Looking for a soul
I yell into the unknown
Somebody yells back

The mind is capable of retrieving information. This is axis x. The body is capable of making chemical reactions. This is axis y. But, axis z is not measurable. Axis z can make you feel incredible things without moving an inch.
Have you ever had so much energy from hearing just one word that you felt like you were gonna **** your pants? That buzzy energy that makes the skin warm. That hum that hits you in the chest like a bus, and takes all the air out of your lungs. There’s a word that can make you cry with happiness or sadness. There’s a name that can transport your mind somewhere far away. They are just words, babbled up by an ancient tongue to differentiate one thing from another. But, the energy that the words conjure is something magical. The shape of that feeling is indescribable. It’s the most powerful thing that humans have.

Worn transmissions will slip if you flush the old fluid out. This is because the old fluid contains bits and pieces of the memorable clutch, which increases the friction capacity of the fluid. With a worn clutch, more energy is transferred between engine and transmission. Over time, this increased viscosity and energy will increase the pressure in the veins of the machine, the clutch fragments sanding down the walls, and eventually, a seal will blow out, and the life fluid will spray everywhere until the machine grinds to a deathly halt. The only way to fix this is to completely rebuild the transmission one piece at a time, and put new fluid in. Cost and time wise, it’s better to just try another transmission. But people are more than a transmission. Sometimes, we get too emotionally involved, and we dig a hole to the center of the earth. A transmission cannot repair itself; it needs the help of a mindful mechanic.

I know you want to be the best. Your whole life you’ve been looking for someone to steer you. You’re the driver. Steer yourself.

The waves crash into me. I’m pushed deeper into the heart of the ocean. The pressure is unbearable. The waves let up, I feel my body’s trajectory slow its downward decent. I almost feel like my buoyancy is neutral now. Am I alive?

Tetris Woman

You build up a wall, just so it can fall; a never ending game for your own amusement. Why must you drown in your own tears? Is it the years of fears? What’s going on behind those eyes, and between your ears?
Have you ever seen a cold, wet terrier? They paw at the door like they’re being chased by the devil. You open the door, and they fly in, wriggling and shaking the rain off their back like Bob Ross’s paintbrush. Then they inhale a sip of water and scratch at the door to leave. What’s the hurry to go back into the rain?
I feel like these creatures are overstimulated by their environment; tiny animals, scared of their own shadow, barking at their reflection in puddles; it’s not their fault that they were born with this energy. With a surprised yip, they paw at their reflection in the water, disgusted at the animal that stares them back in the soul.
With its mouth open, and little teeth exposed, the terrier has a look of fear and joy on its face; a face frozen in surprise. The terrier puts on a mean face. Grrrr. It stares itself down in the mirror; its eyes keep darting around its face in the mirror. Does it recognize itself? No, it barks at its own reflection again. Woof! Stop looking at me! Bark, bark, bark!
With each outburst, the terrier shakes its chickenlike mowhawk tuft with a fury that rivals the African badger. The creature stays up all night buzzing with energy, so close to defeating its own reflection. Finally, it passes out in front of the mirror; exhausted from a hard day’s labor.
When it wakes up, it takes a nice long stretch, yawns, and opens its eyes. It catches a glance of itself in the mirror, and the puppy begins to cry.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Why do you get up, only to fall?
Stand up, and be tall. It’s only the 3rd inning, and it’s time to play ball.

Slinging my leg over the mechanical horse, I crank over the starter and listen to the heart of the beast tick away. I tell myself I’m just taking it out for a tank of gas. No need to push it.

Winding my way down the twisties, I find myself heading in the wrong direction. ***** it. I’ll find my own way there.

Straight stretch coming up, I pull in the clutch, give her a little gas, and drop the lever; lurching the animal back onto its hind leg. Looking under the handlebars at the curve coming up, I land the front wheel back down, and power my way into the next gear.

Bike screaming out of the corner, foot pegs blowing hot sparks behind me, I twist the throttle down, and hug the gas tank with my chest; the raging bull screaming underneath me as we rocket into a locust storm. Chunk by chunk, they blast onto my body and face like war paint shot out of a cannon.

Looking an inch over the speedo and handlebars, my speed cannot be seen. There’s no time to look, and my eyes are crying fire from the raw wind. My ears roar with the sound of a jetliner crashing into the ocean. The tears are dry before they hit my ears.

Now in top gear, full throttle, I move my feet away from the brake, and shifter, back to the tail of the bike; gripping with my legs to hold on, as I rocket into the horizon horizontally.  Finally, I take my left hand off the handlebar, and tuck it between the gas tank and the radiator, so that I fly through the air like a shark.

I open my mouth, and a wind enema shoots its way through my sinuses and out my nose. I smell pure oxygen. My vision closes in, my eyes strain to see the road ahead. My chest is beating faster than the pistons on this death machine. I can see it. The edge. Forever tempting me.

Have you ever been in the incorrect wavelength of communication? It’s like when you’re on the phone with someone and there is a delay every time someone speaks.

Here’s an example:

They fedex lactose feral *** poles oh they cooled ****.

Have you ever floated in neutral? It’s like you’re a boat, floating in the harbor, attached to the docks by a rope. As you bob and sway, the rope tightens and loosens. One night, the tide is high, and the rope tightens, by mid day, the tide has washed out and the rope tightens again. But, somewhere in between, some time in between, the rope slackens off, and the vessel feels free from the dock. Sometimes, I get stuck in neutral.

Control tower

I can’t control my emotions,
Because my environment is uncontrollable.
So I try to control my environment,
In an attempt to control my emotions,
And the environment can not be controlled,
So I lose control of my emotions.

A pack of American Spirits,
The thermos is full of brew,
This morning sunrise,
I’m thinking of you,
Packing an extra helmet and another pair of gloves,
I am happy,
Gonna pick you up

When we wheelied,
You held me tight,
Going around corners,
We leaned just right,
Bodies synced,
Dancing in the moonlight
You were the one,
That caught my sight

The helmets are broken,
The bike is too,
I broke it all myself,
Flew over the view,
Now I have this prescription glue,
That makes it hard to chew,
Feels like I have the flu,
And the doctor hasn’t a clue,
Why I’m not yet new,
But I know,
It’s you

Untamed Energy
You’re a supersonic missile. Like a shark, it’s hard for you to turn; but your speed is ballistic. Aim high. You have so much power behind you. The launch may not have been great, but you have plenty of fuel to get to space.

I've lost my keys,
I've lost my mind.
I keep a spare set,
For just this one time.

Strum some chords,
And make a song,
If I had still a brain,
I'd even sing along

Body spinning circles,
And the mind doing flips,
I check in the fridge,
Under the stapler and dip

My most flexed muscle,
I know it is fried,
Once capable of greatness,
I believe it has died

Not sure whether,
to sob or scream,
I slump into a chair,
And put on some Queen

The song is familiar,
I've heard it before,
I used to play it,
At 104

Wrong side of the road,
not giving a ****,
I played that song,
Into the lights of a truck

But I'm not going 104 anymore,
I'm sitting still,
because I've lost my **** keys

You tell me that your vehicle of love doesn’t start the same way it used too.
I find the problem immediately, and start removing the leak. After removing the gas vapor recovery system, I notice gas is pouring out into the ground. Plugging the hole, I check the gas tank. She’s full of bad fuel. I empty the tank, and find that the gas has been cut with water. There’s your problem. Fire and water don’t mix, and just adding more fuel won’t get rid of the problem. Your past decisions affect how you start today.

The previous driver skimped out on maintenance. Now, as the new driver, his old problems are now my problems. If only vehicles could repair themselves.

Whispers of an old candle,
Evening sunset over the hills,

Remembering the lost sandal,
A match illuminates a row of pills,
Clocking my punch card in,
Everyone around me, fading away,

In a race, life is thrown in a bin,
Never having time for play,

Drawing up the oil,
Urban toil, covering the soil,
Only to extinguish

Water and Oil

Kaclunk! The white smoke under the hood stunk; your car is junk. Get everything out of the trunk, pull the defunct plates off the chunk, and hitch a ride with a drunk. He’ll debunk the automakers as punks, as he plunks another glass bottle at a skunk. But the mechanic implied that it must be the lack of oil in the pump. The sump, dried, and your dump died. If you’re mystified, parts collide, and damage is magnified. An engine denied oil is suicide, he described. Carbide if misapplied, can be liquified; this metallic tide causes problems global wide. Simplified, he replied, slide that certified clump aside, that wreck won’t glide. Go drink some purified dihyrdrogen monoxide, or you’ll end up like your ride.