Saturday nights.
Early 20s  
In the limbo of wanting to savor my youth, but growing tired of my lack of responsibility.

Much rather than having her dead. Let her live and let her loll in my joys, beauty, and happiness. whilst her soul is stripped naked and humanity no longer resides in her, nor will she know the ease of humility.

My concept of time is completely warped, and for that, I pay no attention to it. Remember when you were younger and a year felt a lot longer than it does now? When you are young, and life is long, there is time to ****, but as we age time escapes us. However, we are just doing laps around the sun.

A hurt heart is as tender as the morning fog sitting up in a desolate lake. It’s thick and it stings your bones. It clouds your vision. You can’t see through the thick murky mist. It’s like the sorrow of the past making it’s home in your heart, sitting up in bed and gazing through the windows of your soul.

The walls, painted with the gloss of all the secrets that you and only you know, or the stuffed animal that has caught your tears through life’s afflictions. Or, the comforter that has kept you warm through those times where you swore this was the night your blood will run cold. Theres a furry, doe eyed, four legged creature of the heart, though there isn't an utter of any sort from either entity, there is a knowing. Stripped to your raw essence, he understands without question.

I feel like I’m swimming with my eyes closed, nose to nose with you. you are wide eyed, and its then I see your light, even through the most rayless of times.

There's a certain type of novelty
in these seemingly innocent moments all made possible by exalting the kinetic energy by the inner workings of levers,pistons, and cylinders. It's a pause in time and thought, momentary bliss.  These fleeting moments in time could make you forget all the bad in the world.

You opened me up, but before you even saw what was inside, you left me with a gushing wound.Blood on my hands, and my hand on my chest. Im running in circles, but you’re hiding in the corner.

you bring the warmth with you wherever you go. The heat, like your spirit follows everyone you touch. You’re like the afternoon sun, high in the sky your presence and love for all beings is staunch. You are a light in this dark time. Your humility,love, and kindness is like the last piece of desert - you savor every last crumb.

After a while, the sweet kisses you once left on my body, turned into scars, of your memory.

The once, beautifully simple moments we lived out together, are now beautifully tragic.

The bass of the music that blared through your speakers, the same blunt force is felt on the pieces of me that you touched.

your love is like a merry go round, and you left my wheels spinning.

There is something so jovial In this December air. Theres a distinct, fiery, all-engulfing energy that I had immersed into today. Its like the power that Ive been tirelessly fighting deep inside me, bolted its chains, and its what I can only accept. My woes feel like a summer breeze, and not a piercing northeast gust that shakes every fibre in ones being. Im learning the difference between chaining a soul, and setting it free.

only the tough survive. Is it really that simple, and so very primal? Has humankind over complicated itself to the point, where when we get a simple outcome, it muddles our brain?Because it seems like these adversities that I am faced with, and forced to go with, is just what everyone else in the world is too. Life is a beautiful thing to be given, but you also have to act like it is. Everything that is tangible to the eye to see, it is here, because it's been able to survive through hardships. The small, seemingly magical moments that break-up the discomfort of the everyday, which is what makes everything worth living through.Even in this pandemic, and universal upheaval, there have been small moments of bliss for myself, and the collective included.

It is a torture of sort. The uneasiness of where the road can lead to, with only a few things that we know and hold true.. we endlessly hold out, all of our lives, we hold a lantern into the thick dark fissure of life until something of habitual significance comes along…then, we linger, again, for an encore.

Typically, its the intangible that wretches ones soul. It’s the feelings left unexpressed, the words and conversations that were left unsaid. It starts etching into your soul, leaving an imprint, that only you in your darkest hours are familiar with.

He’s like that last bit of sunlight that everyone tries to savor during the final days of summer. He’s the light that manages to fill the bleakest of rooms. Even in the loneliest of nights I still feel the light he brings. He is the bearer of joy not just to me, but whomever he me crosses paths with. He brings joy to the miserable, youth to the old, and even love to the loveless. Spending time with you is like living what poetry is.

The light at the end of the tunnel
It was never dark, but just a little less bright
It’s like finally feeling the mild spring air
After a bitter winter
The type of bitter that makes you forget what the sun is like

The type of air that kisses your skin
Kisses your soul

I know when you close your eyes the tentacular black monster of oblivion comes to gawk at your feebility. There you are, on your path of misery and broken bottles. This time, I’ll make sure heaven won’t pick up thte pieces.

Because the man at the end of the road. He’s got them now.