I am a hollow chest,
rising and falling in the mindless
routine of staying alive.

I am barren walking through
a concrete jungle, waiting
to deteriorate into the tainted
soils of this
grim joke we call life.

These words fumble out of my mouth
like building blocks of a clumsy child.
They are innocent, unaware;
puerile, if I dare.
But frivolous as they seem,
they have been uprooted from the
dusty corners of my heart.
They are defenseless and exposed.
I cup my hands in a poor attempt to
collect these impulsions that stream
from my lips.
Too late, they delved themselves into you
like daggers from my hands;
and for that, I am sorry.

I aim with good intentions, these weapons at the tip of my tongue.

And now my heart has been 
torn 
from my chest and is 
pounding on this empty table before me. 

I watch as it slowly fades back to 
stillness 
and I wonder if I could have saved it. 

I wonder if I could have saved my 
sanity. 

I wonder a lot of things. 
Most of the time my mind is 
racing,  
retracing the steps I took to get here. 

I wonder what cracks I must have stepped 
on to send my world 
crumbling 
beneath my feet. 
I wonder what cracks I must have stepped 
on to create these 
fissures 
in my soul. 

And now I'm terrified 
that I will slowly leak from this 
chasm 
the same way this water runs 
in ripples down the hill outside my window. 

I wonder what I could have done 
to keep from 
falling 
to the floor.

When does one begin to feel again?
When does one stop feeling to begin with?
An end brings with it a new beginning,
as a new beginning will at some time end.
So, what is the point of it all, if we're being frank?
Quite frankly, I’m beginning to think there was never
any point to begin with at at all.

We build expectations.
These expectations only set us up for disappointment.
Thereafter, we search for reason.
Yet, there is never reason.
That’s okay, though, because reason isn’t enough.
We really only want truth.
But truth is only what you allow it to be.
So what are we really searching for after all?

We are in a timeless world that is coming to an end
so quickly that we are fooled to believe
that we have a
lifetime ahead of us.

What is a lifetime when it varies
with each day?
What is a lifetime when we test this unknown entity
with every minute of the hour?
We are fools.

We are afraid of that which we do not know.
We are fearful for our hearts, for our trust,
for our sanity..but we are broken and skeptical
and all mad anyways.
What are we fearing for?
We are fearing for our past and
it does not make sense.
Love is falling into one another.
I want to fall into the puddle of your sorrow
and your madness and your beautifully
expired colors.

I am a new puddle.
One you have yet to let touch your skin.
I am not merely a reflection on the surface
waiting to be disrupted by you diving head first.
I am not an illusion.
I am not your past.
I am not all these fears that sleep in your veins.
Won’t you see?

We are fearing a lifetime that we
have never seen.
We are unaware and foolish and naive,
and we have these vague ideas that all that exists
is that which we have already seen.
We are fools.

I want to fall into your foolish puddle of expired colors.

I am cursed with a 
heavy heart 
and heavy hands.
my mouth is molten lava,
meant to scorch all it encounters.
I have leaden feet,
leaving a trampled path in my wake.
my eyes are desolate tunnels
leading to the destruction I will bring. 
devastation at its finest
a carnage of all that once held beauty
a cavernous demise

the grand ******* finale.

I saw the rain coming,
and I knew you were leaving.
But I still feel the weight of the world
heavy on my heart.
My pulse beats hard in my throat,
and I know it will never be the same.
It will beat forevermore with a reminiscence of how gently and blindly you touched it.
Time will continue to pass.
And I will taste your name with each breath I take.
The seasons will continue to change.
And I will wake each morning to the sight of your absence.
Life will continue on in your wake.
And the weight of the world will remain
heavy on my heart.

There comes a time when it is necessary to leave your own reality.
It becomes essential to escape your thoughts and enter the mind of another.
There comes a time when a book is all that will suffice.

I want to live
above time.
I want to live
without reason and without expectation.
I want no standards or plans.
I want to live
anomalously.
I want to forget the past
and forget the future.
I want to discover.
Not land, not equations,
not anything of the sort.
I want to discover me.
I want to discover the unknown.
I want to discover you.

My hands are kerosene,

igniting everything they touch.

Everything I cherish crumbles

to ash.

I should come with a warning label-

"Beware, highly unstable and capable of mass destruction"

I once was ruined,

and now I ruin.

"Attention: Run as fast as you ******* can"

I am sinking, and I am grabbing at any hand

that I can pull down with me.

I will try to climb your walls,

and you will need to build them higher.

Do not be fooled by my tender facade;

I am capable of annihilation.

Hide your heart from my gentle hands,

for it will shatter when I drop it.

Do not think I mean harm,

I will have the best of intentions.

With my best attempt at love,

you will crumble to ash in my kerosene hands.

By night, it all gets a little

heavier.


Each measure of each song reaches a little

further into the pit of the stomach.

Each touch from each lover burns the skin with a little

more heat,

sure to leave with more permanence.

Each breath of each lung pulls a little

more even; stretches the ribs a little further.

Each beat of each feeble heart feels a little

more sturdy; a little closer to the throat.

Each word from each mouth tastes a little

more like honesty, like humility,

like the plead to be discovered.


Each worry of each hopeful dawns a little

bit harder; seems a little more tragic.

Each memory of each soul has a

freshly sharpened blade, sinking a little

bit deeper.

Each reality of each dreamer sits a little more

threatening on your chest, stealing your divine air.

Each fear of each mind lurks a little darker,

a little more suffocating,

a little more real.


By night our world is raw, unsheathed.

By night it is all a little heavier on our souls,

like dew on a too warm spring morning;

beautiful, but a little harder to breathe in.

a mouth full of cavities
and lungs full of algae infested waters
from sitting too long with no 
escape
from what traps us in these ominous, dank 
gorges.

gaunt faces with sunken eyes
from nights too haunted to sleep
swollen tongues with words unspoken
from submission to
silence
in the face of constant
deceit.

words
left in the veil of fog that masks the ground
every morning over the once green pastures,
stripping the color from the world,
leaving everything
grey 
with the corruption
of what once was
what still is
and what will
remain.

we lose ourselves in the unapproachable
reality
of what we have created
what we were born into
what we will never
escape.

we lose ourselves.
we lose ourselves.
we are all
gone.

we were always empty anyways.
walking amongst the hollow men.
we are the hollow men.
we
create
the hollow men.

we weren't always the hollow men.

tell me how to fill these holes that 
are found in our teeth
in our lungs
in our
souls.

where did all the substance go?

There is a ubiquitous
fear
that rests in the darker parts of my soul.
There is a fear so strong,
so palpable,
that it controls my thoughts.
It completely diminishes my capacity for
emotion.

My soul,
the negatives of my life,
have been pre exposed to the harsh rays of
reality
too often to be developed now.
There is permanent damage,
never to be undone.

Damage that one can only become
accustomed to.
So, I will live in fear.

I will live in fear of revealing
too much.
I will live in fear of feeling
too strongly.

I will live in fear of any person
that tries to touch my
mangled heart.
I will live in fear of any person
that tries to sift through the
raging storms in my mind.
I will live in fear of any person that gets close
enough to touch.

I will live in
perpetual fear.
I will live with the reality of my destruction
haunting me.

I will live in
ruins,
never to be rebuilt.

I had the intention of writing, but there is this immense void where my emotions should be. It is a curious thing..how such an extravagant lack of feeling can suddenly become such a feeling that it is as if you are drowning in a sea of nothingness. I am stationary in an abyss that is filling my lungs with a heaviness I havent yet known. Something has to change before I am consumed by this numbness. Something has to change before I lose my ******* mind.

Say something. Say anything.
My mind is a war zone.

Ammunition loaded, open fire on my sanity.

We think we’re invincible.
We think we know every dusty corner
and boarded window of this existence.
We think that we are impenetrable.
Not even we can penetrate ourselves.
Until we do.

Until we find the one solitary loop hole
that exponentially increases to ten solitary loop holes
to fifty solitary loop holes
to such an infinite number of solitary loop holes
that you cannot even form a complete thought
because you know it’s targeted directly at your
own consciousness, at your own dignity, at your
own ******* heart.

We manage to discover these loop holes
because we predict their outcomes.
We predict the ******* future with our
careless decisions and our arrogant triumphs towards
happiness.

And suddenly, we’re humbled and broken
and irreparable because of our own *******
psychic minds and our own naive
ideas of happiness.

And now we’re all lying in a pile of rubble.

Our souls ruined and tainted with no one
left to help us pick up the pieces of ourselves
because we were all too ******* selfish and
proud in our poor attempts at satisfying this
morbid existence.

Then we wait the eternity it takes for these
self destructive ruins to lose their pulse,
to fade into an alternate universe of silence
so we can quietly slip away from this
vile consciousness.

We wait
until the heartbeat of these run down,
dirt covered left overs of ourselves finally
goes still.
We wait
until we learn to live in the pile
of **** we call ourselves;
until we realize that we
are our only destruction.

I believe that there are some souls
born into this existence tormented
by truth.

A truth that will never falter.
Branded into their beings is the truth
that without love,
we are nothing.
We are meant to love and be loved.
Our sole purpose is to fall in love.

These troubled souls are faced with
the realization that once love has left you..
nothing else remains.
Life loses its color. Suddenly,
everything is dull
and the fire within you extinguished.
Life is filled with emptiness.
Empty words, empty promises,
empty lies, empty cycles,
empty sorrow that engulfs you and
becomes you.

Without love,
we strive to fill the bottomless
pit of our souls. But,
it will perpetually amount to nothing.

We are nothing.
We are mindless creatures searching in all
the wrong places.
We are hopeless.
And the only way to live fully is
through love.
So, where do we go when love is lost?


We become sorrow at it’s best.

I have the world in my palm.
I am sitting where the land ends
and the sky begins.
Beauty is in all that my eyes encounter.
My mind is turning inside out.
It is capturing these wonders;
committing them to memory for a later date.
Confused and bruised by existence,
we are all strangers to this place.

There are some wounds so deep,
some wounds so irreparable,
that they cannot be cured.

These are wounds inflicted upon the heart.
These are wounds inflicted upon the mind.
These are wounds inflicted upon the soul.

These wounds are like a terminal illness.
They are like an incurable disease.
They make you a ***** within humanity.
They isolate you and destroy you.

This disease is initiated by the deterioration
of the mind through the realization that this
is an unnatural, man made, test tube and wired reality.
This is all wrong.
We are all wrong.

It is catalyzed by the deterioration of the heart,
once having experienced the pure cruelty of humanity.
It unveils the fantastic false creation of love and the mere
idea that people have ever given a **** about you.
It exposes the destructive outcome of hoping for
anything beyond your own control.

It is completed by the deterioration of the soul.
A lengthy but significant process that rids you
of your motivation to open your eyes to the
blank ceiling above you every morning.
It strips you of your ability to feel.
And, suddenly, you have lost your desire to wake.

These wounds…they are a terminal illness.
They are an incurable disease.
They are irreparable.
They are unyielding.
They are permanent.

And they are destroying me.

What is this state that I'm in?
It seems as though it is an
in-between.
I am stuck in transition,
yet I am too afraid to move.

I am surrounded by a veil that disguises
reality.
I do not want to move from this unknown land.
I am in unfamiliar territory,
but I feel safe.
That, in itself, confuses me.

I look back;
I want to stay here.
I look forward;
I want to stay here.

The past fills me with
sorrow.
The future fills me with
fear.
Which I would prefer,
I have not a clue.

I would prefer to stay here in this
ephemeral
security;
in this false comfort;
in this illusion.

I would prefer to continue
deceiving myself
and altering actuality.
I would like to live in a constant state
of deception and transience.

Aren't we all anyways?

Memories cascade through my mind today. My hands long and my insides ache. There should be a flood warning issued for my lungs and an explosive hazard label for my heart. Keep your distance. I am a walking catastrophe

I have this seemingly endless list of passions, desires, dreams, and necessities. They haunt me. I am stuck in this state of near oblivion in a dismal attempt at removing myself from it all. It seems that time itself is taunting me; reminding me of the days and hours that are slipping easily from my grasp. There are mountains to be climbed and trails to be hiked and planes to be flown. I have the world to see and it seems that I am approaching the cliff and I can either dive into my travels or turn around sullenly and hope to find this time again. Meanwhile my studies await my return and my career hangs in the air with hope of a worthwhile degree. Yet I feel as if I am sewn to the floor of this place and there is no cutting myself loose to tend to any of these callings. I am watching my life pass me by and I am not entirely sure how to become a part of it.

My heart lives in my throat
recently. It lives empty and losing its
pulse in my throat. Day by
day it becomes harder
to swallow. I’m on the edge of choking.

I’m on the edge of stillness, of
no more beating. And then I will
choke. I will choke on my
own still, heavy  heart.
I once knew what it meant
to live. I knew what it meant
to breathe and to see and to feel.
I knew passion and love and
happiness. I once knew what it was like
to feel. And now all I know is this
numbness. All I know is this
empty existence. All I know is waking up
each morning with the prospect of the day
ending already consuming my thoughts. All
I know is not wanting to wake up
at all. I do not know feeling any longer.
I do not know breathing or seeing
or living. I know existing for the sake of not dying.
All I know is not dying. That
is what it has come to. Don’t die
today. Wake up
tomorrow. Get through the
day. Wake up. Get through the
day. Don’t wake up. Don’t
wake up. Don’t wake up.

I am on my way to choking.