and whether you want to hear it or not-
time eventually runs out.

and I know it's hard to accept
and I know death is
often times
petrifying
and it's okay to
be afraid
of what you do not know
because
I too
have no clue
as to what
awaits me on the
other side.

All I know is-

there is one.

After all this suffering.
After all this grief.
After all the highs to
low's and
the dramatic
in-betweens-

there is more to this life
than simply being here.

And a part of me would like to believe
that what we do here;
matters.

And even if it's a tiny gesture
or a massive shift in
humanity-

we all play our part.

We are all tiny messages
in fragile glass bottles
that we are too scared
to break out of.

Life is unpredictable
and we-
foolish and naive-
take our opportunities
for expression
for granted.

It is senseless to keep
anything back.

It is asinine
to believe
anything
less than
transparency
will bring us

freedom.

It won't.

Say what's on your mind
before it's too late.

And don't be one of those people
that say they

can't.

Life is a
constant pull
between
running &
fighting

and

your brain
tricks you
into believing
that

nobody cares.

It is all in your head.
Not in your heart.

Every day that you wake up,
you have a choice
to be better
or worse
than the day before.

And even if there
is no point to
this life-

let that be a reason
to ignore
all of the people
that drain you
of your energy
and let go of
the problems
you CANNOT control.

This world is
temporary.
This pain is
temporary.
This moment
is temporary.

And so are you.

Please,
smile more.
Laugh more.
Express more.
Do everything you can to
leave your mark.

There is no concept of time,
anymore.

There is only you
and what you adore;

keep it.

im used to
being left
behind.

It's not the rain
that makes my eyes wet.
It hasn't rained in forty days.
Nights are long and quiet.
The silence cuts to bone.

It wasn't rain that quenched the fire.
It hasn't rained in forty nights.
The well is dry... so am I.
Nights I sit in silence
while it rains.

r ~ 4/19/14

Foreboding walkways
With weight of a million wreaths
Pulling in the walls