Everything burns today.
My head.
My heart.
My stomach.

Just burning up.

The spark of passion ignites the heart, until it is engulfed in a conflagration of notions, as curiosity triumphs over caution.

The seed of wisdom, planted in fields of knowledge, is cultivated and refined in kingdoms of intellect to innovate speeches of freedom.

Blisters in sweaty palms, rubbing against the pen, as it drifts between the paths of future and past, where hope is met and joy is felt.

Consumed by epiphanies, the heart-beat is felt by trembling hands, squeezing the pen for inspiration, to bewilder imaginations, giving birth to new perceptions.

I think the reason
I love children so much
is because they're oblivious
in the most beautiful way.

They haven't yet learned that
People can be demons, too.
That the monsters they fear are under their bed,
Are actually across the hall,
Driving their school bus,
And signing their diplomas.

They still see the world as a beautiful place where anything is possible and happiness is automatic.

They still have life in their eyes and hope in their hearts.

I think this is why I love children so much.

I AM VOID.

I AM INVALID.

I AM A SKELETON.

The last time I cried, I told myself it would be the last time.
The last time I'd remember what it feels like.
What it feels like to be a stranger in my own eyes.
Like glass thats been shattered a thousand times.
The pieces never fit together right.
I'm tired of breathing just to survive.
When the ground is breaking, and I've lost my light
I'm drowning in a sea of lies, until I'm tired of trying.
As I stare in the mirror
longing I will someday recognize ,
I remembered the last time.
The last time I cried I told myself It would be the last time.
I told myself I'd be fine.
Am I?

Outside glows, snow sinks
between grass blades
I catch a baseball.

Priest pushes my hand
to know the candle’s flame.

The red wick watches, I fall
into the burning.