Regretfully crawling out of a warm blanket to meet a snow covered field.

My cheeks absorb the cold as it seeps through the window.

Begging for no attention, living for nothing but my gaze, a lonely fire grows out of a healthy little pile of embers, nuzzled away in the snow.

The growing stillness over the untouched field reaches through my window and meets me with embrace.

You are the captivating landscape that suspends me in time.

You are the fire that dances only for me.

I found my soul in solitude
Hidden between the spaces
Now my love has broken the altitude
But has she trounced the laces?
The consummate knot can come undone
And take with it my soul
Was I better off before, when my half was whole?

When a poem becomes a pome
Are the letters to blame
Or has it been the fruit of life all along

I met an angel sent from god

We fell in love, we planned our wedding, our future

But the last mission the angel needed to accomplish

Was leaving me

And I can’t thank god enough

Pour your torment on the page and let the sound leak out of you

Your music bleeds out of your veins and it’s so personal, so emotional, how could people keep from resonating with it?

So now, you get to perform the same recurring nightmare every night. Reopening the wound you couldn’t heal.

And within the moment
I was caught still, motionless
Watching a storm come tear me apart
The indifference hit me
And at the same time I knew
I wanted to be crashed into and swept off
Lost within a wonderland of passion
Once I stripped myself of rain boots
The storm rolled past in a blink
And I'm longing for the disaster to return

This convolutions delusion is diluted by the hands of a contusion.
An unrealistic fusion in the brink of a solution left the girl as an elution.

The last time I wrote poetry, I was trying to get out

Now, I want to be fully immersed IN

I woke up in a dream. No—THE dream.
My reality

I have MY dream:
Wife
Job
Home
And a baby on the way.

I am so beyond blessed I am running out of expressions.

Love is a vibration. The resonance has made me whole.

Stumble in
Watch your step
Room is blurry
Almost tripped
A night at the bar
Could've kept you walking straight
Instead you stayed home
Another night
You just had too much to think

Glean a murky whisper
Tame a bearing shout
Why accept the word of others
When yours are dying to get out?
Their are times to shout your whisper
And times to silence your cry
But if you can't express your OWN words
Kiss your real world goodbye

Look in the mirror
Stand on the floor
No ones come nearer
Nothing to adore
Without having another
What are you good for
You've got plenty of brothers
You've had a couple of ******
You can soon find
you've  opened your mind
But never your arms
Never left open a spot
Or a chance to feel harm
Trust someone enough
To take a shot
Knowing they won't shoot

A beating heart and turning stomach harmonize to play the song you'll violently dance to. A bead of sweat crashes to the ground like a hard stick of hickory, striking a high hat. The song echoes, testing the sound barrier, but who's responsible for this piece? Are you to do the dance of indifference; packed away in your corner? Or kick down the door and break the ground with a passion full of hate. Whether you go through the door, or felicitously open it, you've gone somewhere. So sit in your corner and let your eyes dance through these words, or go past the door, and write about how you've danced. There are pros and there are cons, you're reading this prose and possessing neither one.

Life takes as much time as you allow it. If you’ve ever held a wall squat, you know that the perception of time is liquid.
I’ve decided, I’m not going to pour my time out of a bottle of ***** anymore.
In the present, I’m enjoying my time.

Do just what your body suggests
Try to live a day without your regrets
Don't separate what's at heart or in mind
Leave all of your preconceptions behind
Live by the beat echoing in your chest
Stop your mind from putting your body under arrest

Some people are too busy reading stories to write their own.
If you want to create a story worth reading, quit sitting on the shelf with a book, and start writing something

Alone on this deck with an empty mind, thought crashed through me.
Crashing so hard it molded the clay I see in the mirror
Now this is deck is painting my future

And my god, she is beautiful

Im falling back passing my time and you fell for me
I didn't ask for you to throw my reason out of rhyme
So what is this thing going to turn out to be?
If we fall together then who will be there to catch us?

Does the quality or quantity of contemplation determine the threshold necessary for action?
Can I plug my emotions into an equation that will animate my feelings for me?
After all, I can’t be held responsible for how I feel

When will I know the past passed?
Is this test my last task?
I don’t stop to smell the flowers I gotta gas mask
Down time is fermented in an oak cask

If I were on my phone, you’d leave me alone.
Nothing seems to be more thought provoking than a person sitting alone in a room doing “nothing”
But isn’t that something that we need more of?
Doing nothing?

The tulips still dance when the air sits still
A calm breeze implores them to bow to the sun
The trees stand unwavered, awaiting approval from the big beautiful burning ball in the sky
Stained by warmth, a soft subtle sailing wind Embraces them
The dance, carries on

So many emotions have shot through my worn exterior.
But the thought of you no longer shakes my core
Now, you leave me grinning like memories of a loved one passed

I love what we had darling

But I love that it’s over

Steeping sleep is creeping deep, reaping steep leaping bleeps

I put hellopoetry behind me because every time I read my old poems, it brought back the bad times with her. Was it the bad times I wanna forget? Or is the realization that the past may not have passed...

You ever go to
an amusement park alone?
Not too amusing.

The secret that turned every ****** embrace into torture.

She used to hang off of him in love.

Now he hangs off of her like a noose.

He’s gotta tell her—break the news

He’s gotta tell her—break the noose

But when it breaks, will he be able to breathe again?

Or will it be his neck instead

Our lips touched and a slow, vibrant, loving fog rolls in, caressing us. My arms manage to hold her up while my body hangs weightless from my frame. Each soft kiss suspends time, suspends space, and suspends us—from the ground we were standing on.