I always get your middle name wrong.
The first time I laid eyes upon you,
My heart thought you were a flower.
You could say the drunken stupor
Filled your veins and veiled your eyes.
You weren't there, a possession, a warm
Body left cold by the absence of a soul.
But your inscription is written upon every
Cell, every fiber of my being. Your heart
Beats alongside my heart. A quiet yet
Powerful cadence. The sounds move the seas.
My body could not transgress. My lips would
Recede, a low-tide effect, a shirking from sin.
My hands would shrivel to ash, my eyes would
Drop from their branches. I've felt the bite of the
Needle's tooth, I've left dust on ***** tissues.
But never will my lips graze another.

The fools have spoken of the
Blessing of insanity as they
Stand without- gazing in through
The impenetrable glass walls to
Where I lay
Naked
Cold
Alone
To have the blessing of ignorance
And that of prideful bliss
Fools, I hiss through my teeth
And they carry on with their
Long winded soliloquies
With their twisted verbage
A show of flair, a petty coat on
An empty bottle.

Cut, paste, carry.
Receive, bleed, recede.

Are these eyes my own?
When did you get here?

A singsong bird out my window,
Calling me to the cemetery.

I'll meet you there.
We can find it together.

Step up, step down, turn around.
Lie awake, fall asleep, fall awake.

The dimes on my counter are blue
Shades like cotton, streaming hues.

Visions of hell. Visions of heaven.
Visions of all the spaces between.

Where have you gone, my friend?
When will this all end?

**** it. Leave it. Scream it.
Jump. Run. Swerve.

This tree in particular
Seems to understand me.

Ant hills made of dish soap
Ink like blood on paper thin walls.

In that moment, a flash, an instance
I chased Orion's heels across the sky
Swiftly moving a light-year's distance
Nebulous flash, a star prepared to die

Ashley,

Just saw a picture of a guy who had his legs blown off today. he was being pushed through a crowd of people in a wheelchair. An army vet who happened to be on site was pinching the guy's arteries at the ends of where his legs used to be. Just dangling there.
What's the point? Ya know? I don't even want justice. What is justice? It's a creation by man- an abstraction that can't rectify what has already passed. You can't change what has happened. Find the guy and put him on trial... let people boo and hiss and threaten him. Maybe he'll get ***** in prison, probably not. Killed or put in solitary would be more likely. What does that change? Won't make that ******* guy's ******* legs grow back. Won't bring that little 8 year old back to life.
I want to believe in humanity. I'd like to believe that there is a point to our existence when I could be running in a marathon and then get my legs blown off. I mean, can you even fathom the depth of that irony? A marathon runner gets his legs blown off.

Normally these tragedies don't get to me. I just don't know... is it because I'm from Boston? Is it the shock of seeing that picture? Nothing makes sense. Nothing. I don't know anything. Nobody knows anything. You could accumulate all of the knowledge, know-how and wisdom in the world and still get your ******* brains splattered on the asphalt. bam, in that instance, your intellect, your personality, every memory that you cherished is now going to settle, dry up and rot away in the cracks in the pavement. Spend your whole life running. Training. Finish the ******* Boston marathon and bam, your legs are disintegrated.
Now you're just some inspirational story on 60 Minutes because you survived and show a positive outlook for a camera and help little kids who are missing their legs.

Somebody give me an answer. Give me an answer that i havent already heard. I've heard all of the answers to this. No answer helps. If there was an answer, this **** would never happen.

I don't know who else to tell this too. I had to get this out of my head.

- Mike

I could paint the walls behind my head
Red and grey shades of intellect

An abstract portrait of Picasso potential
The spaces between are the differential

The tachytelic nature of my mind
Seems to want my body to unwind

To fall away to the wind
A metanoia, I have sinned

The valiant leaves who held on
Through the strongest winter breeze
Defiantly clung to the
Brown weathered trees

And one must read close to
Gather the story of time
hidden in the wrinkled trunks
Of the tall evergreen pines

And I thought of how Aurelius
Challenged the
Justness of God. Well the
Justice of man may not be the
Just course for all.