My parachute eyes
      Holes in the middle
I'm falling much faster
     Than I thought
And I hope the ground
     Is soft
This unimaginable big
When I am so little
     A lightning strike
And I am gone before
     I've even said yes
But here there is no room
     For "I guess"
I find my feet aching
     For new streets
Eyes searching
     For new sights
Though heart is heavy and still
     A stone
So here I leave you, heart
For wherever you are is home
The rest of me goes on
     Final destination unknown

A classy kind of car ride:
1950's radio station at a comfortable volume.
10 minutes later and we arrive.
Sun block on.
Sneakers tied.
Water bottles in hand.
Round and round the lake we go.
Just he and I.
The sun is yellow
The grass is green
The sky is blue
All the colors in their rightful place.
It's more like a walk filled walk
than a talk filled walk,
but that's the way we like it best.
No small talk here.
Just big talk for us:
the speed of light,
the start of humanity,
the purpose for our existence.
Otherwise, we just walk
oh and sometimes we jog too...
(His legs are long,
so sometimes I have to jog
in order to keep up.)
We have our own routine
our own system
our own pace.
Just he and I
Just he and I

I fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.
My body vulnerable and curled up against his.
Relaxation and peace flooded my body.

I haven't been this happy in a long time

Being beside someone who's intentions are pure for you,
Sleeping alongside someone who's feelings are mutual,
That is happiness.

*That is love

Crackle and kettle
Pop and ash
My morning slowly
Warmer

When inspiration leaves,
leaves falling from a yellow-wood in fall;
you feel your hands freeze,
you fell your life halt.

It's the winter of the mind,
just surviving, existing,
not living but believing
that so is life, being soul blind.

The expectancy for the rising sun,
the endless wait for the muses to come
back from wherever they are hiding,
or perhaps, away from me they are flying.

When inspiration comes...
soldiers returning home,
not only welcomed yet being longed for.
Inspiration is the end of thought war.

Ecstasy, euphoria, catharsis,
the world moves, it quits from stasis.
And from the depths of the blackest darkness,
its light brightens, shines and rises.

I really wonder everytime
How they feel
When they crush every norm’s entities
Is this part of a ritual you religiously do?
Do you smirk or grin everytime you did?
Do you feel better perceiving lives too see them ache?
You do don’t you?

Why?
Because you've been there
You felt that pain, that agony that preludes
That melancholy past precedes you everytime
"Why always me?"
Why do you end up in bruises and blood-
Dripping from beginning to the end?
End?
No!
There’s no end to this
Unless you make it stop

But why relay the pain on others?
You created that villain in your head
You've become what you hate
Do you like that?
Making others suffer for what ‘they' did

You were once good
You still are
Well your pretense won an Oscar for the 'Ignorant'(s)
They know what you did
You broke their wings and the mettle they believed in
They don’t want to lose a 'Friend' like you
Their courage demised never to prevail again
You became this (****)tator
Which everyone obliged cowardly

But be reminded
Like every TV Show
The Hero always wins
Karma will be chasing you
Waiting for the right moment to expose you
You will get the retribution you deserved

You will cry
Remorse will elevate in your senses
And Every Name, Every Face, Every Sound
*Will be remembered to those you maimed.