Both pens and babies deserve the same chance.

The chance to tell the world their story.

Tell me my poetry won't get me anywhere.

Tell me my talent won't help me succeed.

Tell me my poems can't change someone's life.

Tell me that I'm not on the verge of something great.

Tell me my words don't mean a **** thing.

But just watch as I prove every single one of you wrong.

Love is such a poignant drug.
It is something you cherish for your entire life,
Until the one day where it is from your hands and from your heart untimely ripped.
What happens when you lose love?
Do you go on a four hour car ride through nowhere and drown the sorrow with music?
Do you cry about it until your tears can fill the Pacific?
Or do you simply thank that person for their time, and walk away?
"Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened."
That has been said to me over and over again.
It's like my guidance counselor telling me that when I take a trip to her office due to a bout of depression.
Again.
But, I strangely find validity in it.
I believe that no matter what those cold-hearted, vicious, egotistical ex-lovers have told you, you still exist simply to prove them wrong.
You have to show them that you are prepared to wear the blood from a broken heart like a badge of honor.
Like a sign saying, "I'm a survivor. Can I have another?"
Love is a fickle, funny, nonsensical, amateur, thing.
That's all love is.
Love is not about proving yourself to someone who has thrown your mentality of life away.
It's about being able to see yourself drenched in all that wasted blood from all those broken hearts and say,
"****, that looks good on me."

This life that I live is hard.
Gets harder and harder each day.
But it's the only life I got.
Will it get better?, I can't say.

The pain that I suffer through is silent.
You can't hear me scream.
My life is a scary nightmare.
It doesn't even recognize the word "dream."

I cringe every day.
I tense up like a statue.
I pray to God for one thing.
And that one thing is truth.

I've been given an open letter.
Telling me to run free.
And after reading that letter.
I question if running is for me.

Freedom is all I think about.
From early in the morning to late at night.
I can't get it off of my mind.
It's such a beautiful sight.

But I scare myself sick.
I worry too much.
I worry that I won't ever get away.
I worry that freedom, I'll never clutch.

And that brings me back to the life I live.
The one that gets harder and harder each day.
It sadly is the only one I got.
Will it get better?

I can't say.

I'm just a spoke on the wheel.

And the journey I've been on,
Has been tiresome and painful.

But I keep turning,
Hoping that I will soon reach my beautiful destination.

You've read thousands of words,

Even thousands more from me.

I can't make you read them to the tune of how I feel,

But I can't help but keep trying.

I've never been good at straying from my heart.

Because it beats too loudly.
Beats too strongly.
It beats too much.

And these words are proof.

They're all I've got.
So I'll keep giving until I have nothing left.

I don't know what else to do.

I look up to you everyday.

Both metaphorically,
And now unfortunately,
Literally.

But I'll never stop looking.

The darkness can consume me,
The pain blind my eye.
The turmoil blur my vision.
The weight force my eyelids close.

You were the first thing I layed my eyes on.

And I still haven't seen anything as beautiful since.

And even though it saddens me that I can't physically see your face anymore,

I'll never stop looking.

I just don't get it. I really really don't.
And that's what's killing me.
I'm trying to rack my mind to find out where I messed up.
But I can't seem to find the answer.
And I never will.
And it's starting to make me mad.
It hurts when I pause and look at the world and notice how everyone's together, how everyone's happy.
And then I just look at myself and I wonder why aren't I happy, like them?
Why am I not together with someone, like them?
Why?
And that's what brings us full circle, folks.
Just me going on and on, but nobody really cares.
Nobody really is listening.
I do everything I can to put a smile on people's faces even when I can't put a smile on my own.
I try so hard to show people, but the world outside doesn't care.
But they'll sure as hell care about so many others, but not me.
Thanks, it means a lot beautiful.
I've come to learn I'm just anther spoke on the wheel.
The wheel will keep going after I'm gone.
And so many people out there are so hypocritical.
They're so cheap they won't even tip a canoe.
It's like they don't pack enough chromosomes some times.
I seriously think most people out there take IQ Tests and they come back negative.
But then there are people who have egos that are so fat they can go to the beach and sell shade.
See my point, people don't care unless you're famous or dead.
They don't care how hard you try and fight.
And now, 205 years after the birth of the man behind the concept of "Survival of the fittest," I find myself learning to realize that postulate is true.
And it also feel like it's the survival of the sickest, and I'm infected.
And why I can't be someone out there without making someone mad makes me so irritated.
I try my hardest to put everyone first, but still everyone puts me last.
I'm just a guy looking for someone to care.
I'm just a guy looking for someone to ask what's wrong and actually stay to hear.
But nobody wants to listen.
People won't listen to your cries, your pain, or your problems.
But if they'd listen to one thing, they should listen to this:
From here on out, It's anything goes.
And trust me, trust me when I tell you this right now.
I have the best thing going.

-Nick Moser

Fight back tears, we joyous human beings have to do.

With life being as unknown as it is, it puzzles me that we know so much about pain without knowing really anything at all.
Make sense yet?
Well, pain really doesn’t.
But it hurts.

So why do we have to experience pain?

It’s an interesting and frustrating concept.
When you think of how many people are on the Earth, and how many of them could be facing their own personal pain, what do we do?
People face their own personal pain in many forms.
Crime, the loss of a family member, disease, love.
All of those hurt.

Pain is an evil temptress.
Because she comes in all different shapes and different sizes.
She comes in different capes with different disguises.
And she affects everyone in one way or the other.
And it hurts.

Pain is hard to swallow.
And that’s because sometimes, pain is the dagger,
The dagger that is too busy being plunged into your heart for you to swallow it.
And that hurts.

Pain is something we think we can overcome.
Because, if we’ve already had so much in our lives, why would we need more?
Why can’t we just have our sunny day?
Our clean bill of health?
Our relationship we try so hard for?
Pain is something we curse because even through the constant struggle of pain, we can’t seem to find happiness.
We can’t seem to win.
And that hurts.

But we spend so much of our days imagining winning.
We enjoy the splendor of happiness, the warmth of joy.
We can see ourselves playing in the field of dreams.
We are past our struggles.

But then pain rears its ugly head.
It reminds us of our imaginations.
It reminds us that we are still immersed far within her grasp.
Pains reminds us of one thing:

Some people are just not meant to win the big one.

And that’s what hurts the most.

I looked to you for hope.
For inspiration.
For love.

But all I saw was an empty reflection.

And I looked to my friends for sanity.
For saving.
I looked to them to help pull me out of this rut.

But all I saw was a party, and I wasn't invited.

I looked to my mother for guidance.
For information.
For help.

But all I saw was the slab of concrete baring her name.

I looked to life for hope.
For a savior.
For an answer.
And all I see is a dark and scary place.

And I fit right in.

I'm crazy for you.

And that's why I'm writing another poem.

Another canvas splattered with my gushy, mushy emotions.

Another fairytale romance covered in my blood, sweat, and tears.

I'm crafting a story where you're crazy for me too.

Where we can be together.

And I'm sitting here feeling my heartbeat race everytime I read your name.

And my knees go weak when I see your face.

And my eyes and ears widen when I hear your name.

I'm crazy for you.

And you'd probably call me crazy, or sweet, or generous, or a great guy, or a loser, or pathetic,

But as long as your calling, I'll keep answering.

So I hope you like this poem.
This canvas of my unstable emotions.
This fairytale romance drenched with my blood that I bleed from my fight.
The sweat that I pour from my fight.
And the tears that fall because of my fight.

I just hope you like this.
And I hope you like me, too.

But it's alright if you're not crazy about me the way I am about you.

But ****, if you were,

That'd be crazy.

I dream of you all the time.

And the good thing is, I get to see your smiling face and know you're not in any pain.

I dream of you all the time.

And the bad thing is, you're not there when I wake up.

Human beings need help.
They can’t do it completely on their own.

That’s why we spend some time calling out to people.
But it just ***** when you keep calling out to those,

Who have already hung up the phone.

I must have super strength.

Because I’m carrying around these
     mountains on my shoulders,

When I know I should be climbing them instead.

But for some reason,

I’ve always been better at carrying pain,
     Than overcoming it.

I guess I just don’t have the strength for that.

That cold slab of concrete,
It just sits there.
Sits through the sunshine,
Wallows in the moonlight.
It beckons for us.
It enjoys our company,
Because it had gotten used to our capacity.
We'd pass monosyllabic expressions back and forth,
As if it resembled gunfire.
We'd share laughs like they were on sale,
And we had coupons to buy them.

I looked at it today.
I stared at that cold slab of concrete.
Images filled my mind of parties and celebrations,
We had the best times there.
We, meaning we all shared in the good.
But when it came to bad times,
There was only one occupant,
Me.
I wore the burden of pain.
It's like you didn't even care.
You'd run just like the rest of them.
You'd run toward anything other than me.
You'd run like you saw laughs on sale,
And you had coupons to buy them.

I sat on that cold slab of concrete today.
I was actually glad I was alone.
The silence was soothing,
Like an early morning beach breeze.
Knowing that no one would run or ignore,
That reassured me.
It was nice to sit on that cold slab of concrete.

I sat there and said to myself,
"I think I like it here... by myself."

I got up and left,
Just like all of you did.
But next time, I'd be back.
And the time after that,
And the time after that time,
And for many more times after that.

If they ever put that cold slab of concrete up for sale,
I'd buy it.
Too bad you ran away with all my coupons.

Love is like trying to catch a train,
All while standing on the tracks.
You are fascinated with how fast everything is moving,
But also, how slow it is moving all the same.
Everyone is yelling things at you.
So many people are telling you what to do.
You want to move,
You want to jump out of the way,
But nobody ever wants to miss their train.

After intense summer heat,
Comes delicate autumn breeze.
A withering winter follows,
And in turn is followed itself by a blossoming spring.
There is no in between.
No time for reconstruction.
That summer heat, cools.
That autumn breeze, freezes.
That withering winter, subsides.
That blossoming spring, burns out.
When is the period of review?

The World has to have time to stand back and marvel at its own beauty.
Or maybe its own destruction.

Depends on how you want to start the cycle again.

I like to look at poetry like this:

It’s just like taking one step at a time.

Then I remind myself:

Walking can take a while to get you somewhere.

“Reach out to people.”
“Talk to them first.”

I do. Then they leave after like 3 texts.
Or they quickly change the subject.
I hate that.
People don’t wanna recognize or talk about the real stuff out here.

The hurt, the pain.

They just don’t wanna talk about it.

But unfortunately, that’s all I am.

I’m moving much too fast,
I can’t check the scenic views.
I feel too far gone,
So far away from you.
You are my release,
My Heaven sent down to this Hell.
You are my escape,
You bring me joy so well.

I feel at times I’m looking,
Too hard for some hope.
I feel like I’m playing hand grenades,
In a world playing jump rope.
I have to keep producing,
That’s what all good artists do.
But maybe, just maybe,
It’s the way we go about it that’s the clue.

My music is my soul.
And not just the genre.
I want you to feel my music.
It’s about life, not drama.
I bleed my heart on that mic.
To the point where my heartbeat, you’ll hear it.
My music goes beyond every beat,
It goes beyond every lyric.

My poetry is my savior.
It keeps me hanging on.
I can craft these amazing stories,
My poetry keeps me from being too far gone.
I bleed my heart on those pages.
To the point where my heartbeat, you’ll read it.
My poetry goes beyond every stanza,
It goes beyond all the rhetoric.

We bleed our hearts out for this art.
We live for our words.
You can call us fighters,
Cause we’ll die by our swords.
And my swords, we mean pens,
Which we use to write down our hearts.
To write down our lives,
You’ll see them in every part.

So the money, will start printing.
And we, will start winning.
Because in the end, we’re just brothers from humble beginnings.

Come here baby, let's just lay down.
Our feet are tired from running town to town.
Yet we have to stay on our toes.
Running together but nobody knows.
We need a break, a get away.
A tomorrow's beginning's on yesterday's today.
You look beautiful my darling, like a boat set sail.
You look brave down to the last detail.
Running from town to town, place to place.
It doesn't faze you, doesn't show on your face.
We should just rest, get away from it all.
In each others arms is the only place we should fall.
Dirt on our shoulders, mud in the boots.
Dusting my hair off while I'm looking at you.
Bypass the hotels, motels and more.
Straight to the beach, watch the stars from the shore.
Police won't stop us, because life hasn't yet.
We've gotta keep running, not looking back and having regrets.
Sand in our shoes.
Is all we need to prove.
We've survived an onslaught, we've survived denial.
I'm tired of running, let's rest awhile.

Some people just don't win the big one.

And that's not fair.

It's not fair that some people work so hard to accomplish something, only to fail at it in the end.

It's not fair that people who like other people so much aren't liked back.

It's not ******* fair that some people feel their hearts literally break into a thousand pieces over love.

Over affection.

Over attention.

Over someone else.

It's not fair at all the way some of us have to live our lives sometimes.

Because sometimes,

Some people just don't win the big one.

And I'm one of them...

Are you scared?
Because I am.
I live my life everyday being scared of something.
I can't stand it.
I know I'm fine.
But my mind is telling me different.
It's like a constant devil on my shoulder.
Except its in my head.

Are you tired?
Because I am.
I live my life everyday being tired of the day to day operation of my being.
From school to home life, it's all a mess.
I keep forgetting to do things because I am suddenly remembering to do things.
Get it?
Cause I don't.

Are you fed up?
Because I am.
I'm fed up with how life moves on and forgets you.
Like when something extreme happens in your life.
You just want people to stop and ask you what's wrong.
And sometimes, you just want them to hold you.
But you realize they don't.
People have their own lives to live.
The world moves on, even if you don't.

But that doesn't mean you have to quit.
As individuals, we all have our own intricate vocabularies populated by words we find intriguing not only to our tongues, but other's ears.
And in that vocabulary, there should never be the word: quit.
Quitting is something that we should be allergic to.
We should hate.
We despise.
Because if after all we've been through we want to quit, we're not realizing our full potential.
Reach for it.
Grab it.
We have to chase our ambitions.
Our ambitions won't come to us.
But quitting will.
It will rear its ugly head at every turn.
But we must never give up.

Are you a survivor?
Because I am.

Falling freely has become a specialty.
A long, painstaking journey from the top has become routine.
Almost as routine as tying your shoes.
Just think about it.
You take a pair of shoes out of a closet daily.
You place your left foot in the left shoe, and mirror that with your right.
Your feet familiarize themselves with the rubber insole within.
You take both laces in your hand, both possibly resembling a small, hairy animal going around a tree.
Now, instead of tying those laces, take them and make a noose.
Fixate said noose around your neck and tie it.
And whenever someone asks what the most important piece of advice you learned during your fall from the top,
Tell them this:
“If the shoe fits, wear it.”

Nowadays, people seem to always ask me how I'm feeling.

I say I'm either sad or mad.

It confuses them, because they can see sweat dripping out of my pours and tears escaping my eyes.

And they ask, "Well, which one are you feeling?"

And all I say is, "Sweat looks like tears if it rolls down your face far enough."

And then grit my teeth and cry.

I could never figure out why I never fit in.
Or why every girl I liked never liked me back.
Or why my dad never loved me.
Or why my mom had to be taken away from me at 17 years old.

There's a lot of things I never understood.

But now, I don't understand why these things are happening to me.
Why do I sit here every day hating myself while everyone else is having the time of their lives?
Why do I sit here every ******* day surrounded by sadness and every one else has happy days like it's the ******* TV show all over again?
Why do I sit here and suffer through so much **** all the while no one bats a ******* eye to it?

All these questions and I'm still hopelessly searching for answers.

But all I need is a savior.
A miracle.

I just need something.

I can't keep being the ugly fat-*** that no girl will ever like.
I can't keep being the manic depressive 19 year old who is paranoid over every little thing.
I can't keep being the shy and awkward guy that has no friends because  he's too afraid, too ashamed, and too much of a loser.
I can't keep watching girl after girl that I have feelings for fall in love with another guy.
I can't keep sitting in my dorm all alone and depressed waiting for something to happen.

Please, please, please.
Just let something good happen for once after a whole 1 year, 3 months, and 16 days of bad.
Of worrying.
Of crying.
Of crippling depression.
Or being alone.

I just need some help.

I just need some answers.

I can hear the birds chirping loud on this morning.
I hear them chirp from tree tops, traffic stops, outlet shops, and until their lungs pop.
Their chirping is a sign.
It's a conveying message.
It capitalizes on the dualities of hope and inspiration.

These birds fly every single day.
They remind me of my mother.
She went day after day caring for us after my father left.
She never stopped, much like this bird I see above me.

These birds chirp to find other birds.
It reminds me of my friend Rick.
Rick was a struggling alcoholic who always pushed people away.
But one day, that changed like the tides.
Rick realized what his life was amounting to, and changed.
He saw life for better, and he reached a helping hand out to anyone who needed it.
He'd give you the shirt off his back even if you had 20 to spare.
I remember the first day I met Rick, he offered to pay for my movie ticket.
Man, how fast two years has gone by without you here.

These birds I watch from my window, they never look sad.
I wish I could put on that facade.
I wonder how truly happy one must be if they're happy all the time.
I know some people who are happy all the time.
Or atleast they act that way.
I just feel like they are drowning, but they don't want to bother people by saying, "save me."
Birds can fly away, so people would think they wouldn't need saved.
But what happens when a bird flies out too far over the ocean?
Who can hear its cries then?

These birds, they're pretty cool.
And I'm probably not pretty cool for calling birds pretty cool.
But when it comes down to it, birds are warriors.
They can see what other's can't view, fly where other's can't reach, and sing unlike any other creature.

Many people go through life trying to be a strong valiant warrior.

And birds can do it on a Thursday morning without even breaking a sweat.

I watched them go swimming one day.
They were ok at best, but they kept trying.
Backstrokes and breaststrokes, repeat and more.
I watch from the sidelines as they laugh and cry and share their happiness.
I can hear them shouting, but I can't make it out.
It sounds like a cry for help.

But it's funny, I'm the one who's drowning.
They're the ones standing three feet away shouting "Learn how to swim".

I smile.
You smile.
Your face tells a story.
My favourite book to read.
And every time you walk by,
I have to check my vital signs to see if I'm still breathing.
Because you take my breath away.
And even though we don't know,
Each other that well.
I really want the time to cross paths.
I keep holding onto hope even if no one else knows why.
Because you mean a lot to me,
Even if you don't realize it.
You make me smile in the saddest of times.
Your cute laugh.
Your priceless smile.
It draws me in like a pencil; erasing all doubts.
I just don't know what to do.
I know there might be a chance.
But what if there isn't?
What if you turn out like all the others?
I don't want that, you don't want that.
Why chase something that I'll never reach?
But I want to reach you so badly.
Too badly.
So sadly.
Bye-bye.
And that feels like the end of another hopeless journey.
Ended too soon.
Good-bye.
I'll miss you.

I was never the most handsome thing to look at.
I never had nerves of steel or confidence of a God.
I never had the best financial situation.
Or the best hair.
I never had the physique of a male weight-lifter.
Or football player.
Or dancer.
Or even ping pong player.
I never knew how to capitalize on opportunities like other guys did.
I never knew how to stand comfortably in my own shoes.
I always seemed to mess up.
To botch my words.
Ruin the moment.
Poison the air with my disappointing appearance.
I never had my emotions figured out.
I never seemed to enjoy a day of happiness.
Because I was too far lost in sadness.
I lost my forest through the trees.
I never even had a forest.
I never had a place where seeds of hope could grow into trees of glory.
Where my legacy could live on forever.
Where my love could rejuvenate even the sickest of souls.
I never had an opportunity to show what my love really could do.
But I always had love to give.
Too bad I never had anyone in line who wanted to receive it.

Can I ask you a question?

"First of all, it's may I."
"And second of all, you just did."

I can’t find the words that I want to say to you.
Every time I try to speak,
I choke on the dirt and grass that cover graves.
I choke on the insects that infest bodies post-exodus.
I choke on the last little breaths I have left in this hole.

I’m drowning in this dirt.

I’m dying in this grave of unspoken words.

You know, life is pretty funny.
Even laugh provocative, to say.
The game that we play, where the rules constantly change.
You know, the one where we constantly miss who player 2 is.
Don't say a word, let me count the days.
Tick tock, there goes another.
Down, around, and back again.
My, my, one of our talks helps, my friend.
We fall on our backs, so we may witness our rise.
Don't you get it? It's hidden behind your beautiful brown eyes.
You know, that game that we play together?
The one that ticks by, just as the days tick down.
My old man once told me you learn to play the game after awhile.
A slap in the face and 10 bucks become the same.
You know they are not your destiny.
You're something bigger.
Something brighter than the sun, babe.
Don't change for me, change for yourself.
No matter what I do, it shouldn't affect your view.
Don't tell me what you would've done,or what you should've done, tell me what you already did.
You know, I'm not going to be the pretender.
Oh, and you should know, I will never surrender.
But in this world, you either play the game, or change it.
You know what they say, if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.
And if you can't make it here, welcome to the club.

If I could go back to that night and live it over and over, I would.
I'd go back one million times over.
And then some.
The time we shared was short, but filled with so many memories.
We walked around looking for our destiny, but we couldn't find the destination.
Once we did, it was vacant, just like the hope we had of now having a good time.
But we marched on.
Led by a beast, we walked toward a nightmare.
A long, long, long walk.
Through the lights and sounds, the noise all around.
We walked town to town it seemed like, until some of us started to have doubts.
So, in that next moment, I was off on foot to try and save our weary souls.
I soon reached my target, and I drove the getaway car toward salvation, literally.
After missing the right signs with so many wrong turns, I finally found good news.
I sped toward the west end, bypassing every fall.
I passed the destination, but found my friends in the streets.
They were just looking for some Family.
We rode together toward the flashing light of prosperity, and found the rest of our gang.
We stood together as one, and even though it was scary, even though we got separated, and even though there was moisture, we came out together.
We started to part ways.
But soon most of us were back in the saddle together, tighter than most families.
We soon drove way out to the country where there's five forks in the road, not just one.
Then, as night lagged on, I found my way home.
I layed down in my bed, still feeling, no, still wishing I was there.
Oh, if only I could go back.
Because if I could live it over and over.
I would.

Love is truly a one way street.

But I always preferred "Avenue" over "Street."
It just had a better ring to it.
Like "Heartbreak Avenue."
Or "Pain Avenue."
They just sounds so sophisticatingly better than Heartbreak Street or Pain Street.
Street is child's play.
Like when children play in the street until the late hours of the evening.
Or when we would sit thinking about the the world down the street.
The perfect world.

And in our perfect world, every street would be an avenue.
There would be no heartbreaks.
There would be no pain.
And in our world, it would be us coupled together coupled with happiness.

But what the hell happened to that world?

It disappeared.
It never was.
It was shrouded with darkness.

Weren't we supposed to be happy?
Weren't we supposed to be together?
Weren't we supposed to be in love?

Well, I guess we took a wrong turn down a one way avenue.

These... scars on this desk. They're markings,
Redefined.
And these hand prints on the wall... they're memories
Of mine.
Tiny thoughts trying to escape my brain.
But what they don't know is, they're free to go.
You see man, these thoughts of mine are like grains of sand.
They're all stuck together, but there is so much of it.
So many ideas racing through my mind.
That's the key term, my mind.
Man, no wonder they're trying to escape.
My mind is an imaginarium where belief and hope have collided with lies and insanity to make a new feeling called: Complacency.
I've reached this state of nirvana where I can kick my feet up and relax.
I can sit in my rocking chair and watch the world burn.
"Oh, what a wonderful world."
Look at all those people run.
But they're not running with their legs, they're running their mouths.
They're spewing garbage and lies about themselves to attain a higher place on a higher pedestal.
But those pedestals.... they're made of,
People.
Bodies, skulls, blood, bones.
But more importantly... they're made up of,
Ideas.
The hormone that rushes the body along.
The juice that keeps the body hydrated.
The ideas of our minds are indestructible.
They will live forever.
No wonder they're trying to escape.
Ideas were brave Kings upon a mountaintop, but those Kings are now dead.
These Kings are now beggars at the gates of Hell.
Because only the good ones go to Heaven.
The best of Saints may be the worst of sinners.
But their ideas carry weight in gold.
But if we're speaking about ideas,
What are those anyways?

The scars or the hand prints?

"Who wants me anyway?" is the question I ask.
No one answers.
No one is listening.

"Who wants me anyway?" is the question she asks.
I answer, "Me."
No one is listening.

"And here we are".
You've led me into a dark lit room.
"Take off the blindfold babe".
I remove the blindfold, and see beauty.
I see a magical world around me.
"Like what you see?" She says with that beautiful smile that anyone could see and instantaneously feel better.
I see a sign that reads: Paradise.
"Yea. A lot." Is all I manage to say, still in awe of this magical world in front of me.
I realize that she is so kind to bring me here.
She is so helpful, bringing me out of the darkness and into this light.
She is so beautiful, I always stare.
Such beauty, much like this place in front of me.
"This is yours." She says to me in that seductive and beautiful voice.
"Let's go." I say.
Venture into this world together and experience it's beauty.
The two of us together, man we're unstoppable.
She smiles at me and says, "No. I'm not coming with you."
She turns and runs, I call out for her, but she is gone in a flash.
Disappeared.
I turn around, all I see is darkness.
Thunder crashes over head.
Rain starts to pour down on me.
I see a sign.
It reads: "Paradise. If Only We Had Paradise. Maybe We Wouldn't Be So Sad."

I just want to go back in time.

And live in all the places I felt like dying.

Because fearing death and meeting it are two completely different shindigs.

I want to go back to the places I lived,
The people I loved,

And meet them all over again.

I’ve never moved into a new house,
But I’d like to think it’s as simple as saying “hello” after years of saying “hey.”

Love is a quick train,

And if you don’t hear it coming,
You’ll miss it on a dime.

I just hope you’ll come back around one day.

They say if you love something,
Then leave it.

It will return in time.

But with all these messages,
All the empty conversations,
All these thoughts and feelings,

I’d kick myself for leaving something so valuable behind in an old house.

Sunsets and violent car crashes are known to be thieves of our attention,

Yet mine tends to veer off the beaten path.

It gets distracted by poems and the way words make love to each other.
It gets distracted by lips and how well I can remember how they set my soul on fire.
It gets distracted by pictures and how the thousand words scream at me of what I’m missing.
It’s like it’s mocking me.

I daydream of one day owning a nice house,
And all the memories I wish to place within it.

If I could take the past,
And move it to the future,
I would.

Uproot it from what at the time seemed like a hell hole,
And put some pearly gates around it.

I just wish I could have the things I once had back.
And I wish the things I had wanted me back, too.

It’s hard to live in a future that you so desperately want to escape.

I lived a part of my life where I didn’t actually do much living.
And now,
I’m dying to go back.

The past is always prime real estate for a kid who can’t even make it out of the neighborhood.

I had everything that I ever wanted.
But suddenly, everything changed.
My whole world was turned upside down like a sunken ship.
Left on its back like Candy, the adorable puppy dog.
Left on its back like Candy, the adorable *******.
My world was broken like a shattered window.
Left in pieces like this puzzle, once you got tired of playing with it.
Left in pieces like my heart, once you got tired of playing with it.
I wake up every morning having already lost this game called “Life,”
Man, I had everything that I ever wanted.

And lost it all.