Fragmented,
broken on the floor.
Memories, lists and dreams,
lost forever more.
Sunlight, through curtains, making rays.
My eyes swirl with the churning dust,
the musty homegrown haze.
The room is growing smaller.
The walls are closing in.
Our hearts are still on fire,
there burning in the bin.
We wrote our names in blood,
in sweat, across the wooden floor.
And then we tell each other
"I don't love you anymore."
How can we tell each other?
"I don't love you anymore."

this self-loathing is too much for me to bare.
i mean i bare everything:
the actions, the words,
the snickers with
an inflamed chest.
and the struggle cannot be conquered;
i am no soldier, no fighter - subhuman.
i struggle for a sense of purpose
like an infected toilet brush
or maybe a half-chewed pencil eraser. quality beats quantity
but i cannot quantify how many tears i have shed
or the glass-stained memories
that leave ****** scratches on mind.
all along there was no end to this journey,
but shattered dreams paint a more vivid picture
than happiness ever could.

Where have I gone?
The person I was and swore I’d always be
Somehow, while discussing cheap beer soaked high school memories
I’ve lost myself
Lost my direction
Let others define who I am
Or at least who I should be
I was always so sure of myself
And uncompromising on the matter
How did I let this happen?
And you
I thought I knew you
But I can’t tell if you’re lost or found
If the person that I respected
Was ever really you
Or if I was fooled into thinking
You
Were something else I needed

Mind over matter
so they say
but the mind is fickle
unclear and ever changing
while matter cannot be destroyed or created
controlling matter
an un-diminishable force
is simply impossible

Knowing is always better than not knowing.
                                                        ­                                               Every
                                                           ­                                                      single
                                                          ­                                                                 time.

Why am I here?
What is there to complete?
Is there some kind of mission?
Must I compete?

What is my life meant to compromise of?
This can't be it.
Born empty handed.
Naked - No start-up kit.

Find yourself they say.
Where do I begin?
A life full of tempters,
Though no tolerance for sin.

"Come one, Come all!" they shout,
Promising excitement.
A step into a shade of grey,
An unknown world of enticement.

A life full of tempters,
Though no room for sin.
Find yourself they say.
**Where do I begin?