What will never come again?
She asked me for days on end.
What will never be again?
She asked me for nights unending.
What will never become again?
She asked me with the future in her eyes.

What do I tell these boys?

Call them a prince,
and they are likely to be assassinated
for the thrones, they’ve yet to sit on.

Call them commoner
and we deny them growth and glory
we handcuff their dreams to mediocrity.

Call them pauper,
and they will live and die in gutters
ingesting poison, thinking this is all they deserve.

What do I tell these boys?

Find your voice and speak the truth.
Speak what you see, how you feel,
never swallow your own tongue.

Risk being called ungrateful
risk letting them know that your superpower is simply being educated.
risk letting every achievement become a new target for them be to aim at for.

She is dripping wet, standing outside my door.

The rain had been unkind, and had my words.

So many nights I’d been drunk off of her smile.

So many nights she’d been dragged through my lies.

I beat my hands upon the walls, wanting to break them.

So she could never again fit her fingers between mine.

But still she stood, rain soaked and stubborn.

Her voice like soft lightning, striking again and again.

That ****** giggle…

As if her pain were a laughing matter.

As if her love wasn’t misguided.

As if I weren’t the monster I thought I was/wanted to be.

That ****** giggle…

Broke me, cut me, crippled me, busted me wide open.

(Door swings open)

“Come in.”

After 2 old fashions this conversation will lead to disaster.

I will become devilish and charming.

My slightly glazed eyes will see into your soul.

Or so you think.

The sunrise will greet us and reveal the truth.

But why bother.

Just let awkward silence do it’s job, and let the morning roll on.

By her side, they found it.

As sunrise rose they saw.

Dilated eyes, cold lips,breathless.

Frantic but with fear, fingertips reach for the beckoning lid.

A gift? What lies inside?

Oh wait, a letter beside the body.

A letter with answers? or more questions.

It simply read, “It’s sad that I had to slice it up a bit to make it fit”.

Heart-shaped box?

What a joke…

One of these days I simply won’t make it back home.
I’m already a half-hearted, half-broken, shell of who I thought I could be.
The thread that holds my fragile soul together has been wearing thin for far too long.
I’m withered and waning, constantly falling, yet unable to shatter myself.
Scraped and scared, these bruised limbs of mine carry a living ghost.
Haunting my own existence. My reflection refuses to meet me in the mirror.
Even my shadow follows at a distance, trying to avoid of boundless connection.
One of these days, one these days, the door won’t open, the key won’t fit, and I won’t wake up peacefully on my couch.
Is it inconceivable that my pride disallows me to fear these possibilities?
What should I be proud of?
Perennial past due, stale, rotting, falling to pieces yet still one.
Liquid fire poison runs through my veins while beer battered butterflies suffocate inside my stomach.
My lungs are covered in barbed wire while my heart is coated in novocaine.
One of these days I won’t make it home…
I hope no one cries, but I’d like it to rain.
-Ode to a black sheep in wolf’s clothing

Life is uncomfortable.
So, your comfort-zone is invalid.
It does not exist.
It cannot defend you.
It cannot hide you.
It cannot shelter you.
Life is uncomfortable.
So get tough.
Become capable.
Become skillful.
Become determined.
Become fearless.
Life is uncomfortable.
So, eat, sleep, and make love.
Run, dance, and sing.
Dream of tomorrow.
Live for today.
Learn from yesterday.
Life is uncomfortable.
That is a fact.
But you are malleable.
You can change.
You can evolve.
You can make Life, what you want.