I turn around with all the trepidation a single turning motion can manifest in a human body. I'm looking at the blackest daemon I've ever seen, a billion of his white eyes staring right back at me. I'm distraught for a moment. This is the edge of the universe.

Me?

Well, I've traveled a tangled path since my conception, a born wanderer of these dark, frost-tipped mountains my whole life. I've always had something to hold on to during my deep treks into the abyss. My mother's protection stayed with me wherever I went, remembering to go the speed limit past planets filled with life and death, stars of eruptive strength, moon's of ghostly luminance. I've fought against a myriad of space-pirate ****, befriended alien species you could only dream of having and torn through the stringiest of worm holes, leaving only bad time behind me, all in her name. My father taught me how to run my ship well; I've been sailing these black tides in his trademark downward ***** fashion ever since I got a handle of the control systems. He personalized the grid himself, starting with that big red button for "ignition." That's easier to remember than reprogramming it myself, right? You could say I've sailed my ship into a few wrong turns here and there, a couple of undone screws from the engine pressure. I've never meant to go outside the boundaries of what my ship can handle, a stable ideology my parents had taught me in my youthful years in the spaceflight academy; Those were the very days my destiny had been written through the sky.

This beat up piece of machinery I call a transportation device had puttered out at the very edge of all existence, my woven destiny utterly behind me. I only threw one thing at a wall and I really can't remember what it was; you could say I had a mild emotional breakdown. Here were all these tiny, beady stars I'd been connecting like dots since the very beginning of my life's journey and none of my past plotting made sense anymore; the yarn I left behind must have been strung with invisible fabric.

The mirror of a windshield I once peered through (mostly caused by the terminal blackness of space) was just a ******* portrait placed their to tease me. All that time and energy, all my wandering and fallen bolts I could never ***** back into my ship again...

Now staring through my very own wide-screen ink blot, parts of which I had traveled, others of which I still had time to visit and still others of which a therapist would later find disturbing: right then, something happened to my ******* eyes.

“Woh.
Is that seriously
a cloud-shaped star system
I'm seeing out there?
That is!
I don't believe
what my visors
are seeing right now.”

And a fist shaped system too. No, no that's a heart shaped one. And a person dancing to music and a table of friends and a girl's beautiful smile. They were right in front of me, all this time, and yet I had been running circles around them until I finally hit a ledge. For a moment I wondered what my invisible yarn would've shown me in the stars had it not been invisible yarn; it must have always been a malicious sentient creature that knew he'd get his *** kicked if I ever found him after this episode.

Looking down at the control pads of my ship, I begin reprogramming (a process that takes time) not just my plotted course into new territory, but also the grid's controlling functions themselves. I like the color green so I'll make that the "ignition".

They say, “Take the ****** out of your mouth.”

But all the success ahead of us is merely comfort; comfort that our father's could never give us. It's OK though, everyone needs control. Time is strong and constantly moving, everyone needs a direction to avoid their minds being ripped in half. After all, Individuality is just a controlled habit of protection walking.

Walking fast. Walking slow. Walking in step with someone else.
Walking right in. Walking right through. Walking right on out.
Walking backwards. Walking forwards. Walking in a big circle.
We're walking on our conveyor belts and one day they'll tell us to watch our step, we're getting off.

Sometimes you sneer at the lower paths and ******* to the higher ones.
You could fall off your own road at any moment so
you shouldn't strain your neck like that.

Sometimes you stop to kneel down on one knee.
You're pretending to tie your shoes but
they're always knotted.

Sometimes you jump a thousand lanes,
hoping someone is watching your majestic leaps.
Will they follow you wherever you go?

And where exactly
are you going anyways?

What they'll tell you:
What's Right.
What's Wrong.
What's Real.
What's Love.

What they didn't tell you:
How to Believe.
How to Embrace.
How to have Faith.
How to Love.

“Take the ****** out of your mouth.”

That** was unbridled.
There was no reserve between the two of us.
It was all there, every bit of it.

It was so straightforward.
What we shot went right through the both of us, so to the point.
Right through, breaking the lodged arrow shafts we were wearing.
We stopped hugging each other for dear life.
We took a brief back step and everything spilled out toward our shoes.

Shoes to walk in a direction opposite that of which our eyes once pierced deeply.
The both of us, with our feet soon to be wet through the socks, walked away.
That's when the rain brewed above.
The drops of wetness to make our shoes heavier, bleeding it out and filling them of something else entirely.
I would head toward the crop circles.

The rain could never change now.
The rumbling of the thunder in the distance could never cease.
I could look into the clouds and know this.
The cracking light touches the ground next to me and I notice you standing some distance away, tangled in the long grass with your head down.
Turning towards a mud puddle I notice a face staring back at me.
I step through it.

The downpour stops dead for a moment.
A light breaks the black cloud range and I shout past the deep humidity.

“AND NOW THE WEATHER WILL CHANGE!”

Trees turn their leaves back to face me in utter jubilee, only to watch as I walk back into another crop circle.
The fleeting lights from above run under their dark bed covers.
The forest watches a man walk in circles and they wonder where his mind went.
The rays of light come and go as the storm moves with my path.
That redundant episode could never change.

And then, one day, it did.
The Weather conjured a mist of many places for me to continue through.
“Something new, something old,” The Weather mocked.
I entered with an embrace.
I walked inside the closed garage where the two dogs stare at me through their cages.
Inside the bedroom where the man sits on the woman, both shouting.
On the pavement that held a boy who tries to recover as he leaves the woman's car.
Through the school's playground where those children are playing on the right side and the other children play somewhere else.
Between the middle of two young boys laughing in broken unison.
Amongst the classroom of students wearing paper bags over their heads, the few hiding their faces in the cup of their hands.
Toward the clearing by the river that the girl runs through as a boy staggers behind her.
Past the grass where some of the men stare into the distance outwards and other men stare into the distance inwards.
I walked out onto the other side of the mist.

The clouds were crumbling on the other side.
Lightning crashed and I saw you illuminated in the tall grass, staring up into a pair of eyes I recognized.

The lightning continued to strike.
It repeatedly blasted from above like a machine gun.
I looked down at the foot prints in the crop circles.
I looked up at the trees with no leaves frowning in the distance.
I looked forward to a pair of new shoes on your feet, already slightly worn.
I looked back at my creased face in the reflection.
I looked into a puddle in my eyes.
I then found my feet.

My bare, sun dried feet.

I jump past the puddle that the man and woman stand by.
it is unbridled again.

I don't need your sympathy,
just someone to see the haze I see,
I don't need my memories,
just a reality that believes I'm not crazy,

I don't need your golden caging,
just an education that's costing money,
I don't need your loyalty,
just some stability to keep us happy,

I don't need “factually”,
just a true, honest identity,
I don't need anxiety,
just some butterflies to keep it exciting,

I don't need a friend,
just a person wanting to smile with me,
I don't need your love,
just the dog lying by me as I'm dying.

~What A Smile Can Do~

These days any smile could make me happy.

You could call it opening up or closing it all off. Closing up shop, come one come all. Sometimes it feels as if I'm not even there, but you are. I can't help but think as I feel this way at the bottom of my body, like some mechanical gear is flaking off its rust.

I'm watching my dad smile while he speaks to me and there's this similarity between he and I. I think there's a Mona Lisa Effect in effect. He loses track and so do I. I was thinking of you and your hair and how it used to smell and then I saw a picture of you and it was short and lighter and I thought of someone else, even though you are still beautiful.

That other person smiles like a friend I never knew.

I hold for a moment and something changes again. I ain't feelin' it.

But I could feel anything, if I remember right. My eyes roll back further and they trip over themselves.
I could totally feel you and me in the bathroom, specifically you nearly dipping into the sink and me with my eyes half open staring at a pair of beautiful bucket lids over your own.

And her smile is goofy. Goofy *****. Happy for you. It makes me smile too.

I've been getting into this specific branch of chemistry recently. Really getting into how the science works in the vials of chemicals in my brain that are constantly mixing. He tells me oxygen isn't good for the chemicals and that I'm ruining things. "Stitch it back up and leave it alone." He's my lab assistant but we get separate grades, so I don't give a **** what he says and I let him know. I give him a handshake now and after the forty five minutes are up and the bell rings. We'll get a good grade together, I know.

And your teeth are really straight and I remember telling you that once. I've got ****** up teeth even though they make a great grin. I've got some cavities, but they don't hurt anymore, in fact, the dentists say they're looking fine, go home, take a toy with you on your walk out the door and play with it in the car all the way back home. It's a forty five minute drive so I give him a handshake as I leave. It's a nice smile you've got, like a Mona Lisa effect - so I avoid your eyes.

And there was this smile the other day when God was whispering little miracles in the weather clouds and in the timing of things, even though it was the briefest grin I'd ever seen. Her eyes are like deep dug out trenches, ready for World War III. I might not see her again like I did that day, but that's just how God works sometimes.

My eyes wander a lot these days. They remind me of my dad wandering back home from the bar in his car. He wanders into the house and tells me a story about cutting another man's wedding ring off after he got a divorce with a pair of pliers, but he brought the sledgehammer for an effect, what do you want for dinner? His eyes still wander at the fish on the counter at five am, to television at six, to a king size bed. His face deconstructs and the wandering halts over the sound of infomercials blaring from his room.

But that's not true. My eyes are becoming more like yours. I'm letting them open up, close them all off, come one come all, with diligence. Your smile and eyes are like waves in constructive interference. Everything returns to the sea once the water comes over and all the spearheads, spoiled meat and negligent treaties sink to the bottom. It's a cool little party down there. Everyone gets along and they smile just like you do.

I'd like to think my smile can do that too.

I'm taking a vacation from you
at the start of June,
you who creates projections
and reacts
from emotions
I'll disprove,
I'm leaving for awhile because
I could never let go
when you wouldn't move,
I'm already on the plane
from your irrationality, get a grip,
This is a a “see you later” to
the trick I make for myself
as you burn them through,
it's ******* true that it hurts me too
and don't forget,
Reminiscing back to
when I ran away spiraling
or threw away cycling,
That's circling, old friend,
Hating deeply
and I still do,
quietly hating them
when
I actually hate you,
We've been here awhile
and it's a cruel place,
The sound of May closing
up her eyes
like a lonely fool
making everyone's rules,
nothing but
intolerance to use
so we'll soon pay the price,
We're lost until the first
so I'll see you in July.

The road I
step through
has yearned
me forever,

Stumbling upon
my book
as this life became
the story
I wanted to tell,

Reading this rock
during
my deepest darkness
after
countless chapters
of walking,

Now you hear a
smile
within this place
I've meant
to live in.