My withdrawal was violent like ******
Your effects lasting like mental trauma
I reveled in you like a pagan on Samhain
You greeted me like a crusader to a Saracen
I bled a river of emotions I didn't know I had.
I was failing to fly
Like a fledgeling taking its firsit leap away from the nest in hopes of soaringly to greater heights.
But what a hunter you were,
The arrow striking me from the sky as if guided by Artemis
It leaves me wanting,
My heart turns cold enough to freeze the blood that runs through my veins
Give me the road
A place where judgments are left in tire tracks
Where worries are removed as the winds rushes around me at 80 miles an hour.
The sun at my back heating my heart
Pumping the blood to my wings
Spread them and fly
Ride the wind, race the rain, and chase the sunset
On these two wheels you leave what aches behind you.
You find freedom on the never ending horizon
You find happiness in your solitude.
-Vaun Niklaus Christiansen.

Internally seeking.
Outwardly reaching.
No lifeboats in sight.
Both ways have no view.
Slowly retreating to myself,
Feeling confined with no help.
Stop time, and tell,
no bad endings, end well.
Lose you to yourself,
or lose you to hell.
My breath is quickening.

I take comfort in the familiarity
of it all.
The constant madness;
ringing bells and sounding alarms.

I've seen a lot of things.
I know a lot of things.

I'm a different type of person
than I used to be.

I've seen a woman steal my heart;
watched her love:
F L E E T I N G
She loves you today,
him tomorrow.

The melody strikes the match
and the fire rages on.
Unbeknownst.
Without awares.

I've heard the words:
"Is this too intense for you,
it's okay if it is."
and I've answered:
"...it is,
do it anyway."

The 15 year old girl
on the couch
is high
on her dad's methadone.
I'm withdrawling
and hating her;
insane with abandon.

I've felt a needle puncture
the skin;
watched the snake
appear
and
disappear
into myself.

I am another yourself.
We are
One.

You and Me
we are the same,
different eyes
different lungs
but we share a
soul.

I've learned how to make a fist
and pump it
with a jumprope tied
round my arm.

These things are not useful.
They will not bring you
great fortune.
They are the wasted
thoughts
ideas
and journeys
of my youth.

I've been given another chance.
Not a second one,
just another one.
After being purple;
lifeless;
was the greatest hit
of all.

Sick and sad inside
she slumps against the
hallway
wall.
Feeling nothing
after crying for hours
she finds resolve
in the insults
inside her head.

I take comfort in the familiarity of it all
writing like stories
have no end
as if all the pieces
fit together.

The reality is
they don't.

Hope begets Grace
and Grace is what leads
us through this battle;
Life.

I've seen a lot of things.
I know a lot of things.
They are not useful
but

they are mine.