Change pumps through my veins
and seeps from my pores and my picked-at pimples of the mundane.
I'm told it'll leave scars in noticeable places.
I'm told to leave them be and let them pass.
No, sir, I tell them.
The risk is the reward
and the pain is the gain, I say to their perfect and pimpled faces.
Their cover-up can trick a few with a deceiving view,
But monotony will fester beneath artificial sweetness.
A broke-*** life will get tiring when it is only made up of
humdrum and dumdums,
And I will forget those who told me to settle as I run with a pulsing heart full of change toward a life and a love that is stronger than drugs,
I am an addict.
What will I have to remember if I always stay the same?
Not much.

There is only one instant in life
You'll feel it like a punch in the face
You'll feel it like an insect punching you in the face
You'll feel it like a subtlety in the subconscious
It will be an itch, a slight expansion of your mental boundaries
And it will tickle you with a delight you can't fathom.
It is the passing of a moment
It is the the only moment that we are always part of,
and in it there are no limitations.
You will compare it to a kiss on the cheek from an elderly relative.
You will compare it to the sniffles and scratches of chickenpox.
It will ask of you everything,
nothing the past or the future would dare to request.
It will put anxiousness in your core
It will put laziness in your bones.
But you must hold it in your arms
And shift your cap sideways
And hold its face between both hands, just
Have your way with it.

The unknown presses its callused fingers to my temples
A headache pulses its way into existence
I don't have fear,
but a painful curiosity that reeks and grips my core.
I sought out nothing
I sought out relief within my own belly and brain
and in it I found a mutual belligerence with a head not attached to me.
Whether the universe was conspired against me or otherwise,
These shenanigans felt like something to chew on
And I'd been grinding my teeth in my sleep for years.
Its temptation was enough for me to risk eating gluten for just a taste.
N it tasted better than a milkshake on a rainy day in paradise.

There was a drought and it lit the fire that grew so high it singed God's beard. The fire that crossed oceans and dried the tears of babies and was so bright that it inspired the writing of hundreds of poems comparing love to its light. That was days ago, weeks ago, months ago, now the news channels are all onto better stories about a bear that ate a 5-year-old's birthdaycake. All I've heard of the fire since then is the sizzle and crackle of its coals hiding away in my gut. There was a storm, and then a monsoon, and then a flood,  and the people fled the warmth of the fire. I managed to salvage its flame and it has lit the way of my darkening path since its birth. But its glow was once so bright that it blinded the weak and now when it is only a hum and a memory. They cannot see it. But I can and it will be back.

We're trekking and we're getting there
Soon the doldrums will be days behind me
I may be taking my time, but you are taking me back
I'll see you when I spit out the other side, I'm sure.
Don't let the sour summer swelter of the mundane tear at your hopes.
We're on our way,
Whichever way that is, maybe North maybe West maybe Both
We're running with the currents,
I can see your cheery little head bobbing in the tides, but
I won't take its false promises,
I'll just be looking for your wet feet when they'll trample the dunes.
I'm not one for waiting
I'll live and maybe anticipate the days
When us ******* no longer need the rock and roll
because we'll be suckling its lovely teet
and it will be our time to cruise
and be rad dudes in the ****
And coffee will shampoo our gnarled hair
that will be curled with salt and sun and *****.
See you then.

There was a hovering delight that hummed within the clouds
And it caressed the fears that were held in the eyes of youth
But in its deceitful hands there was sleet and ice and sorrow
that had kidnapped the snow
and like daggers it pierced the illusion
That tomorrow was just as far away as yesterday
yet could promise you new lollipop flavors and less lightning.

But its promises still consoled the tired eyes of bedtime,
whispering lullabies and stories
that held this all encompassing knowledge that somehow
no matter how bad tonight's nightmares may be,
tomorrow's nap time and warm milk would always bring rest.

the bar fights between paradoxes that erupt within our thoughts shatter
the walls to closed off spaces
and like this, unexpected things keep us on our toes.
These are the things that strike the match and light the stove.
Divine inspiration still sprouts from the cracks in our skulls,
yet we still fight to fill them with manure and *******
out of fear of what we could create,
that it could be something of Frankenstein’s creation.
But somehow we forget that the creation often takes the blame,
Not Frankenstein.