Things come and go.
Like people I suppose.
We play games to pass the time.
Roll dice on gambles.
Take chances with our lives.
Only there is no collecting when coming full circle.
That's called a mistake.
So we jump to other boards.
Hoping we aren't sorry.
Realizing there is no perfection.
Trying to balance every risk.
Like we ever had a clue.
Some try so hard.
While others scoff at effort.
What is the right combo that will lead to the end game.
It's like an ever changing rubix cube.
So many patterns to memorize.
But doing the same thing.
Over.
And over.
Is that living.
Or insanity.
Whatever it's called.
One thing is certain.
We shall never get bored.
Playing with our demons.

You speak of change constantly.
Like Flux capacitors are sold in stores.
Trying to mend past and future selves.
Trusting that they might collide on a single scope.
And STOP.
Is this pleasing.
Easing into planned mediocrity.
Dancing to tunes with broken strings.
Laughing at hardship.
Hoping it's seen as resilience.
Then wake to cold sweat in the night.
Running from a dreamscape.
To escape.
But still commemorate thought.
Making the real.
Less.
Than..
...
I step on forgotten land mines.
In my mind.
Creating a backdraft of emotion.
Spent years putting out these flames.
And even longer letting the brush burn.
Is control then the illusion.
Or am I just.
Constantly.
Waking.

Perhaps inspiration is the problem.
I have always danced with words.
Blending syllables and wit
Bending sentences at will.
Firing ink from a loaded pen.
Makes for good imagery.
As I flap the pages of this notebook.
Dropping tiny daggers with this tongue.
Trying to master the craft of symbolism.
With sarcasm.
Playing with these words like hooked on phonics.
Molding them into a scene.
Of play on words.
With less drama.
Maybe even worth less.
Like pay-less.
As we walk in eachothers shoes.
To better understand the roads we travel.

I look back on the years spent.
Like cheap coupons.
Cutting out sections of my life.
Living between black and white lines.
Expectations paper thin.
Hoping the change I had.
Would cover the difference I needed.
The dark unknown hiding fees.
Banking on the fact.
That I never check my blind spot.
Blindsided by percentages.
Sideswiped by statistics.
Its a numbers game.
What are you willing to waste.
On trying to make a life worth living
Throwing away moments like singles at a *******.
But only the ones unneeded.
Needless to say..
One could go broke.
Arguing semantics.

Time.
No more an enemy than friend.
Least of all a stranger.
It is not tangible.
But causes simultaneous healing and pain.
Those who understand this.
Must also invite hope.
Must also expect sorrow.
As a human can not survive life without scars.
Learn to anticipate the storm when thunder rolls.
Watching the rain come down.
Day after day.
Consuming light and warmth.
Yet seasons pass.
Regardless of awareness.
And the truth forgotten.
Is that the sun is just beyond.
Behind the darkest of clouds.
Ready to give the downbeatten soil reprieve.
As cliche as this cycle can be.
I know we will stand in the sunlight once again.
Experiences and habits to the wind.
Having poured my soul into a small circle.
Of two.
The horizon is just around the bend.
Never take your eyes off of that point.
For in the distance is where we will meet again.
This is not the end of Stori.

How.
Will never come close to when.
Because every memory made together.
Swept us into the timelessness that we provided eachother.
It was a fluid river turned rapid.
But somehow ended up in the thinning rings of ours irises.
Cradled by the sincere promises.
Unchained with razor words which cut so deep.
We never thought to mend the wounds that kept bleeding trust.
A termite that would one day bring down the love we built upon such stable foundation.
But the story doesnt end there.
Not because our path remained one.
Not because we don't know we are supposed to be together.
But because of how for a brief period..
We did what so many others will never be able to do.
Looking past all the cheesy...
All the cliché over the top can't get enough of eachother while taking so many pictures.
That one could recount every day for months at a time without missing.
A.
Single.
Frame.
No.
This tale will go on because knowing paradise for just that small amount of time.
Has left a choppy stutter to grow from my throat.
Coating the real.
Into a reanimated rerun of imperfection.
That I have cursed myself to meander upon..
The only thing keeping this tattered mess afloat.
Is the knowledge that maybe one day..
Far into the future.
I might get a chance to rectify my decision.
Maybe one day.
I'll make her smile again.

Once in a great while
A spectacular event takes place.
One in which involve two parts.
Like orange and purple.
It just works.
But sometimes the work put in degrades the quality.
Depending how you look at it.
Everything is dying a little every second.
These cycles spin clocks.
turn moments into memories.
You must choose how you involve your presence into others stories.
For some tales aren't meant to be joined.
There are forces beyond comprehension.
Those that make the cosmos dwarf in comparison.
My God have we given praise to so many unworthy things.
Like ourselves.
What could be more selfish than expecting anything from probability..
Take the number of ways you could have come into this world.
Multiply by eviromental factors.
Then add every experience you can.
And somehow it all comes out to who you are right now.
Then finding one that matches this formula..
Near impossible.
Which is the reason those that do find eachother...
Never let go.
The universe willed this moment into existence.
One must have the will to accept.
Lest ye fall into an Oblivion of thy own design.
One on which there is no escape.
True hell.
Is to watch your paradise burn.