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.

What has changed.
Surely it must be plain to see.
Rooting oneself in anything but this moment.
Is one way to certainly spell disappointment.
Too many days spent autographing pages.
Like a name makes the man.
Or perhaps.
So that the past can only condemn its owner.
Destined to be a heretic of life itself.
A hidden transgression cant hurt those it does not reach.
Then why is it chained through the bone.
Chasing daylight like the moon.
Slowly the wound festers deep and driven.
Don't you know.
These ailments take on a mind for themselves.
why else would we create them if not to one day speak.
It is the stone that shatters a paradigm.
The avalanche brought down by a whisper.
Or rather a whimper.
Yet there can be no tears here.
Not when this creations time was set.
Don't be fooled by negligence wearing the mask of ignorance.
But first its time to put down the blame.
For there is no one else in the room....
...And that laughing was beginning to irritate.

There are so many things.
Moments.
Embraces.
Jokes.
Kisses.
Comforting words.
Lovely scents from intricate bottles.
The feeling of your fingers gliding up and down.
Then the electric hum that cascades afterward.
A list that can extend to the heavens.
Is now a momento to a time that i wished would also be unending.
Im not bleeding.
Im not breathing..
Im not achieving...
I tried to move mountains.
And failed.
I tried to be more than i was.
And stumbled.
I tried to do what others could not.
And lost..
I want so badly to encompass and embody all that was needed.
Yet it sadly consumed me and spat me out of pity.
Why are there days coming that should have your presence...
And now don't.
What purpose can there be in being in love..
When it can grow else where at anytime.
Anger crippled our relationship..
But neglect was the rocket fuel.
I fear that heart brake may be the end.
For motivation to BE is slipping.
You will always be beautiful.
Always be generous and kind.
You will be the woman i will need to compare to others.
And will never come close.
You are going to be last thing on my mind for the rest of my life..
And that..is something that i will sadly cherish.
Perhaps i will be worth it just like you are.
Maybe one day..this sorrow will end.

These lungs have known.
Breathlessness.
A floating feeling that gives pause to struggles.
Experienced wind leave so quickly.
That space seemed to reject life itself.
Even when retracting the icy stalagtites back into a living cadaver.
Did it seem less horrific when under a microscope.
Focusing on a single point makes the big picture invisible.
Hiding behind layers of memories.
Doesn't ensure the years they promised.
Just more things to add to a collage that.
No one.
Will see.
How does one plead with inevitability.
Fate is supposed to come knocking.
But when home is no longer standing.
It looks more like a wave goodbye.
And so these feet come to the next precipice in which was foretold so many pages ago.
How strangely comforting that knowing a pain lessens it's return.
So now it matters very little because it's not an if anymore.
The sign says stop.
But the road is long.
With room for only one.
At least no one will see the tears.

Can you smell it.
The static in the air.
Clinging to all it can.
As her strength fades too fast.
But then Flying always..
Never lasted long enough.
Sliding past obstructions like they were excuses.
Only stopping to look at the roses when someone else points out their beauty.
Yes, they are just flowers.
Yet they know rejection more than any person.
For they will only get chosen once.
But until then they must watch millions of faces go by in silence.
Then as they are put to their final use.
Some may get placed away for safe keeping.
Placed between rows and columns on either side.
Windows that can be made  into anything.
The Pressure is immense.
One can only hope to retain form with as little decay as possible.
Transforming into the only page without words.
Ask the ink if they know the scent to which they will  lie down for all eternity.
Only there is no answer that would comfort those unwilling to sacrifice.
Give up what matters most.
Because standing here means it was already done.
So what else is there to give.
But pages depicting what could not be found.
The line to insanity and enlightenment has never been such a blur.
Hopefully this trail provides the later.
Although if it is not to be.
Its doubtful you would remember even asking the question.

The world is grey.
Well...slightly more so now.
The nerve endings have healed.
Yet the numbness has lingered.
I stumble on my own feet getting out of bed.
Is it that hard to believe I’m simply.
Average.
I get more lost with compass in hand.
Although I can tell you how to find north.
Theoretical knowledge always worked in school.
But my life mentor is absent.
What happens when there is no teacher in gym.
A bunch of kids wandering the grounds.
Some fighting.
More aimlessly wagging their tongues.
Trying to figure out the social heirarchy.
Then there is me.
Smoking a cig at the edge of the property.
Day dreaming of past events.
Even then I secluded myself.
Unknowingly laying the ground work for the next ten years.
Countless routines repeated with different faces and surroundings.
Sometimes even the words would transition into the other.
In those moments I was living faux dejavu.
Losing my mind to my own reflections shadow.
If only I had read the letter My past self had written to my future self telling present me to listen to the mistakes I already made.
Maybe things would have been different.
The possibilities is what destroys the intellegent mind.
Not pain.
It’s the “why”.
The only question that will truly have no answer if asked enough.
And I can’t seem to stop asking.

I usually begin these rants with a question.
But i find myself lacking in just this instance.
For whom can say.
Anything more
When ash refuses to respond.
No message can be relayed.
Just more things that i silently promise.
As i figuratively toast to a memory that will never do you justice.
Is it disrespectful to take words so literal.
To the point.
That looking down gun barrels and beer bottles.
Turned into a ****** routine that pride would boast.
Only there was no smile in my smile.
Inhaling disappointment.
As the years of missed visits and substance abuse.
Led me here.
At your deathbed.
wishing my words could reach beyond.
Without worry of a certain spectres blade in my shadow.
Then somehow.
I made my word.
The only thing worth asking about.
Because allowing the past to weave around the last routine we shared.
Would force everything that i have come to embody.  
To null
Et fin.
But no.
Your gift was ever changing.
Trading a jack for skills.
While masking scars that only those with them would know of.
And in the darkest moments did i find a crystal.
Clear.
Resolve.
To struggle onward.
Tears wont spell the revisions we seek.
and i was taught to always look my best, no matter the destination.
Everything that i am.
Came from you.
It didn't come from a book nor a Professor.
I can only hope to pass on your wisdom.
Although cryptic at times.
Will remain in my heart.
So even though I will forever be thinking of a new metaphor.
A penny will sit in my pocket.
Until the day that I can place it in your palm.