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.

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.

The use of the word "it".
To personify.
This.
Is indeed a boast to say the least.
For not every piece of writing can take on attributes.
Not every poem will breathe.
Only a select few will grow strength.
To have the ability to move.
Now that is what we poets strive for.
Because there is a beast.
Constantly tearing away at our hearts.
Sadly.
Spewing a story of such does not sate this very real phenomenon.
Yet those that tap into its growing power learn to maneuver..
Guide the outlet.
And in so many ways give it a new face for other to look at.
Giving others a chance to gaze into a new darkness that...
Maybe they haven't yet.
But the darkness is only there to show how precious certain lights can be.
So not only is it kept around.
It is cultivated.
Allowed to walk the streets to grip someone else.
Possibly to loosen the noose around a suffocating soul.
Long enough to bring a tear.
Or a slightly longer sigh.
Something.
For if this is just for some common blink.
Ill save my copper for the boatman.
And ask him to tell me a tale for a change.

It isn't always an imperfect meaning.
Nor never as flawless as we wish it to be.
These constant cycles are in place to keep the masses sane.
Distracted from the fact that they will live and die in the same fashion.
In small.
Insignificant.
Boxes.
Much like the time Punch cards that enslave them.
Even with evolution of time the average worker is still.
Just binary..
Infinitly encoded to mediocrity which sadly.
Has no bottom.
Nor was one programed.
But by the sweat of our forefathers did they carve a place.
For the next generation to pick up and sew the seeds for the next.
And so on.
And so on..
And so on...
Until some one with more wit than grit comes along.
To dissolve the mundane routine.
And possibly shake free from the chains of old.
But with so many ready to turn the other cheek.
That time.
could be some time away.

There is so much unaccounted for.
Is it strange to feel so alone.
Yet still feel jumbled around
In some tastless concoction
That is more and more bitter with ever sip.
This worlds populace just smears into little ice cube trays waiting to be misunderstood.
Made to represent a whole while still maintaining some sort of murky sense of self beneath the surface.
And as more time goes on.
One can't help but meld into the weave.
No more than a ripple in a puddle.
And what was just a pond just moments before.
Has morphed into a chasm to rival the steps to hell.
And it's these stone pillars that has conditioned any who pass.
Forever riding this grotesque escalator in the wrong direction.
For even when this body is beyond broken.
An unseen pupeteer tugs at the noiseless chains.
Sheer will is all that's left to keep consciousness.
But then again.
Who's to say this is a choice either.
Demented or dementia...

A smile can mean so many different things.
Or mean something and then add a twist at the end.
To prove no one really understands the maelstrom that resides within.
being a unique snow flake still means one of a kind.
and these 4 walls as friends is getting too loud.
each direction is a new black hole to search for insanity.
it wasn't always like this.
they got darker with every sentence scrawled from broken and ****** fingers.
the scent still lingers the darkest places but having learned to evade some treacherous acts.
even if its only from walking into it dumbfounded so many times.
it seems like repetition is the theme branded on this life.
sadly there is no limit to failure.
or pain.
and all the pleasantries are so finite.
its hard not to ask the question.
but stupid is.
as stupid ******* does.
so may the next land mine be the last.
for punishment is the only gluttonous act to truly gorge.
it will get much worse, this fate can attest to.
so should this smile fade before then.
will the dark be everlasting.

These many days have gone by.
Not since any particular time.
For any one person need only one in mind.
Feeling the weight of humanity come.
Forcing the knees down.
Demanding compliance.
Expecting it no less.
But this weight is no stranger
Nor is the very realistic events that occur when people unknowingly chain themselves to it.
Now that is the riddle.
For we all are stricken by it.
Handed the key to lock them down.
and a choice....
Remain and live in servitude.
Or leave and let the cards fall where they may.
Yet so many fail to hear the words to even begin the quest.
And slowly whither like the forgotten orchids in the back room.
Some even believe themselves above this in some dream existence.
But only the dreamscape fades some time later
Leaving behind carbon copies of other after images.
Be it the day that these miniscule words and beliefs find an ear.
Will treacherous paths will be made undone.
One can only hope.
Sadly
That was stripped away in a forgotten time.
Like catching a scent of something sweet in the air for a brief moment.
There is only one directive now.
If there was ever a time that it could be nurtured.
The call will be answered.
And here yesterday has ended and the new day breaks.
With no bells or whistles.
For the campaign is not over.
And the enemy is afoot.
With what little trust left.
And possibly an over abundance of will.
There is no quiet to be had.
Life never happened in such ways.
Why should.
I.
Be.

There comes a time..
Just as there is a slot for everything.
When leaving means more.
Not to you.
Or even to whom the action is directed.
Pushing past to just understanding.
That fighting more isnt going to get extra rounds.
Nor are there any tears to dry.
Words sting but only the ones that escape the catacombs behind grated teeth.
Long sighs mean nothing.
You watched it eat at me from the inside out.
Then when it finally consumed all there was did you just turn your back.
Digusted at how weak spirited the remains were..
Ignoring the fact that it was your pet that was constantly hungry.
Starving it a little so when finally it got out.
No one could even slow the death toll.
So now the medium is even tainted.
And sadly brings solace no longer.
I would want to wish you all the best.
But my words won't change anything.
Not here.
Or anywhere.

Define the emotion OK interprets.
And when exactly people understood the comings and goings of feelings in general.
How can one understand others.
When an emotional war is being fought on two fronts.
Each bleeding ammo and supplies.
Wasting away.
Just slow enough to have the coroner turn it away.
Nearly dead isn't applicable.
And somehow managed to feel guilty for wasting your death warrant signatures time.
As if the words would change the angle on how others viewed your life.
Only pretending others care enough to pay any mind.
Stiffles the rest of any opposition.
To make sure the dark flames imbued regret correctly..
A magician of sorts.
Only falling on swords for too long leaves little room eventually.
A reverse porcupine that crys blood when forced into moving.
But makes not a sound.
Even this can feel like nothing.
It only takes a little imagination and a dash of humanity.
And when playing god loses its hype.
Will the mob desperse.
Retreat into that in which the torches were burning just moments ago.
Only they don't extinguish.
Just remain awhile for the next hand to lift the taunting relic.
So that repetition can further solidify the obvious.
Shoudnt be long now.
As the oddly familar jester sits to watch.
Death is always a spectacle.
Whispered so softly it was hard to decide if it happened at all.
But it matters little.
For silence is all that follows.
Indifference is a disease.
Stricken with such paralyzing apathy.
That A.D.D. becomes a standard.
Take two before human interaction.
Call in the morning if the guilt remains.
Only remembering to forget can get so.... Confusing.

It isn't a game.
But one can definitely lose.
There are no competitors.
Yet self comparisons fog hind sight.
Leading to more dreary backroads that the world forgot about.
It was fun for a little while.
Telling yourself that you threw away the world and not vise versa.
Was truly the greatest lie.
One that grew into actual belief for a time.
But found that the greatest hell.
Is watching your paradise burn.
Bound only by disbelief.
Dumbfounded.
It's a shame that when you lose everything.
Somehow your mind is the only thing that stays intact.    
As if those aspects were programmed into humans in preparation for it..
And happiness got the short end of the stick.
Then to further rub dirt into the wound we create hope.
By means of pursuit.
Shakespeare knew the questions.
And left it up to everyone else to answer.
Only as generations pass.
We couldnt be further from any resemblance of an answer.
Let alone know the question has already been proposed.
Writers play with this notion and yield no two pairs alike.
Lifes most important knowledge sadly can only come from experiencing it.
But with the world in such a desensitized state.
The fear of stagnation is becoming the only real possibility.
Preposterous?
No
Predetermined the moment we chose to let others choose for us.
There is no freedom.
Only sacrifice.
Right.

The candle is almost at its end..
A once bouncing flame atop its mountain.
Now sputters for life.
Grasping at anything to just remain.
It seemed the more hands that would come to shield.
The faster the wax walls would cascade down.
Its sad..
To watch something so beautiful.
Turn grotesque.
Monsterous.
Feeding on the life force of anything it came into contact with.
Justifying the actions to build such an elaborate facade.
The creator is held by its deception.
Cultivating flaws as if it needed some appraisal.
But in the end it just lacked approval.
Washing hands in the same water the idea was brought to drown in.
Whispering sweet nothings to sooth a hemoraging mind.
But when it was the same hand that inflicted the wound.
Will this game truly turn rampant.
So long as there is a die to be cast.
The possibility of loaded questions commemorate the stacked odds.
For when the turn comes.
And the die are no longer an option.
Will the board glide away.
game over.

Everything is made from everything else.
The deep oceans of the iris.
To the integration of speech.
It all circles around the finite life people lead.
Regardless of what the self made kings and gods through the ages proclaimed.
Their ashes litter the same earth as the peasants that washed their ignorant feet.
There was no shinigami awaiting to return them to their kingdom.
All that stood before them as the last breathe was drawn were those same peasants.
Waiting for the last rites to be given so the fresh corpse could be taken to rot in a tomb.
Some shallow grave that was neither glorious nor spectacular.
The only thing it accomplished was cementing the cold fact that this life is it.
No bells or horns to guide the spirit.
No animal to hint at something greater.
Just a box.
With a pillow to ensure maximum comfort.
So when the decomposition sets in.
At least the box was pretty.
Pointless.
From one ignorant being to the rest.
Mayday.
Clear the predicted crash site.
And wait.
There will be limbs to collect.
Maybe for once.
All the pieces will be salvaged.
Not likely though.

Words are all that I have now.
My possessions.
Keepsakes.
Somehow just melded into the backdrop.
Almost to tease at how I can not touch them anymore.
Connections and romances that sputtered and died out.
Seem less painful now.
But its hard to say when this numbing reality takes hold.
Things used to be..
Exciting.
And With each year under the belt.
The world becomes less enticing.
Shrinking the grand dream into a childish fairytale.
One that doesn't end with Happily Ever After.
But with Fin.
Its almost Ironic.
Spending ever waking moment trying to please people.
Doesn't equal a happy soul.
But making the self happy that isn't diluted with every single alteration society provides.
Well.
I have yet to see what peace is and I don't believe it takes bombs to prove a point.
In conversations or otherwise.
A slap in the face can turn heads and fracture minds.
Maybe I need to revisit myself.
Sadly there are doors even I can not open.
Nor perceive.
When all that I am.
and will be.
Is wasted on words.

There is a tune in the air.
Begging the question to dance or not.
And as the swaying begins.
The song  vanishes.
But the players go on.
With no music sheets.
Or their repective sound makers.
Like watching a mime orchestra.
And somehow people continue dipping and tossing about.
As if they were dancing to masters of thier craft.
It's hard to see anyones face due to the mime make up.
Making up this entire facade of a grand ball of sorts.
Yet the more time that passes.
The less control one has of a body soon to be apart.
Apparently placebos manifest wherever this is indiffernce.
Tears fall from the cheeks of this sad mime.
Decipherring their actual presence has been difficult for some time now.
Maybe it's time to wash on a new face.
And just fade away into the crowd.
A skill that has become more useful than air.
For living has taught that equallity.
Is a myth.
And adults choose the pain of adulthood.
So it can be passed down the generations.
To spoil one more dream.
Because its wrong to believe in fairy tales.
Or much of anything.

There are just too many things that were supposed to have happened.
Arguements lurked behind every door.
Playing hide and seek with sarcasm and distrust.
A recipe to end the book titled Forever.
And even though love was still begging for attention.
The path has ended.
Most have already left the theatre.
Except for those wandering.
Wondering if there will be a tiny clip after the credits.
But the budget has long since dried up.
And the explosives took a lot of the show.
Sadly they are what hilight its runtime.
It's dark now.
The reel just looping black and white.
Waiting for the next show to replace the old.
But there will not be another.
The building has been deemed condemned..
Due to lack of upkeep.
It will remain a historic land mark.
Untouchable.
For there is little else one can do.

Laughter can be heard.
So loud it comes from all directions.
Pointed fingers and dripping nostrils.
Exploding stomachs as the heavy aching thunder rolls from below.
It used to be just a trickle.
Only triggering occasionally.
But now.
Every move that's made succumbs to it.
For truly in the mind they belong right here.
And for just a few heavenly moments can paradise be felt.
Thus what follows is accepted.
For one to believe that those tiny specs of preciousness are worth.
Anything.
Everything.
Because soon they will be gone.
The days are made brighter and easier to maneuver.
But its like having a rusted cart to push for miles.
With only drops of oil left to get it there.
When nothing is wanted more than to just cross into the prosperous lands.
Focusing too much on any point but the one that these boots do tread.
Always leads the traveler and his belongings astray.
Although as time has came and went.
His precious things slowly fell away to the ages.
Maybe one day it will fill again.
But its best just to keep the eyes trained on the horizon.
Storms tend to betray those that fail to give lady fate proper respect.

how does one take part in promises.
Long since past.
Like riding a roller coaster that never seems to cease its desent.
or finding a seat.
In an empty theatre.
When will conversation start in I and not Us.
Everyone in this life is a stranger.
Passing on a cross walk.
Regardless of what side they began.
Eventually they walk away.
Until death do us remain apart.
For living adrift.
With a crooked rudder.
Has established the circles to be repeated.
And as this new revolution comes to the end.
A hand slips and gives control to the tides.
Removing any facade that hinted that there was any control to be had.
With no map.
No navigator.
No urge to go much of anywhere.
For the sea has already stripped away any feature that could be used to identify the once grand vessel.
Even the fish below keep their nourishment to themselves.
Granting a mild pyschosis.
But these mirages turn too real.
And waiting on bruises to heal.
Do not make the gashes bleed less.
Just causes the shock to over take this shell of a body.
In which no move against its advance is made.
For it is the only thing that wishes to.
Leaving humanity in the distance.
As the arms of oblivion surround the fractured soul.

There is a hand in the air.
Even this seems distant.
For the need to trace it to its origin arrives.
And even though.
The limb is your own.
The fact that this surprise.
Doesn't raise alarm.
Isn't surprising.
For not even the cold in the air has come to greet its guest.
To even grasp the concept.
One finds alternate ways to stimulate the so called sensors.
Yet what is found.
Only seems to bring more nothingness.
Questions and answers alike.
Because there can be neither.
If there isn't anyone to present them.    
Having to deal with two minds is company enough.
Sooner or later.
Perspective takes hold.
And the relativity of problems and solutions become one.
Sadly there isn't much else to be done.
When the answer is there.
But its contents.
Are what began this venture.
Give me strength.
Or give me freedom.
Free me from this icy prison so that..
I may wake in the dream.
At least there the picture remains.

Its hard to claim the breathe that is gifted to these lungs.
Difficult to boast about the idea of owned space.
Yet it is seen.
Time and time again.
Personal.
Space.
As if everyone has forgotten.
The probability which led to ones own realization.
How easily the consciousness could have never came to be.
Its just shunned away to the darkest corner.
Not even allowed space in the brain.
The here and now tales precedence over what will never be.
And to an extent it is justified.
For no one should live by what ifs.
But.
To claim ownership of the air that all existence shares.
Well.
Who am I to chastise.
There are too many ways to describe pretentious.
And somehow this mind tires endlessly with the maze of its undoing.
Sentences repeat and rearrange themselves.
Until rubbing tired eyes no longer sooths the minds eye.
Waste.
Waste.
waste.
May there come and day.
That the later takes hold.
Then maybe exhaling wont feel so.
Unsatisfying.

Silence the whimpers.
There is nothing to mourn.
Some can still remember what the empty lot held 0nce.
Colors and excitement clashed with such vigor.
Someone should have caught how quickly it would go up in smoke.
Like a leaf in the Sahara.
Smothered and withered.
Every time one would pick up the remains.
More would fall away.
As if the attempt at repair only invited more distance.
Arguing is useless.
For there are new toys on the playing field.
Some that trample down others while playing the only card received.
The haze over the land has become thick with regret.
And even though the pain sparks from every corner of the wasteland.
Not a single flower has bloomed
Just years of weeds and insecticides to populate the once beautiful surroundings.
Now the barren plain whispers as if there were ears to listen.
More or less to be validated.
It's sad to see ships leave the harbor withouts sails.
And weird to think back with such wide smiles.
When the only expression left.
Is a sigh.

any one person can withstand pain.
But there is a subtle difference.
When it isn't registered..
Like a dream that alludes the recently awoken.
For the moment is always questioned as fiction when it comes about.
As if building a freeway over the desolation would bypass the isolated incident.
With every pass does it become so.
And yet it is ever so aparrent.
Like a splinter made of ice.
For when the initial trauma fades.
The cold.
Numb.
Aftermath.
Sets in.
Making every other impalement go unnoticed.
Picking at old scars with phantom limbs.
Visible only to other ghouls.
Which have sadly become the only contact available.
And neither the shadow nor the image it belongs to are recognizable.
And this room full of strangers gains an addition to its ever changing painting.
One that will inevitably be painted over.
For it has become not only a constant.
But a certainty.
One that will be upheld.
Regardless if this hand helps it.
Or not...

Over extended.
Is a reoccuring theme.
Limits.
Physical or mental.
Plague the race like those that litter the edges with temptation.
To the point that running is no longer an option.
Looking down at the unmoving ground.
Watching the cement dry.
Disorienting the opponent.
Creating a cast of skin that never falls.
Only smiles.
What was the goal.
When some other form finishes.
Words have failed.
Just as fighting did.
And the walk back to the starting line.
Is so crowded.
The gun sounds and reaction takes hold.
Trying to hurdle the gravestones left behind.
Yet one can't help but place flowers at each one.
Nameless they stay.
Remembered they remain.

The line between opponents.
Drawn in blood.
Stale.
From centuries of spilled tension.
Its a tug of war.
With no spoils.
There is no obvious winner.
Just statistics of lost resources.
From the moment a baby leaves the womb.
Is there just another tally.
A collection of numbers that hold 'value'.
then somewhere along the way this becomes more of an aproximation.
Regardless of who is scoring.
Each red slash mitigates emotion and truth.
And the blurry line gets forgotten all together.
Given time and an abundance of falacies can one begin to entertain any thought.
And once logic gives way to the beast created.
Will any action become malicious in nature.
Regardless of whom the teeth doth shred.

Its neither here nor there.
Always watching.
Seemingly waiting.
But more off to the side.
Like a sibling forced into pickup duty.
Three minutes go by.
And the inevitable call is made.
Anger and impatience swell with every unanswered ring.
No one asked to be apart of this incessant dance.
The beat is always off.
Even the tune is becoming bothersome.
What prize is there for those that acomplish indifference.
When the winner is dragging their feet to the podium.
No one is willing to listen.
Any exchange at this point brings nothing but fire.
A molotov with no fuel.
For in the end.
It all just hangs their in the precious balance.
Like the suit thats a little to big to wear in the corner of the closet.
Sitting there.
Collecting days.
Until the night comes.
Just to be overlooked.

Wilted leaves overpopulate the ground.
And no tree as far as eyes can perceive.
So far from home.
So close to anywhere.  
But here.
A statement that can be heard any second of any given day.
This moment in time.
A random fraction of the incessant routine.
Dreaming or awake.
It all depends on feel.
Not logic.
And even then the rules of both worlds must be learned regardless.
Who is there to say that one's understanding of the environment  is incorrect.
Everything down to the information that the eyes process reside in the brain.
I think so therefore I am.
And yet even this comes into question regularly.
The longer one stays in this world.
Less and less questions are answered.
But one thing can definitely be found regardless of intention.
One must learn to swim through the viscous muk of disappointment.
To grasp at enlightenment.
Or be insane enough to not care.
For words can never be unseen.
Unheard.
Unspoken.
Sharper than any blade.
Even more blunt than a boulder.
Can the wrong words be.
Sadly.
One cant go through life without first being initiated through pain.  
And even after its not promised that happiness will follow.
With so many eyes weighing down in expectation.
Its hard to focus.
On any point.
Pointless.
It may always seem..

Why is it so troublesome to assist the sun.
Each new day one must gauge the distance.
For a step too close and the flames whip at my face.
Ready to devour any advance.
Every route is riddled with worry.
Regardless of when or how.
It's about understanding why we wade through muck and grime.
That defines just what comes up for air.
For better.
Or worse.
For each will always be hand in hand.
So I ask you to take mine.
These weapons at my side have protected me through the most dire of times.
So fear not the edges.
And trust that nothing shall split us in two.
We have come so far.
It would be a shame.
To disregard the light when the darkness is kissing our cheeks.
So sing your song.
And surrender to nothing.
We have taken hills before.
So what's one more..

It isn't often that the sun refuses to rise.
Lately it seems to need encouragement.
Rising just a little later each day.
And when it is the sole reason that the passing of time is so named.
Everything caters to meet the new requirements.
Disregarding lunar activity.
Heliocentric minds have never felt so embellished.
A chaotic routine indeed.
Favoring those who won the right to stay apexed.
Only when so many fight to stay at the top.
Do all those in the middle lose center.
Compressing the foundation into neat distortions of the past.
Like laughing at irony meant to sting.
Or playing a stringless instrument​ to a deaf audience.
Captivating all the more.
For beauty lies in the only I that matters.

How many wish their days were different.
Just how far would one force the wheel back.
How many hours and seconds feel wasted.
On people.
Phone calls that last into the a.m.
Sleepless nights.
Wakeless days.
We call them day dreams.
Because when night falls.
Only nightmares await.
What is it called when the terror recedes due to repetition.
So many ache for a life less frightening.
Constantly swerving to avoid shadows.
Disregarding the dotted lines left by those that embrace an unknown.
That will never be traversed again.
Creating a fear of mistakes.
That only feed the ever growing mass which ironically will never know growth.  
It is too​ perpetual to be called stagnant.
And we have yet to see just how much will be consumed.
It's only when a distinction can be made.
That will cause such a drastic shift in paradigm.
Sending tremors of enlightenment and damnation alike back to the epicenter.
Just to shake down what meager sandcastle stand.
Can one breathe life.
When so many forget to inhale.
Then ****** themselves into an endless void.
which should never have been undertaken to begin with.
Like trying to start a car without first getting out of bed.
Then realize only a tire-less bicycle is all that sits in the drive way.
One Should fear.
For sometimes it is the only drive that can be counted on.

There are infinite reactions.
So many that it clouds the mind in ways.
Not depicted in myths and lore.
And fret over the loss of sight.
When our most powerful telescope.
Only perceives a fraction of its vastness.
There are rules and guidelines to follow.
Yet even these are given room to manipulate.
The species greatest asset is choice..
And in just as many ways is also it's bane.
Groups and squads are formed by likeness.
Then set out to erase change.
As if remaining stagnant was progress.
Even when the battlefield reeks of regret churned in blood does one find solace.
For after the rage dissipates.
Fear rises from the reverse graveyard with the sun.
Sometimes.
It's better to leave things unseen.
And unspoken.
Praise be to the righteous man.
Writing history since birth B.C.
Long after the ink runs dry

Always just seems to encompass so little now a days. like forced nevers that started out strong but ended up limping out the mouth. making every time after falling short of the finish line, crutchless and wounded. turning the next encounter to reruns that have burned itself into view of the latter. Passively predicting the loop but doing little to alter the fateless. because popcorn needs to eaten just as shows are made to be watched. we are all tuned to the same channel, just in different brightness settings. then given the option to search for the remote control that will remain absent. we're told that the search will bare  the fruit desired. and even though it is common knowledge now as to where the path leads and ends. for it was thine own ****** hand that placed the final stone. a ******* in the making. for the only other word to describe such behavior Is insanity. whether it is a question or a statement is beyond the threshold of what im willing to spend time thinking about. even though my thought process is rarely my own and i wouldnt really call us friends either. for if my thoughts betray me why would i give others a privileged that i am not qualified to give away. was there a day in my in my redacted childhood that wont raise its hand when i do roll call. one that warned me, trained me even to Not react but preemptively parry the blows that i would soon take full force. Pretending that its the smoke caressing and constricting the lungs and not the constant sucker punch to the only blind spot left. at this point, neglect works just as well as chasing an unattainable figment. that in my opinion. is far too real and even less tangible.

I sit quietly to myself.
Making note of each event.
With every passing inscription.
It gets easier to watch.
The world seems between us.
When we promised the stars to one another.
And as they began to fall from that very sky.
We were surprised.
Bewildered.
Devastated.
The bones have healed wrong.
Adding more and more scar tissue ever night.
Some have even gathered to witness this last dying wish.
It seems to dangle in the sea of the forgotten.
We look so much more now that there isn't anything to see.
Hoping that something will revesere.
Grant us a version of some revision that was thought of so many dawns ago.
Except now.
Thoughts of such rarely seem plausible anymore.
I am just a scribe.
One to take note of all that was supposed to be.
Observer what is.
And weep for what will never be.
Spending too much time.
On mismanaging it.
That all I am.
Is another ghoul.
Haunting a stranger's timeline.

Where exactly.
To what end.
For whom.
Rhetorical or not.
The questions stand like.
Like the rest of the monotonous.
In lines.
Guided by carpet and cards alike.
Strung about the strung out.
As if the norm.
Was within the crystal ball.
Answers that seemed to ring from nowhere.
Cascaded through the crowd about.
Faster than one would realize.
Before.
Less of what was.
Emerged into a plague of sorts.
Where sense and logic seemed more seance than the latter.
If only emptiness.
Knew pain.
Pity.
The world found another,
to consume.

It happens.
Past any point that any would ever.
Imagine.
Through.
Over.
Inside.
Burned.
And bruised.
Broken.
So broken.
But then.
One must break.
To find.
Exactly.
What fits.
In such a way.
In only one way.
Something that doesn't hold with tape.
Or glue.
Nor a day.
Or two.
And once together.
Regardless of the hardships felt.
There is only momentum to gain.
For when all the pain is in the past.
These eyes can finally open.
And these once twisted paths.
Have never been more clear.
For.
I.
Me.
Know which one I am destined to walk.
And I know.
With whom
I will walk it with.
No matter what it was that we thought.
We stand here now.
Atop the mountain.
Ready.
To take this plunge.
And when I wake.
Will this dream.
Be the reality.
That I will forge.
With this hand.
And hammer.
You brought us back from the brink...
....
And I.
I will keep us from it.
Forevermore.

There is always something to have come.
Before.
Some rule.
Unspoken knowledge.
Common supposedly.
Is there a way to hear the whispers.
When your the one screaming.
But this facade can only contain desables.
Unattainable.
So many believe.
The vast majority relinquish it.
Like a ***** penny.
Too overused to even see the year.
And forgotten.
Just another piece to be tossed.
But should it find its way into the pool of eternity.
Would it be too greedy.
To shine once more.
Be reminted.
Reclaimed.
But like so many.
Do they find themselves.
Spent.
Wasted on a wish.

i light the match.
consume what is now my best friend.
the simple burn.
gives way to complicated thoughts.
a chemical conversation.
one that always leads nowhere.
yet everywhere at once.
i exhale slowly.
he slowly follows suit.
he seems to be the only one ever present.
he seems to be the only constant.
and i seem to be turning to him more than ever.

Force.
Nothing.
And naught prospers.
Yet add the slightest amount of anything.
Does everything seem to fall that much.
Faster.
The sacred walls it seems.
Have paper like qualities.
Without the writing.
All the actions used for good.
Only spurred the opposition.
Riding at the coat tails of hope.
Or so one would think.
But it was only misfortune.
Masquerading.
Dazzling sight with flashy distractions.
Reveling in each illusion campaigned.
It would seem it's ploy was discovered some time ago.
But not all parties were aware.
Allowing the innocent means.
To be fooled.
The kind that make others feel sorry for.
Because of how oblivious.
One can truly be.

There is s boy.
Always reaching.
For what is just out of reach.
The boy knows he will grow.
Even after the disappointment of not being enough.
Does he cling to the wall.
Patient.
Eyes fixed.
The cadaver bellow.
Grows as well.
Some days it feels as if it will grow limbs.
Just to rip him from crossing the finish line.
Each day is a sacrifice.
A communion with death.
For losing a piece of oneself.
Is a small price.
To be able to...
Live.
Love a day longer.
Only too many days have inched by.
Too many scars have been accumulated to be seen any other way.
All the pain.
Is met with disgust.
No one would dare lock eyes with such a grotesque.
Being..
The cries of agony and sorrow.
Are heard only as rage and hate.
Sadly.
Should the next ledge come into reach.
It is unknown.

Change has a strange way of happening all at.
Once.
There was a tale that believed to be never ending.
Built on pillars that boasted victory from the sands of time.
Only the stormss onslaught continued.
battering any life daring enough to venture out.
An incessant cycle of death.
One that only grew more ravenous with every meal.
Only to discover that the beast turned machine some time ago.
Just as the landscape did.
Leaving the inside as vacant as yesterday's tears.
And so the tale concluded.
Not with bang.
Or A crash.  
But a whisper.
No grand exit.
And no goodbye.
For its only a chapter in this ever growing novel of disappointment.
And with welcoming arms does the darkness insist.
The right choice was always so obvious.
And now perspective is all that's left.
So one must ask.
Has hells chains ever been removed.
Or has the minds eye been shut all this time..

At what point does sadness step into depression.
Memories fade to entertaining images.
Yet havent brought a smile for some time now.
The faces that brightened up the days.
Have moved on.
Leaving small keepsakes behind.
But one dares not touch them.
In fear that they too will evaporate.
Erasing their existence all together.
Even now.
Some erode with just the mere thought.
Of what was once held so dear.
What is to become of it all.
Everyday that inches by.
Does an inevitable page tear itself away.
And submission.
Has only brought cold fingers to numb it all.
This transmutation has coiled silently around its unaware prey.
Once was their comfort found in its constricting grasp.
Even now..
Does it not seem the way it is.
For with every precious moment devoured.
Is there one less to look back on.
In melancholy.