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.

These words that I write.
And the pain that I feel.
Remain stained upon this page.
But just as this page will deteriorate.
In time.
So will this anguish.
There may be times.
When the ink in the pen is not enough.
We must demonstrate our anger and hate upon the world.
But we realize.
That our actions scream louder than lungs capacity.
And even our bodies cannot hold the strain and punishment that we put it through.
So now we come back to the white paper.
And the ink in the pen.
To blacken our thoughts over again.

This must be it.
The holy land that was a said to be.
Filled to the brim with people.
Only none of the faces are that of friends.
Just a conundrum of silence and.
Desolate expressions.
Even eye contact is avoided.
For fear of catching some imaginary disease.
Contracted through acknowledgement.
So the wandering begins.
Single file.
Through invisible rope ways  
Giving this limbo some form of organization.
Days and nights pass.
They soon will mean little more than the number next to it.
For keeping count.
Is the only highlight in abundance.

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.

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.

There was no warning.
No explanation.
Just an empty room.
Yet laughter could still be heard within.
Somehow it brought more pain.
A sting for every shard.
Thousands of needles.
lacerating the insides like a beehive had just imploded.
Each and every one hid a memory.
A slow acting poison.
Paralyzing...
Ongoing.
Days passed and no answer still..
Fear ransacked my mind.
While my body barely held together

The cold steel in my hand.
Gave no reassurance as it once had.
I was surrounded.
Encased in a metaphor.
Yet this one seemed to breathe.
My family needed me.
The one that raised me.
The one that killed me.
The one that buried me.
And so back at the very threshold I pledged to so long ago.
My brothers.
Many of which gave the only thing that they had left.
On that night.
They stood there.
Shoulder to shoulder.
A thunderous night it was.
For blood was not the only thing washed away.
But an existence all together.
A life.
A Debt.
Now paid.

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

I chose.
And still choose.
Where my next step will land
Or fall..
                                                          ­            Asunder
Torn                        
                                                                ­Eviscerated
Stiched.

With the same tools.
Of the same hand.
Of two minds.
Of canvas like attributes.
....
I will be strong.
You will be quiet.
I will drag us back through hell.
You will listen.
I. Am.

Wholely tainted.
With views askew.
While I truly never knew.
When these eyes switched and feinted

Took the wheel.
Battered the interior and exterior.
Threw away all in his reach to feel.
Berating and beating i the inferior.
.
..
...
And now
With eyes of black and brown.
Do they see.
Witness
Hole.
Whole.
A future.
Distant and cloudy.
But right.
There.
This well only knew the depths of dry darkness.
Yet a fountain springs fourth.
For the sun never felt so warm.
Filling my being.
Eyes refocused.
The black gate still lie somewhere beyond.
We nod to each other.
This journey.
This quest.
This.
Isn't.
Over.

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.

Let us commerate this tragedy.
Soil our hearts with fascist taunts and pointed fingers.
Let us put our hands together and bow.
Good, everyone is still standing.
Praise be to nothing.
There can only be one.
And none of these heathens shall strip me of what's due.
For having lived a tough life.
Or fallen from loves favor.
Search yourself for justification.
Another excuse.
To make the day go by a little faster.
With a world filled with sinners.

What.
Can one person really do.
Change.
Anything at all?

For even the previous days.
Turned a blind eye.
Consuming.
Alluding..
Resuming
Right when the ground became solid again.
Regret just bellow the aching mealstrom.
Even as we embark on that familiar road.
And then all that's left to do.
Is to look towards the furture.
As we blink for the past.

Throw it all in.
The ambitious thrive on such weakness.
Dwell not on expectation.
The dim could never haunt such a pristine wreckage.
Wallow not in the temptation vowed to conquer all there will be.
For the distance reaped its own faux reward.
Caustic beats of reckless breathe.
Flare the cavity within.
Down in the darkness.
Sound falling a hair shy of the ear wished for.
And now.
Lingering just above the wretched pool.
Can you see the scatches on the cage.
Crevices upon canyons.
Of profound pain and longing.
Why does the floor seem so inviting.
As the icicles coil through each open vein.
Does skin turn to steel.
The perfect sculpture.
Wound and ready to lie.

There are some days.
That self opinion.
Comes easy.
Memories dictate such.
Enlongated moments.
People trade their present for it.
To relive.
No.
To replay.
The meaning it once held.
Like that person wasn't them.
As if who walked around then.
Was some sort of effect.
The mirror responds.
Daily.
Without pause.
Winters bite.
Turns to summers kiss.
The longing only subsides.
When the race is done.
Only there is no such marker.
Just a slab of earth to remind us.
That.
Wishful thinking is all we are.
Thrown into a bucket.
While wasting away on lists.
The only regret worry having.
Is to fret over life.
Faces upon faces.
Micromanage the living.
An image.
Long since abstract.
Cascades through everything.
And once in awhile.
Can sense be found.
So pick a distraction.
And get lost along the way.
Then.
And only then.
Will nothingness find.
You.

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.

There are times that lack.
the most crucial of components.
Little cogs that seem to have been misplaced.
Or all together disappeared.
It only takes one Forgotten brick.
To watch it all tumble down.
And an encore of pain and sorrow is sure to follow.
This is nothing special.
The entire world.
has felt this.
seen precisely this.
Made mistakes far more grave then those that lie in the deepest tomb.
One cant help but look back on previous lives.
For that is what they truly are.
The person a year ago.
Is not that person that will be walking around today.
That being has ceased to be.
And with every reincarnation does a choice become apparent.
Stay the course.
One that will continue to gush life in the worst of ways.
Or.
Turn away from the path.
Remove thoughts of roads.
And Highways.
For thus far they have only led to ruin.
It is in these moments.
that define the future.
So let it come.
Let the the beast bare its claws and fangs.
Let come what may.
Let it be known.
Fear has no presence here.
And neither will doubt.

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.

My hands have become raw.
The constant digging has made me complacent.
The tools have been scattered.
Just as the thoughts I sift through.
Glory to those that have found the treasure.
Trinkets of blight and misfortune is all that is left.
Do I cherish what remains..
Consume those that are truly nameless.
Faceless.
The definition is lost on me.
Yet I find solitude in the despair it brings.
A constant that always keeps its promise.
The lighting strike has found its mark.
For just as fast as it has come.
Lighting up my eyes.
I am left with only the afterimage.
A burn that is slowly fading.
And soon.
It to will be that of my imagination.
Hinting at a past with static charge.
Will this Phoenix rise.
Or has the fire finally been extinguished.

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.

It is these days that I want to remember.
I wish to drag myself.
Down through this valley of woe.
Sprint along the coast of withered hopes.
Even climb the mountain of relentless grief.
I have a scar for each endeavor.
Some deeper than others.
But no less visible.
On some days I count them.
Recollecting just how broken I had become.
It was in this rememberance.
That I come now to the eternal steps of acceptance.
I marvel.
And cowar.
At the mere thought of the ascent.
But as I began the recount.
I found that each wound collected.
Added to the epic armor that I myself hammered together.
It was in the forge of pain and suffering.
That this smith did equip the weapons needed for such an extreme campaign.
But it wasnt enough..
Even with all the dense emotional layers of steel that bonded together over the years.
All for naught.
I was defeated.
On the verge of damnation.
Eyes black.
I exhaled the black soot of my own soul.
Set on a path no one would dare follow.
Yet one did.
A single.
Dark.
Angel.
Fallen from lifes grace.
But still overflowing with the warmth of love.
A beauty like no other.
For there was not a single soul that could glimmer like she.
Mesmerized by her smile.
Baffled at her strength.
Her will.
And so I followed.
To the hidden city of the unexpected.
And it is here I have remained.
Content.
The darkness indeed beckons still.
But my eyes have not once deferred from her light.
Until the end of days.
Will I stand by her.
No matter what demon I must encounter next.

I regurgitate lifeless sentences.
The breathe I draw can barely keep wind.
Everyone is waiting for a scream.
That I say is not present.
Nor filled with sed distraction from truth.
I have waded through muk and grime.
Loved it at one time I suppose.
These stained hands remind and reminisce.
And the echo continues..
Laughing in my face.
His face.
Grinning.
Spinning.
Lasting.
It's a wonder I am...
Still...
Sane?

Smile.
For all the times we reminisce of the hill.
Laugh.
In the moments that we swear we are going to hell for an ill timed joke.
Cherish.
Every second my eyes find their way to yours.
Hate.
All the miscommunication that lead us so far astray for so long.
Disregard.
Each sarcastic comment that seems to cut so deep.
Cradle.
What you never thought you would have.
Rise.
And take my hand.
Stand.
For what you thought you didn't want.
Fight.
All that may come to drag you down
Feel.
As I tell you I love you.
Trust.
That every single kiss is true.
Hope.
For all that is left to explore with each other.

And I will surely do the same.

It reeks here.
Pungent yet sweet.
Like.
Accepting an unwanted apology.
Woe to the tragically gracious.
For they know not of rest.
As sharks circle about.
Devouring the essence spewed from an unclosing artery.
Until all that's left.
Is a vacant shell.
Not even worth the effort to finish off.
Gluttonuos beings.
The both.
Unknowingky knowing the need.
Of eachother.
For the cause of such suffering.
Bleeds into the affect given.
Effecting the rest.
Distortion needs no introduction.
A slight.
Handing over the next.
Riddled with more questions.
And even as the last die.
Is cast.
A tear falls.
Probably.

I once had something.
Kept it safe.
Removed from all that would blemish its pristine shell.
The thought of leaving it unprotected.
Left a acidic taste in my mouth.
Bile would creep up to remind me every so often.
The world I knew..
Or rather.
Perceived.
Was one that required a set of rules.
Not bound by law.
or religion.
But a game.
They all spoke of the hand that we are dealt.
As if they themselves hadnt already folded.
Watching others cast the die.
Only to come up with snake eyes.
Black and cold.
lifeless.
Yet that never deterred others from chasing that ***.
The so called prize that was dangling just above their shackled hands.
Foaming at the mouth.
Gasping.
For anything more.
Stepping.
On everything else.
Damaging.
Whatever was left.
So I took a different way.
Ripped away what was directly at the center.
Leaving a cold.
Devouring.
Wraith of a person.
One that knew how to emulate.
Observe and analyze.
Creating a persona for any situation imaginable.
Thus keeping this already fractured mind from crumbling further.

Time has come and gone.
Events transpired that left me..
Wondering.
A steady stream of little metaphoric punches to the gut.
Until finally.
Life gave me something.
I never could imagine it before.
The world could never describe it.
Even now.
With it inside me.
Replacing that very void I fed for so long.
This surreal oddity.
Courses.
Caresses.
Cascades down into the depths that I myself created
Rampant these so called emotions.
And at times I can barely seem to find the person I was.
Before.
But I decided to leave the past there.
Take up this new life.
Along with any challenge that comes.
For I have destroyed much.
So now.
I must build.

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.

Everything has a price.
Each time the bell toles.
A payment is made.
The rhythmic thump.
Is only a reminder.
Of how taxing it all is.
There is no.
First prize.
No encore.
As the curtain falls.
All that is waiting is silence.
And darkness.
Only death has not come.
He stands patiently to the side.
Grinning.
It seems.
This is his favorite game.

The view is sure something.
It can bring happiness.
Hatefulness.
Blasphemous brooding souls.
And in this land that we thought was make believe.
Does standing your ground.
Seem so frivolous.
For nor only does the terrain shift.
In time so does the direction of your feet.
Every memory dropped into a specific mail slot.
Faces it's very own sandstorm.
Deteriorating.
As we try and look back on those ancient feelings.
Yet the TV is set to static.
And the remote lost in the forgotten cotton sea.
Dripping both wisdom and.
Stupidity..
For there is not a single conscious organism.
That will forge and cater the very destruction.
Of its own distorted existence.
Like us.

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..

Wavering.
Seems to be stuck in the sidecar.
With doubt in in back.  
And fear spilling out of every pocket.
Where can anything else fit.
It always seems like the only option is to floor it.
And hope.
The next experience isn't.
A wreckage.
Time seems to slow in this moment.
As if to give you one last replay.
Of what can never change.
Tumbling end.
Over beginning.
Through logic.
And past the last chance.
Lementing choices and decisions.
Hate flowing through burning veins.
Igniting the very air.
Causing a caustic reaction that seems to backdraft the entirety of it all.
Leaving only the ash to tell the tale.
And then there are those who see this very disturbance.
And find something within themselves never before used.
Touched.
Or seen.
And alter the very fabric of repetition.
With nothing more than a smile and.
Willingness.
Fear knot the emotions that entangle others.
For it only takes one to wade through the murky echoes of the past.
To ensure.
That The insanity will recede.
There are no shackles.
Only encumbering thoughts.
The only impass.
Is the very reflection staring back.

There are whispers.
To be heard.
Some that overwhelm giants.
Render firing lines paralyzed.
Even topple societies.
A single word from the right mouth.
Can be the sweetest honey ever tasted.
Or a slow acting posion.
One that can not be spewed from its entry wound.
A Feeling all too real.
That even imagination begins to bleed through.
Every pore.
Every dark pit.
Can not even fathom.
Its origin..
For the dark is where it came.
And so shall forever more.
Remain.

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.

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.

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..

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.

Temptress
Enchanted glower of a
stare.
Following an insist
contempt of your content &
less of tests go on to say
morning bells strain on in vain.

Why do you come here
broken bird
blue-sulken, half-hearted
aviator of the dew?
How long must he endure
you?

Swayed from the winds of your brothers &
sisters;
Betrayed none other than by your uncles &
from where they keep
theirs.
Give haste to weeping
Give thanks to conceiving these
wings.

Justified to veer south is
****** not thee
be !
What **!
Hold tight!
Pass on the **** light
Cross vex into his sight
Tonight.

For man almost twenty-six
spoke long of the 27 tears :
of the unknown, complex
passionate, loving years
He was waiting
And always
was relaying
this to his

own little
20 Class A
Robin~

It's just a thing.
An idea.
Washing up on the shores.
Of oblivion.
As the surf presses forth.
Does this enigma grow limbs.
Tearing away from the stream of consciousness there of.
A schism indeed.
For it is hastily trying to retrace what was inevitably.
Washed away.
Gasping.
Fighting for a right to.
Be.
And as it does in all youth.
A plague of indecisive arrogance pollutes the well.
This gyser of melevolant guile.
Spew forth facts.
For living is to conform.
Assimilate.
Render the barcode.
As the sewage of self depletes upon the masses.
Who needs oceans.
When we are all dying to drown.
In ignorance.

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.

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.

How does one measure quality.
Through merits.
Deeds done well.
Maybe even smiles extracted from sour hearts.
Should there be requirements.
Standards..
Beyond those most impose anyway.
Whatever may be the case.
Specific or not.
There wasn't a catagory that was left unexplored.
No wound to small.
Insignificance.
Had no home here.
So many gestures..
Went unnoticed.
But never chastised for.
The world began and ended at our doorstep.
To be shown what form a true blessing takes.
Is a present.
Gifted in both terms.
I would be hard pressed to compare.
The night sky has lost a light this day.
Society goes on.
But a single family mourns.
Dominoes cascade..
Rippling actions and consequence into one...
Validation is key.
While others hinder all else.
And Distractions only work so well..
Even sulking seems so frivolous.
On this day.
Beauty is redefined.
As is bravery.
One can only hope to leave..
With half the grace demonstrated today.

I see.
This match in your hand.
With careful movements.
Meticulous.
Dodging the rain that fell.
Hand over humble flame.
The previous burns are still there.
Lingering.
And yet.
You push forward.
Hoping.
That not a single tear will wash away the light.
I witness.
The runaway train.
Horns blaring.
Muffling the words.
That never seem to come.
Mach three.
And still no signs of slowing.
I stare.
A bystander.
As the earth beneath your feet stirs.
Quaking knees.
The smile never left.
For your safety was never in the prompt.
I gaze.
At all the beautiful disasters in question.
This house of blades.
Tell tales of edges that are remnant still.
Whispers so loud.
That even the ghouls shy away.
And as I do all these things.
I have never left your side.
The past may haunt.
The winters cold indeed.
But let shine my love.
For a constant you have truly been.
One that I shall never faulter from again.

It's hard.
To do the one thing.
So many say.
Should be easy.
The physical world.
Is all I know.
Beyond that.
Is theoretical.
Which in have come to find is quite.
Simple.
When and how.
Its textbook.
Only my surroundings protest at its.
Magnitude.
I must be looking at this equation.
Wrong.
Two plus two equals four.
Yet sadness and loss equal so much more.
This rubix cube of emotions.
Can it be solved?

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.

Stare into the dark pool.
Just as you always have.
Don't forget to breathe.
Noose the air about.
And tighten the grip.
Such a taxing process.
One that leaves the mind penniless.
Charging for every emotion.
In motion.
A moving violation.
Of its own volition.
Rusted wounds ache.
A lasting impression.
Denting the psyche.
Reducing.
Inducing.
Conclusion.
Destination.
Wanting.

At long last.
The cement has dried.
Casting a laughable hue on this decrepit hill.
Has the air always been this thick.
Gravity seems to want more than I can stand.
I wish not to instill this image in my mind.
Yet as I gaze upon the casted hand.
There is no real explanation.
For this miniscule action to have even..
Come to be.
But thus it has.
Formulated in the very consciousness that guided these dreaded feet forth.
A relic of old it is.
Glory.
And now simply a need to be remembered.
As i search my desolate suroundings.
Does one begin to truly understand.
Meaning to such action.
Loses its definition.
With every lingering moment that eternity allows.
What a distorted rendition this constant reel has made.
Yet this came from nowhere also.
Right?
Loathing the next pace.
Yet comforted in knowing.
That imprint will one day fade.
Ghastly remnants of failure.
Remodeled bone.
The sight from these very eyes.
What comes of the endless.
endurance of fame.
A life in search of the meaning it never had.
Detest.
Expectation.
Inhibition.
The compass supposedly zeroed at due society.
Let the rise and fall of this chest be testement.
A moment.
Is just a moment.
There is only one key.
Choose.
What may.
Enter.

There is absolutely.
Nothing.
That can be put down.
Without having some sort of predecessor...
Like embarking on a grand adventure.
Will sooth the distress within.
Channeling more against an already rampant current.
Only leads to the depths that one has become so well acquainted.
Yet persistent is the ignorant.
Craving an end no longer attainable.
Anything can stir the wanting.
When all that is left is the road ahead

The smoke has yet to lift.
Giving the horizon a eerie feel.
The whistle of death has long since passed.
Even the thunder that lashed out so hungrily.
Has been subdued with the souls scoured.
Numerous holes are sporadically placed among the rubble.
Some are filled.
Like the contents of a blender set to mince.
I peer into the stagnant pool that collected in the smoldering depths.
Not even the earth seemed to want them.
The urge to dive in overtakes my senses.
And the remnant cries are getting stronger.
With every breathe does my mind crystalize.
Frozen in the moments that distort this rigid oasis of despair.
The need to return beckons.
Yet integration is nearly complete.
These arms have become strangers.
Just like the rest of this surrogate being.
The storm is coming.
But I remain.
Watching.
As the familiar figure takes its leave.
Grinning with every step.

There are so many things one wishes to.
Simply.
Do.
Yet it is that word that destroys mentalities.
Or more so.
A lack in ability.
Leading to such.
Simple.
Ends.
As it always is in the aftermath.
But fall short even then.
For it was not your own hand that tipped the scale.
Or even knew of its presence to begin with.
Even if time has served no other purpose.
But to sharpen reaction time.
Coming about in the most ambiguous of ways.
Then reaching the destination might have just been as simple.
As forgetting the word entirely.

Just how many times.
Can one seize those moments.
The kind that shine in the darkest depths of depression.
A peridot of true resilience.
Stricken with the pressures of earths resistance.
Swallowed and spat out.
And yet.
The brilliant contours never faded.
A gem that seems to compliment any disenchanted form.
Priceless is a meaning longing to be with its presence.
Regards shan't be wasted.
For the world may wether this artifact.
But for one to be blessed with the cleansing light it holds.
Shall be reforged.
Stripped of gashes and ware.
Into a relic of wondrous.
Ponderous power.
Calamity may call.
Cities may even fall.
Cadaverous holes and all.
But.
Every desert hides an oasis.
Forever waiting.
For that one to traverse all the adverse.
And drink in.
All it has to offer.

Is it that entertaining...
Watching.
Snickering behind hidden words.
Is it that meaningless.
Leading the blind in circles.
With such an alluring scent.
Soon.
Dusk will drain what remains of the sky.
Yet the moon will not rise.
Not this night.
For this has left the senses.
Unresponsive.
Regardless of the tides.
Not even gravity dare defy such.
And in such ways.
That the mind will plunder.
And hide.
For in this deception of perception.
Will this day be known..
As this fools tragic.
Comedy.

The ache begins where it left off.
Time to search the forest of wounds this body has amassed.
As they are looked upon.
Some meager.
Others.
Still flow from that distant beating.  
Does recounting them seem.
frivolous.
Yet the task goes on regardless of want.
A lasting tenacity.
Encumbered by every last choice made.
As this chest takes in breath.
Does regret put that jagged dagger straight to the jugular.
Crying out would make no difference.
Time has made that so.
A vow kept sacred.
For deterioration has stayed true to its words.
So must I make good on mine...
Or embrace the lasting corrosion that living so lovingly bestowed.
If only.
Time was a friend.
Then deciding wouldn't seem so..
Final.

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.

Tremendous afflictions await the unexpected.
As if ignorance was Olympic worthy.
Tears fall.
A sea of desperate pleas.
Evaporate.
Slowly exstinguishing the sun.
Deaths melody is on the wind.
A wake that consumes.
Dragging a deranged animal to the surface.
Clawing through flesh and steel alike.
For there is little difference.
Cast off.
The fear sets in.
Panic injected intravenously.
Rushing and beating with every tide.
A whirling.
Integrating.
Manifestation of self.
Lost.
And beyond.
Pitch..
Black.