I feel four steps,
Down a steep hallways that is six.
With a shadow on my back
and hole in my chest.

Breathing is labored,
Don't care about the dizziness anymore.
Face names no emotion.
Hands don't feel the walls.

As I just stood.
No need to move,
no where to even go.
Just nothingness.

With nothing going right,
and absolutely nothing wrong.
I felt the shame.
Of utter solitude.

Isn't it magnificent,
That the purest of joy.
And the most evil of hate.
Are just combinations,
of the same thing

That every good deed,
and every bad.
Has been just a random mix,
of this set?

That every novel,
every conversation,
every poem.
Is just a pattern,
Within a limitation.

That giving thanks
and throwing a curse.
Are only seperated by
a special sequence.
Of the same letters.

Think how a change,
in the blueprints of words
Make them sharp as a knife.
Or warm as an embrace.

Everything is
made with only
26 letters

When you lay down
And your phone falls
And literally tackles your face.

I feel as though technology.
Places a point on it side
For us thinking we have controlled
Every advancement.

Its not a coincidence,
Its a slow, groveling battle cry

A lonely flame,
Sang from a corner.
Of a cold house,
Established by hate.

A morose father
A crying child.
Barren mother.
Broken mirror.

Music floated.
In the minds,
Down the lines.
Of their desperation.

Hoping someone.
Could pull.
Or anchor.
Them in place.

Bright light
An open door
Reeping silence
Blackened sky.

Live tonight
Dead tomorrow.
Sorrow is the question.
Rhetorical as the answer.

Every day, I wonder
When can I buy this?
Where can I buy that.
But everyday there are people.
Who have nothing.

I wonder what family members house,
I will go to first this Christmas.
When some people have no family.
No home to go to.

I wonder what nice restaurant I will eat at.
And how good it will taste.
When some people can't remember the last
Thing that they ate.

I worry about how I won't have
anything to wear, with a closet full of clothes.
When some people worry how they will stay warm.
With rags on their back.

When i think of these people.
I'm so grateful for what I have.
When your trash is treasure
And first world problems are actually

Just inconvienent luxries.

That form of life,
That everyone talks about,
That everone wishes they had.
But they dont know how to get it.

We seek, and demand.
But with no avail,
to the World's plans.
Sometimes soultion in one excpetion.

You cant judge,
You may not ask why or how.
Just know it is because it is.
Not for any other reason.

Not because you wished it,
Not because you created it,
Because it was time for it.
And let that be.

Sometimes you don't deserve,
Those things that happen to you.
Whether they be good or bad.
They are just a part of life.

Be at one with your life,
and live it.
Because its the only one you have.
Until you find the other side.

Into a dark room,
Sat a man in the corner.
He had his arms crossed over his heart
His hands made into fists.
Sad man,
Alone in the dark.
Stricken with grief.
He mourned, lonely.
No one to call to.
This man,
This lonely man,
Had not a soul.
For comfort.
Suffering man,
Given nothing,
But his edge,
Of prison.
No one,
To join him.
No one to,
Call out to him.
Silently weeping,
Knowing no friends.
He kept his heart,
Until someone could,
Join theirs with his.