If I speak truth without knowing until later when affirmed, then I know it was another.

If I speak truth, yet woven in it are greater and deeper truths, constructed without intent nor awareness, then I know it was another.

If my simplicity conceals a manifold complexity with greater simplicity, ie beauty, then I know it was another.

If what I wrote or said long ago is ever new, surprising and constantly inspiring with each re-reading or re-hearing, as if they are living and ever growing, then I know it was another.

If every thought is not only consistent with all that's revealed but reveals yet more, especially that most subtle but utterly profound, that I cannot help but believe that I've transcended into a realm beyond all earth, then I know it was another.

If it is what it is, is so familiar, like one knew from long ago, and never apart, inseparable as soul and spirit, heart and mind, that it's mere shadow is sufficient for proof, then I know it was another.

I'm a demolitions expert of renown
Star of the show, the talk of the town
A destroyer of worlds they say
Or at the very least a destroyer of one

Voices rang inside my head
When things were good in my life
The urge to sabotage, the want to destroy
The desire to go off-course, the desire to stop

It has been there for as long as I can remember
Guiding me to the dark path
More often winning than being ignored
It was something I blamed for the way things are

But that was just me, my subconscious, my insecurity
Molding my decisions to be as suboptimal as possible
I need to accept, and got to learn accountability
Face the consequences, and fix the broken crucible

I want to destroy no more, for destruction is already here
Already suffering for the mess I have made
What I thought I deserved, I definitely do not
Now I have to make do with what little I have left

Let it stand as a lesson, let it stay as a warning
Beware when you light the fuse and watch the sparks
They may shine beautifully, but they are searing to the eyes
And if you do continue, give the big boom my regards

My teacher hits me:

remember, blows, time and time --


poor people get hit.

I'm just a shell

Made up of components that sound pleasing to the ears

Sweet words scribbled on napkins in cafes
Fleeting memories in photographs hidden away

Small enough to keep in your back pocket

Small enough to disappear

Never one to stick around
No reason to stay