What is happiness for you?
Is it seeing the sun shine in the sky or smelling the scent of a loved one?
Or is it neither?
Most people live each day wishing that they would be happy, or happier.
Is happiness a feeling or a choice?
Or is it the right combination of both?
Do you become happy when you choose to or when you naturally feel it?
Or does happiness choose you?
No one knows.
Because the answer is felt and unspoken.

She spoke
with half-smoked cigarettes
and lilting cursive scribbled over last night’s letter’s return address,
her bags packed with only a backless dress.
Nails dripping black and red
blood and paint indistinguishable
in the darkness of the winding alleyways
zigzagging her heart.
She was truly, unendingly lost
in the mazes of her mind
as she traveled backwards with a string
lazily trailing after broken stilettos.
Yesterday’s rain still dripping from empty window sills
and illuminated by lanterns lit with fireflies
found solace in her silent tears
for they were companions,
cut from the same paper-thin cloth.
Maybe a goddess had worn it once,
but those days were long gone
when she lit it aflame with a cigarette
fresh from her lips.
Desire was never a question —
this she had learned from the fire
overtaking her overflowing mind —
and yet it was soundlessly spoken
on empty bottles
not yet broken and swept up by the sea.
Only the blind man could see her now
just as the deaf girl heard her cries
and thus she remained unanswered.
This, however, she did not mind
for being lost was no longer not a choice.

what are choices but
a skill of hand internal
progresse in practice

Being with you is like giving a loaded gun to a child,
Pistol clasped in both hands, shots fired, can we be reconciled?
Gathered up your words, your lies, put them away
Let them bleed down the page, leave them til the edges fray.
When I gave everything to you, it was me that I lost,
I know that I love you but at what cost?
I’ll think of you fondly in a bitter and twisted way,
But my mind, you see, has started to crumble and decay.

Life,
the black and white feature.
No grey lines between,
seems to be a set picture
The grey is what we force within.

Life,
a roulette of choices
Revolving days in a revolver gun,
tormented by many voices
Those wishing us to be down.

Life,
a hanging force of time
Ticks away at us, and soon to tock
no easy directions, neither a sign  
Yet we haven't come to be lost.

The life within
is guided by life above
As will it seem,
many are guided by love.
But never forget the love that is the man up above.

Livin like a wannabe.
Not that you want to be.
Always looking for that one opportunity.
But you'll never find it
cause you can't see:
if you work for someone else
you'll never be free.
Free to speak your mind.
Raise your voice.
Free to love.
Make a choice.
There's a whole world.
Make it yours.
See what's on the other side
of the door.