Sometimes I count the stars
I don’t know them by name
I’ve watched them my whole life
Somehow they don’t change
Even though I do

This constant itch
Is quit the -

I just want to give in
To what I shouldn't even
Think, but I do day in and out
So I hold in this piercing shout

Oh just to give in to it
But lives would turn to -
So I hold on by my finger nails
While my insides wail

Oh this constant itch
it is quit the –

Defective Words

death is my neighborhood friend
she has followed me all my life
no matter the outcome of situations
death always prevailed
speaking lightly on such a subject would inflict a mere slit on the tip of the tongue
she is genuine at all times
though some may find it hard to believe I have never caught her in a lie
to be frightened is to be frail
for tears shed, hearts break, last words are spoken
actions are derailed into a different outcome
yet through all the demise, she remains vigorous
death has no boundaries
I have learned that the strenuous way
there is no difference in those related to my own blood and water
death stops at no personal obligations nor obstacles
adolescent days dare to compare to my maturity of today
death broke apart relationships of all kind
sometimes spiritually she drained me of love I could no longer bear witness to the outside world
she drained me of my close ones,
'family,' if you will
left me to anguish and mourn like a deserted soul
isolated from society, the world, love, or any such interactions were just extreme to divulge in
building up a tolerance to agony was just a challenge to her for the near future
other times she lacked me of mental termination
friendships of such were burned and buried beneath the ground
someplace called hell
for they would never return and if they sought out to intervene in my life once again death would appear and rip the soulless creatures right out of their existence with me.
I could barely bear witness on either or, nor did I want to comply but I, myself, had no say in the fate of life.
my mind, body, and soul were alternated
never will I be a carbon copy of my old self
death is my friend
she remains synonymously unpredictable
if I, myself, were to die, I would, in turn, welcome my friend.

               








                             , eulogy

   "Hello my dear, for I have not missed you for an abundance of time it seems you have missed me. whereas I contemplate over no comprehension other than the certainty of you needing my very presence. all of the atrocious things I have done is diseased along with the misery of atoning to every thought and situation dealt with my life on this earth. let alone the well being that I also obtained in a timely matter has now released me into a never-ending dimension"

I do opine that a constant life, although agreeable in its construction and longevity, may render its subject without two sympathetic words to rub together.

I am simply existing;
In this constant state of becoming,
I am forever changing.
And for that,
I am forever grateful.
For how boring would the world be
If we never allowed our minds to evolve and adapt?
How can we be so ignorant in thinking
That our experiences won’t change us?
If I come out of this life as the same person I was going into it,
Then something went awfully wrong.

Your bliss turns to blues.
You're in the bottom
but now you know
your only way is up.

Your warmth turns to drought.
You can pour gasoline
in the dying fire inside of you
to feel warm again.

Your love turns to lost.
You may have lost in love
but in the first place,
you found it.

They say, the only thing
that is constant is change.
But can bliss, warmth, and love
be constant........ for a change?