He didn’t grow up in a good home.
He didn’t have a supportive mother.
He didn’t have a father worth speaking of.
He didn’t know how to read or write.
He didn’t know that 2+2=4.
He didn’t have any friends.
He didn’t know that such wonderful things existed.
He didn’t play or run outside.
He didn’t have the permission to.
He didn’t graduate high school.
But he didn’t drop out.
That night, he didn’t stop drinking.
That night, he didn’t use his head.
That night, he didn’t care.
That night, he didn’t put on his seatbelt.
He didn’t see the car coming.
He didn’t hear the crunch of the metal.
He didn’t hear the screech of the tires.
He didn’t wake up.

I spend so much time
Basking in the silence as time unwinds
Hoping for a moment where I can exhale
From these deep breaths, and focus on my dreams
Without this sharp pain in my side
This feeling of being stressed

All the time.

I've spent nights daydreaming
Howling at my internal moon
In hope that the glare that illuminated
The pitch black sky inside
Would not shed light on the wolf
Or shed tears for the boy who cried
But rather spare those crucial moments
Of wasted time, from which those tears
Left the boy's eye.

The tears that watered a rose
Waiting to bloom alive

I know it's okay to cry.

I know it's okay to not know where
You're going sometimes.

Despite the unsettling emotions that
Surround you like autumn leaves
Worried that if you step on one
They'll play the part of a sidewalk
On Friday the 13th
And someone's back will break
In its wake...
In your sacrifice...
In your hesitation to move along
As you injure your finger pressing
The replay button

As you know very well that it's not the
Memories of times wasted that haunt you

It's the regret of not allowing yourself to fail
During the times you thought failure
Was all that it would lead to.

what was I chasing, that had the audacity to burn fires that haunt the neighbours. that put the car on running when I was off, eyes dreaming - the wheel slipping off my palms. and then over a cliff into ocean.
maybe so. maybe it was you. maybe so. maybe I am blind

it's a late night drive
down a foggy street,
completely empty and
illuminated by the
soft glowing sign of an
underhead street light.  

neon juice
flows through your veins.  
the world
forgets how to spin.  
the trees
are still and
the engine roars.  

somewhere,
everything falls into place for someone.

What's the one thing you could talk about without rest?

Who's the one person that made talking effortless?

Where is the one that changed you for the better,

where is the one that made you your best?

When did it all occur, was it recently, or more in the past?

Is this one something or someone you wish you could have back?

People aren't things,
and also, they aren't chances.
They're the same solemnness
between the sonder and the glances.
We all have our thing and some of us may have more.
But I prefer the passions of the focused
for whom hearts with pulse on sleeve are wore.

Good friends, long drives and country nights
fast cars, dark roads and high-beam lights.
Complete content all in despite
the lives we lived we left behind.

An air so cramped with smoke we lined
we drink to death our whole design.
The world in which we all collide
is now the world we must refine.

Yet soon we must return confined
back into our joyless lives.
It’s this we must try to remind,
The very nature of mankind.

But why the rush? We need not hide.
We’re free of all that we declined!
At last, a path we can all ride
to drive and drive into the night.