"To exist in this world one must know pain.
Because to exist is to suffer."

I invest too many hours creating scenes with words bigger than my imagination. Articulating a grand scheme of vividly painted phrases sculpting the workings of a surreal scenario. Practicing pristine implementation of descriptive speech for God-like abilities to plant emotion. Patiently calculating the steps from beginning to eternity; from birth to infinity.

The deconstruction and reconstruction, razing and elevating, of rewrites cycle through an incessant reel. Connecting bits of frames with no correlation and binding their frayed edges to author an insatiable, perfectly disorganized, cinema streaming through cracks of my consciousness. Hinting at the exception; drawing my attention from the tangible existence before me.

Losing lovers,
Losing friends,
Losing everything I am.

How do I exist independently?


F.Z.**N

If someone thinks its Wednesday but its Tuesday
Technically it is Wednesday not Tuesday to them
Because days are a human creation and they don't have name
And so when someone believes its a day
To them it can be that day
Because days don't exist.

Boorishly ****** into this diabolical world.
Parturition coerced from the amicable surrounding walls.
Fostered by what is a poor excuse of society.
Thereafter, and maybe preceding, all is fear.
Mortal until the day to meet thy maker.
...And in between? Alas, it is choice.
What shall it be? One of two, so you must resolve.
To exist, letting darkness cloak all, and fear be your consolation.
To live, fighting off the vexatious blanket of death, welcoming light to warm your soul.
Both are equally fought for in this insolent age.
Yet who are the victors? I will tell you, my friend a secret, a thought if you will....
How is there such thing as victor if there is nary a challenge?
It is told: accept the challenges so that you may feel the exhilaration of victory.
So, is the choice of dark and light that perplexing?
In essence, there is only one way to live.
The other is only a meager existence.
All face such this decision,  oblivious to the simple fact that no challenge lay within existing.
There is only a fight in choosing to live.
Make a choice, and with that...
So Be It

Dear Sledgehammer Heart,

You are tough as nails,
        and you are also soft as silk.

You are wildflowers
         blossoming in the spring,
         and again in the summer.

You bloom more for yourself,
                                                     than for anyone else.

You are both student and teacher
           with fistfuls of love,
    clenched for those that hurt.

You taught me
         the importance of a good porch:
The Foundation Must Be Solid.
                              A Home can be built anywhere,
as long as the Foundation is Solid.

You taught me to announce myself,
and to be proud of the songs that come out.
                                       (Even when the sounds are sharp,
                     they must be set free somehow, right?)
      
And you taught me
         how to handle a heart
as delicate as mine
     pretends not to be,
                      with soft hands and gentle love

Stones smoothed into little pebbles
at the bottom of a river.

     I can only hope I have learned
               to hold your heart
with the skill and grace of bird wings
And to lift you
                           higher
                                        as you do me.
It is the only way I can think to return
the lightness
                       you gift by existing.

Please remember,
                                My Sledgehammer Man,
             you must simply exist
and the universe is lighter
                 for it.