On days like these it seems like writing keeps the punishing thoughts away
All of the dark and depressing fears are kept at bay
So long as though my fingertips they go on display

Yes, I am terrified of death
Because I know it is inevitable
There is no life after death
When I think about it I feel a sharp pang of nothing
There is no envisionment of an afterlife
Of a paradise
Because there is none, not for me

Even if I believe in reincarnation
It doesn't stop the fear
Because all of my memories in this life
Will disappear
And if I stop writing now
These thoughts will invade and my conscience will cave

My passions are overwhelmed by my fears
Luckily they are just scattered days on my calendar
If I can make it through this one
I will make it through the next

you won't know me,
when the feeling all gone.
the feeling won't last.
it will fade.
fade away,
like all others.
but, you won't know me.

do you even know me know?

-l.j.t.

sometimes in my spare time
I
sing
made up songs

the lyrics never constant
pretty
tunes
in my head

but like fate should have it
they
never
stay for long

for once I'm done singing
they
fade
away like dreams

Like emerging from a canvas he rose,

Taking away my breaths and sanity


Like dusty scent, through lanes now he blows

While I take in his scent and keep him captivated.


The shadows of death lingered in his mind.

And I tried but I couldn't chase them away


And I saw our failing love,

Our fading red.


Our souls used to collide within our shells,

It was hollow inside us, we were just two empty wells.


Our depths couldn't be seen through eyes,

We were so deep, we defined infinite


I saw our falling love,

Our fading red


One day, he screamed, wrapped in agony

And I howled while vacancy shook me.


His breaths were taken away

And mine were not but empty again, we lay


Although we belonged together

Still we were torn apart


This was the last time I saw our dying love

Our...faded...red

Music
            Makes
                        The
                                Pain
                                          Fade
                                          More
                                As
                        The
            Volume
Rises

Life is
About getting buckets.
How would Kobe live if he couldn't?
That's a mystery mankind will never truly comprehend.
A bucketless Kobe is a fake Kobe.
The sound of that string music is unmatchable.

The Kareem sky hook.
The Curry j.
The Kobe fadeaway.
The PG windmill.
These are all different forms,
They all get buckets.

Cherish these buckets like no other.
One day you will be old and grey.
Like bill Russell.
You won't be able to get buckets anymore except for in your dreams.
When your career is over. You will miss it.
You can't get buckets forever.