and if you are still the way you have always been, you're the lucky ones because most of us have taken ourselves apart down to the very molecules we are made up of and rearranged them to someone else's liking

and if you are still happy then you're the lucky ones, because most of us are so depressed we are willing to lather our stomachs in alcohol and burn our throats with smoke for fun, or to forget that person who made us feel like we were sitting in a haystack of needles, stabbing and wounding every inch of our skin

and if you still strive for your highest hopes and dreams, then you're the luckiest ones, because most of us settle for less, and only climb the ladder until we think we have reached the top

and if you're in love, you really are the luckiest of all, because we are all mostly bitter over those we have lost, thinking we are unable to find someone that will bring us the same happiness that the other person used to bring

What if the heart
Were truly a puzzle?
A game of sorts
Of luck
Of chance
Roll the dice and pray
That you draw a piece that fits.
The empty hole there
To remain empty,
Until you draw the right piece.
Who could be good
At such a game?
The rich, the beautiful?
Though it may appear so,
This thought is false
The game IS fair.
In a twisted way,
All have an equal shot
For 1 in 7 billion is the chance
Of finding any single piece.
And I...
I drew the 1
That fits my heart.

You know that feeling when time freezes
You're hand starts to shake a little
You can't help smiling when you know for a fact how stupid you look
They're the only thought on your mind first thing in the morning and last at night

Age eighteen, living life as a low-middle class suburban jobless fool with a confusing relationship and a five year old boy. I have nerve damage to my left arm, smokers cough and lesser (haha) alcoholism.     I guess it's macaroni (not Kraft, way too expensive) and cheese (nothing fancy) tonight. I should apply for a new job tomorrow, but I'll probably have something else to do. Besides that, I have no clothes suitable for an interview anyway. My hair is a wild mess. From behind you might think, "****, she doesn't have an ***..."
...but from straight on, you might think, "****, he looks like Slash."
I do not look like Slash, by the way. At least I think not. Maybe with the right hat, but then, I am way too short. I can sing like Slash, though.
I learned to use my voice like, five years ago. How old was I...?
I can read like Joseph Ogle. I love reading. I must have been younger when I started reading good material. Must have been a good few years ago...
I can draw like Dali. I think I found him out in Middle School...
I can play piano like ******* Mozart. I picked up piano earlier...
I can write like...
...well, writing is so unique that comparing myslef to anyone is insulting to both.  
Anyway, it's my raw talent, skills that I have owned and honed that drives me to be more.
They say you have to deal with the hand life gave you, but life decided to give me dice, and a couple chance rolls. I may still have a few left. For as long as I live, I will deny and refute the notion that once you lose everything, you should just give up. I have lost. You can talk to me all day about how sad your life is, and how depressed you are, but unless you do something to change your quality of existence, then you're going to roll snake eyes. Snakes bite, friend.
I got a lucky thirteen on my plate. I am content to keep, but I could keep going.
What do you have?