I stand before the walls of a glorified failure as it tumbles beneath itself.
The nature of a grave danger, labored with a dire wager.
Plunges and crumple, into a pile of rubble
and to continue forth into a hidden tunnel.

Dirt stain fingers and my inner winner;
The only tools left to dig a way out of our rapidly crumbling puzzle.

You delivered me my unfathomable killer-
A ineradicable form of justice.
My sacramental, misjudgment of
a thrill gone astray.
Leaving me feeding the birds which prey on saints most days.

I stand before the wall as a simple thrall.
Dirt and grime painting my nails.  
I stand in my hellish pit readying to climb.
Ready to rise from the plague surrounding me.
To fill my lunges with air, not lingering with death.

I am ready.
The bringer on the rise.

21 years of age, haven't rose with the sun for more than a while now, stretch those aching bones and rise with the fresh warm breath of the morning air.

Twenty-second of June  two thousand and fourteen. Cultures dead, the whole world has become an immersion of postmodern irony and sensuality evaporates like tender droplets of the heavenly sky's tears, what's new?

Tender black coffee morning, velvet aromas of something that could only feel like home.  Getting up and getting ready to tap keyboards and snap fingers, always on the periphery of that feeling of eureka moment madness, all creative and hopeful, hungry and *****.

Friends and foes accepting fates, watching the dreamy eyes glimmer and dissipate before me, killing me with sadness. It's a lonely world and the machines comforting kiss of conformity is all too tempting, to some at least.

The hours of the day, slip by. Procrastination greeting me, I don't feel like writing today. Slide into comfort and let it beat you around the back the head with its big pillow hands of complacency. You know you're not the only one and hey you're not doing as bad as that one guy you know.

evening, I have something in my pocket that has my whole life inside. I have digital extensions of my being and I check them like a notification ******, searching through the complaints and opinions of all who talk so much and say nothing at all.

twenty two minutes past 10 in England, the night puts on his cape and his heart falls out, I look at you and feel everything. how many of you lonely dreamers all around the world are looking with me, living in your beautiful minds with all your beautiful dreams, all of us are alive together and the stars wink at us and the trees breathe with us and we're all electric with life, universal current oh boy won't you flow through me tonight.

black sky, black road
yellow lines like warning signs
i turn my head away
from those flashes of colour
and look out the window instead
at the grey fields of evening

grey fields, grey grass
bulrushes like sentries
and one bird that calls to me from beyond
as if it understands this feeling

some days it mocks me
other days, it lets me speak
and i hear it often late at night
telling me to dry my eyes
and sleep

black sky, soft wind
that creeps through the netting across my window
and sweeps the salt water from my cheeks
while the coyotes howl, voicing what i cannot
and the crickets play their violins
as if i needed a soundtrack to this

and the next morning, my door opens
revealing brown skin and a summery smile
and when the sun hits my face
i feel the cold embrace me once again
feelings washed from my body and escaping
back to my bed, waiting
for the sun to set and for my body to hit the sheets
and for my mind to remember a day full of nothing

and nothing sinks into my tear ducts, opening up
the river, and i cannot for the life of me
remember why i am doing this, but i am
and the black sky watches without comment
as i take the bird's advice, drying my eyes
and sleeping

the sun rises again each morning
and so do i

A little picture frame fell
Full of innocence, youth, ignorance, bliss
It’s me in the millennium
I wasn’t
Too Tall
Yet
While in my clatter it crashed from the mantle
Why is it even here?
Wasn’t that yesterday?

The past will never go away
The past will never go away

But only a dream, a conscious façade
A memory is only a faulty tape
And we find we recall love not time
The things that child left behind
Were mended by grace
And cast the lines from his face
The future grieves, what is mine?
What's time but a coffin of sin
Yet I heave the shining frame to the mantle again,
Hoping to gain a childlike grin
It’s not about the past or future
It’s not about misplaced winnings
It’s the chance a man has for a new beginning