Fail safes, like preventive measures;
What percentile are you willing to lose?
You will lose them all.
Don't arrest you family
To the error of your decisions,
Take my advice
And don't take anyone with you.

The words, the words, they’re everywhere,
Run away from them, but to where?
I see and hear them, night and day,
Every awakened moment, here to stay.
Make sense of them I must,
To gain my own undying trust.

You keep on running back to her
like a dog at dinner
you keep on running back to her,
banging on her door till she answers.
You know so much about her, yet you have yet to learn that her love for you is not pure.
You are so consumed by her beauty that it doesn't matter.
Her wrongs turn into rights,
her reds into yellows,
her deep brown eyes freezing you in time.
Her Love is so sinful,
yet you keep tugging on her rope till she falls down with you.

You want me to take off my clothes
The clothes of my soul
You want me to turn around slowly
Standing bare in front of you
So you can get a good look at everything
You want me to show you everything
But I know what you'll really see
You'll see my
Scars
Bruises
Darkness
Things I've long locked away
Letting few if any see
But I have one question
When I am laid bare
Will you run away?
Will you see how many
Scars
I have and worry they'll cloud my view?
Will you see my
Bruises
And wonder if I'll give you any?
Will you see my
Darkness
And worry that it will spread?
Or would you look past all that
Search for my perfections
They are there
Just few and far between
And if you see my imperfections
(Which I know you will)
And my perfections
What will you decide?
Will you stay?
Or run?
As so many have

Run, run while you can;
while your toes can spring from the asphalt;
while time is on your side
and the wind is behind you,
and the world is a trail of blur.

The cartilage of your joints,
fresh and oleaginous,
pliable as your young mind,
can take you to your destiny;
can satiate wanderlust,
a bitter aftertaste for a time long gone
of a weary spirit
tenant to a rigid flesh.

Breathe
the scent of life in.
Let your lungs and air,
like lovers who have folded
the distance between them,
savor the embrace
throbbing in their minds at night.
Breathe the scent in,
in time,
they grow stale,
planted in water by the bedside
wilting with apologies
and well wishes
dancing to the music
of beeping machines.

Up the hills if you must;
through mist,
yielding not an inch
to questions
doubt pours on the road.
Against the unwillingness
of your body,
defy,
and when its defiance ripens
in its season,
your spirit shall burden
it a heavy swathe of obstinacy.
So run,
for the loan of time digs deep in the pocket to claim interest,
pay your heart in full,
before foreclosure.
Time inevitably demands its due.

—e.d. maramat | erwinism

Don’t be the man
Yearning
For the moon,
The one without a plan,
Not learning
From past failures and what’s
Bound to be coming soon.
Do not be the one who desires
For the untouchable,
The one whose fires
Are kindled at only one sight.
This is my attempt at shining a light
Upon your scars.
Though you wish for the moon
Amongst the stars,
Don’t you care
About the lack of air
Up there?
Don’t you know you’ll die
Too high
In the sky?
I suspect you’ll never be able to fly,
To reach the moon;
A suffocation I fear that’s coming
All too soon.