I wish I had a time machine to go back and kick my own ***.
Or at least try to talk some sense into myself.
"Listen kid, this **** doesn't bode well. You're burning alive and headed for hell."
Maybe writing is its own kind of time travel.
Billy Pilgrim knows what I'm talking about.
"Chin up child. Stop playing wild. I know you're trying to make your own style,
but you'll lose more than you'll gain."
But before I step in and turn the dial, my future self comes back to slap my hand.
"Let it be," I'll say to me.
One day you'll understand.

Everything happens for a reason
Said one man to another
that’s ******* you know he responded
and even if that was so
should it be some consolation
should I be amazed by the worlds complexity?
should I applaud the interwoven madness
if the one left out is me?


Does a bull admire a matador’s technique?
Does a building admire the strength of a wrecking ball?
Tell me why the system is great
why I should care about the meaning behind it all
what you have is what you love
and I could never love a theory
I believe in the material
because it’s the only thing my eyes can see


Tell me why my wife died
Was it to save a thousand lives?
because I would **** a thousand more
for one more look into her eyes
Maybe her death
somehow saved my life
well one day I will die
without the comfort of my wife


That’s all it really is my friend
a celebrated rain delay
God’s in his high chair
choosing who will go and who will stay
but eventually we will all leave
despite all the magic this universe has to offer
you believe in faith sir
but sadly I am bogged down in fact


The man was choked up
as he searched for words to answer the other
I did not know your babies mother
but my son did
She pushed him to safety from a car
taking the impact that was meant for him
so while I'm sorry for your loss friend
there is a reason behind everything