I was in the twilight of my life, and the charming person I met along the road was my only dawn.
At night, I fall asleep with images of myself, swaying and smiling with them... you
I wished over and over and over again, that smashed yet sparkling me could stop loving you, darling.
I want nothing and everything with you. It completely scares me.
I had nightmares of becoming a beautiful yet tragic poet, but upon meeting you I saw those dreams spread like the billion stars in the night sky.
Honestly, I didn't mind because I know that all it takes is getting all you ever wanted, and then completely losing it to know what you can be.
Years of being on a never-ending world journey and my memories of you were the only things that persisted me, and my only blissful moments.
When the people I used to live around discovered what I have been doing, and whom I have been kissing, what I’ve been drinking, and how I'd been living, they asked me, “What the hell are you thinking?
However, there's no use to talking with people who have a home.
Every experience was fire itself and that terrified me yet helped me obsess for freedom, dear.
These faint-hearted mice do not know what it's like to find safety in other people - for ‘home’ to be wherever or whomever you want.
I want an honest compass pointing me anywhere but I have an indecisiveness inside me that is as wild and wavering as the sea.
I always had this fiery madness intimately inside me it dizzied me and then you tossed gasoline on it and it dazed me.
I think I was born to be the other woman.
The woman that belongs to everyone and no one at the same time, merely emptying herself to please others.
But then I start to believe that I am my own woman. And that wonderful tease in control and loving the war I created with myself.
I adore being the unrequited one in particular. You are my coffee but I feel like the mistreated coffee machine.
Thank you for my dreamy blues.

She is a little bit broken, just like me.
This is what makes her so captivating.
She pulls me in with those brown eyes of hers that reflected deep melancholy.
She is definitely quite similar to my melancholies.
The pain in her eyes drew me in because she made being broken seem as though it is grand and exquisite.
Her pain was so beautiful and dark in the way that she still wanted something out there to take it out of her.
You could tell she was somewhat of a hopeless yet sweet creature.
Crawling around aimlessly as though she were on delicate glass, afraid to cut herself and others. She believed in many ideas and people, practically everything, except herself.
People around her envied her but she had no idea.
Her life was as chaotic as the ocean filled with lovely little beasts.
There was fearfulness flowing around her, but none of that mattered to her, because she still believed, naively, even so she believed.
Feeling anything with her was unlike anything you could ever imagine.
Most people were phenomenal at making broken look unattractive. It was easy.
Her darkness was worth drowning in and everyone wanted to have the last breath in her miserableness.
When I met her I could tell that her feelings toward me were a mix of hatred and love.
Because she wanted to feel an emptiness like mine. It was a hunt a consensually sad hunt.
And I wanted to feel all her emotions at once.

The simple yet complicatedly beautiful touch of hers made him feel as delicate as a feather.
Her fingertips would lightly graze against the curves in his arm, it was as if she could see edges in his muscles that he could not.
The movements were not sensual but more endearing and sad.
Her eyes sang songs and moaned melodies from enduring the pain she felt when being able to touch him for these moments knowing it would end.
Darling, my heart is drunk. Drunk off of you and she’s afraid of the hangover that intrigued as well.
The game of hers did not help with the way she wanted to sleep.
Being dangerous with her helped him figure out how he wanted to die.
He wanted everything and she did not want anything.
While she was going under he was pulling at her strings trying to get her to rise as high as he was.
They were birds floating across clouds and riding on their small gusts of air, but one of them was crying while the other one laughed.
His wings would slap her while he was trying to help her fly with him.
And he had no idea.
She enjoyed it either way.

sometimes the world
seems to have
a lens filter -
saturated greens and
   golds,
muted blues and reds and
the dust is kicked up
into the atmosphere
with little particles
sparkling in the dimming light
of day.

sometimes it's hard
to see so much beauty with
  your own eyes,

and not be able to feel it.

there is only a profound emptiness.

I am that fragrant thought, still alive,
as a seed,one of nature's wonder
that sprout in a season not expected,
in your mind in a blue moon night.
Though we loved and lost without
knowing reasons and sans any regret,
We still would be probing for errors,
in the book of accounts love never can keep.

You were left alone for long, yet moved
by love that caressed your heart
with such intensity only once, that
made possible many flights together
with moon beams as wings of fantasy.
But that was before the tsunami hit,
just a memory now,but would last long!

Now, here the magic happens again,
as musky fragrance hovered
in the west wind,stirring passions,
I can't understand the dynamics of this:
somehow a beam of light hit,
my being telling me about,
your plight in a flash and
our hearts melted together,beating
making shrink the distance between us!
We touched each other's heart,felt
love traveling at the  speed of light.
The world suddenly looks a place brighter,
What if we wouldn't meet even once, hereafter.

Deception is the art of media, church, and state. It should not be the foundation of how human beings veiw and treat each other. That we are seperate is a deciet. As humans we are all bound together, not in some magical web of destiney but as a human collective with a social responsability to make this world a place of peace love and understanding; instead of a world driven by self-interest, and fear.

The smoke fills my lungs and I am so close to escape. One freaking puff away from sleep, one puff away from peace and rest which has eluded me most of the day; so I inhale slowly filling my lungs with the specter of white smoke. A round of coughs escapes my mouth, but I struggle to hold that sweet cloud of mercy in.
I even make a game of it as I watch the clock. How long can I keep the smoke down? How good will the numbness feel as it creep from the tips of my toes to the pit of my pain? I cough again, and the smoke is expelled from my body with a tid bit of spittle: ******, only forty five seconds.
I repeat the process until my joint is gone; then grab a bite of the tastiest three day old grilled chicken I have ever known. While softly sipping a cup of water, I turn on my nature sounds slash instrumental CD, then crash into my bed. The springs creek in resistance as I shift and struggle to fold myself into my quilt like a tightly wrapped burrito, which sounds so tasty.
Lying on my bed, I feel myself breathing; the rise and fall of my chest coinciding with the rise and fall of the ocean tides. I move my head to the left to check the clock, and my body seams to echo, each movement becoming a shadow of the previous one. Closing my eyes, I let my imagination take me to sleep.
After a hard day’s work, this is the closest thing to relief I have. I lose my name. My sense of self evaporates. Then sleep overtakes me. Dreams of highways in space fill my head. There are no cars, only stars scattering across the infinite sky, with endless roads. Off ramps to nowhere litter the highway. Spiraling crystalline stairways being ****** into black holes are lighted from the raging inferno of stars. Glorious shades of purple, yellow, orange, red, and blue gasses dance in the distance.
The scene feels like an M.C. Escher painting. My body begins moves of its own volition. I am forced to walk this road; even so the sights are glorious. The neighbor’s dog barks startling me. Awakening from the dream, I rush to fill my journal with the wonders I had seen, only to find myself too tired to rise. My eyes are swollen shut. My calves are cramping in pain; my throat is dry and I am plagued by a cough that will not leave me alone.
After a minute of painful paralysis, I stumble to the bathroom, stub my toe on my fifteen pound weight and curse out loud, “what the **** is this weight doing in my ******* bathroom?”  Warm ***** explodes from my ***** for more than mere minutes, and my eyes begin to open. I splash water across my face, dry myself, and walk groggily back to bed to collapse into slumber once more.
In dreams, I try to recapture that wonderful road, but it eludes me. Life pales in comparison to the rapture of my dreams. Maybe tomorrow, I will get to see where that highway goes.