If you are a suicide survivor
Inbox me your name
And I’ll add it to my tattoos of others

You guys mean the world to me
And I have my own name on my arm
Because I too, am a suicide survivor.

There was a man
Walking down a busy street
And all the people he saw
Held a tiny star in their hands
Shining so brightly
They make up constellations
As they cross paths with each other
It made him think the sky
Has fallen into this city

He though it was great
Because happiness was evident in their faces
As they stare into their stars
Lost in their thoughts

But why does it feel wrong?
He asked himself
As he looked up to the sky
And saw the true stars he longed for
Observing him from miles away
In another galaxy, another world
Only then he realized
That these people miss out the true beauty
This place has to offer

sunrise is lazy this morning
as our awakening coincides with shivers
running up and down cool spines
on crusty concrete floors

sheets and sweating water cups,
that's what we ride for
past waterfronts and freeways,
fast as we can with sleep in our eyes

paisley prints surround us
as i lay and recount our night

flashes of flash lights reveal
strange structures inside of silos,
climb on, climb on,
exploring exploitation of the norm,
art in ways art hasn't yet dreamed

wild animal sounds bounce and billow
around in old grain homes,
while hands keep beats and hearts
are pedaled in shadow onto walls

fire breathing pipes belch into the
calm, black night and attempts to
climb towers are squandered by
men holding flashlights and power

so we fade into the nothingness and find
other metal mountains to explore,
garage doors open up to windmills
and i find myself with knees as
****** and black as the night before us

still, the animals cry out, but this time
it's low and between rushed breaths
that betray a sense of ecstasy only felt
when it sneaks up from behind