When my thoughts are too heavy,
My feelings - too numb,
When my heart is unsteady,
And the tears start to come,

I put on my running shoes.
Tonight I can't hide.
I pace myself, breathing,
Letting go with every stride.

The melody of my footsteps,
The rhythm of my breaths,
Have synchronized into nothing;
A calm stillness inside my head.

I'm light  as a feather.
I let myself fly.
The world is a blur, but tonight,
... I'm alive.

Do not eat
two full dill pickles
soaked in Franks Red Hot Sauce
with an eight and a half ounce bag
of Flaming Hot Cheetos
also dipped in hot sauce
without expecting repercussions

you always think
that the sun
is so much brighter
than you will ever be.
that your soft, sleepy smile
can't compare
to its gentle rays.
that it is everpresent
and stronger than you,
a blinding charm,
a stunning light.
have you forgotten that the
sun must always
fall before it rises?
don't you remember
the desert wastes
and scorching summers?
the mightiest of gods
are not
infallible.

the longer you hold on
the more it hurts to let go.

do you remember the car rides?
getting yelled at for being too loud,
and still laughing despite it.
we were young.

the accident made me so much older,
I think my hair started graying overnight.
you would've laughed at that.
if you could have.

you are going to be young forever,
because brother,
the date on your grave
stays the same.

hollow shells.
am I talking about
kids
or
bullets?

trust no one

helicopters give them panic attacks.
am I talking about
kids
or
war veterans?

is there a difference these days?

this blood spatter on the walls
will keep getting painted over
anyway.

when we speak of courage,
we talk of those long dead.
the heroes
the martyrs
the saints.

but I've seen courage.
it's in the fight.
it's in the picket signs at marches
held up like pleas to the heavens.

it's in the kids who threw themselves in front of a gun
and lived.
dying bravely means
going
down
fighting.

fight until your lungs give out.
fight until your knuckles are ******.
fight until your knees are trembling.
and then,
keep fighting.

i feel like i am going to throw up.
***** anxiety
through the holes
moths made in my stomach.
we are going to die.
you can either
ignore it
or fear the day it happens.
no matter what,
it keeps coming.
death is an ocean
death is a desert
death is a city you can't
get
out
of.
death is lack of change.
maybe if i try
running around
like a chicken
post-guillotine
ill be able to avoid it.
or at the least
stop thinking about it
or anything really
for a while.

but
probably not.

Shall I return to poems scribed of old?
That once with each a turn and covered page,
bereft a seeping fume that laden bold
and from that glyphic smudge - her cursive stage.

For still upon the tips of ink parades
the lissom bride beheld with gentled hand,
and prose's vigil neath the dust pervades;
that either I immerse within, or strand.

Though lyric embers flare her ardent kiss,
embedded texts peruse a lover's loss,
then should the torment forge my own abyss
the depths shall shadow me amongst the moss.

At least in chasms; beloved reels inside
so dwell shall I - where love has not yet died.