I have read many a word from a favorite of mine, Edgar Allan Poe.

Inspiration overwhelms me and his words I often keep in tow.

Macabre, a man that made his own paths, plodded through the quagmire.
A man that was a little off, outnumbered  and unafraid are traits that I admire.

Dark?
Sure, if you are as deep as a thimble full of h2o.

Dark?
I laugh....only as dark where the shadows of cowards grow.

Don't be afraid of those that dare to be different and walk alone.
Don't be afraid of their echoing, stand alone tone.

Poe and those like him are not shadows that cowards like you need to fear!

Poe and those like him are the only ones on this planet that live to keep things real.

So many nights lying awake in bed, in my home but I am not even there.

I am always someplace else by myself, away from life's realities.

Respecting the quiet moments and writing down the thoughts inside my head.

That's happiness,
that's contentness for me.

No need for millions of dollars.
No need for unnecessary status symbol cars.
No need for a mansion to lay my head and call home.

What would be greater is if I could be who I am.

All I want from life is peace and quiet.
Alone time.
I adore being alone.
It's the only time I can be me.

Just give me my mind and a writing instrument.
That's when I am always perfectly fine.

I'm a hard working, very simple unmaterialistic man that appreciates simple things like peace and quiet and alone time.

Give me those two things and you can keep everything else.
The only person that can make you happy is you.

I've known that my entire life.
So, I don't like when I ignore myself.

Tick tock tick tock tick tock and then guess what?

It's all over.

Either wantingly or unwillingly, it ends.

Now you see it, now you don't.

It's like whack a mole.
One day you pop up out of bed and the next you don't.

Every choice that you make in this life is like russian roulette.

Your next choice could be your last.

So at least, choose to be you whether others like you or not.
Afford others the opportunity to remember you for whom you really are, good or bad.

I do this with my writing.
If I acted it out?
I'm a multi century dormant volcano.
I'm a vigorously shaken soda so,
let's just not go there.


So now anyway, it's time to rise up out of bed and go out into this strange world filled with strange people and be filled with anxiety and unhappiness.
[And yeah, I know that you think that I am the strange one and that's okay]

It is time to go mingle with others that do not understand you,
and strangers that you do not trust, even a little.

And let me tell you, wearing a half assed grin is quite tiresome and exhausting around others.

But alas, I'll just go through the motions until I get back home where I can happily be me once again.

If I ran out
of ink?

I would write
my poetry
in my blood.

Cause,

I pull muses
through my
home's walls.

I pull muses
from a
quiet room,
the stale air.

I pull muses
through my
television screen,
from the lyrics
of song.

I pull muses
from everywhere
and
everything.

So,
I need ink.

Let's hope that
I never run out
of ink.

If time stood
still?

I would push it forward.

No need to be stuck here longer than intended.

Let the young live.

Let time move quickly and ****** us all like the homicidal maniac it is.

I don't ever want time to stop.

As I move slower, I want it to move faster.

I threw all of my broken watches and clocks away.

Ah yes, that sweet sound....

Tick tock