Unprovided -- the pleasure of pleasing
is, after all, a painting that resolves
the irritating swings of a taxed evolution.

It seems that energetic trainees
of the future keep firm invitations
on the list of approved measures.

Yet living is not a guesstimate, reality
is attached by humor to the document
that simply reads "I'm not sure."

Imagine civilization as eight-years-old.
By want, business drains, not one laugh,
but the replacement of being one's own.

Shaped, the body is wary of the
counselor and satisfied by the character
of a farmer and time away from scorn.

Hang a map of sensibility in the kitchen,
where bare eyes can respond -- tokens of
action are the door prize for motivation.

The lessons not yet learned are musical.

Hi there, friend
This is my current guesstimate on your behaviour
You have probably forgotten me
and gone on a vacation with your reindeer.
No? That isn't the case?
Let's just say you follow the path of douchebagism.
While I laugh when you fail.

Such a wayward young man
claims to be Green Day's biggest fan.
Your ego needs to thaw
Idiot, I hope you know others too have flaws.
Remember none will have your back when you fall
Traitor.

A glistening, shimmering, cardinal room flushed with  light.
Bright, white, pale, ghostly light that reveals those I conjecture to be the sick.
A pounding, loud rhythm lulls any intellect I still grip.
A fierce, shallow, pained pulse shakes my blue streaks.
All words escape me.
Yet all emotions haunt me.
The sickness draws near, weilding to be a blurry brass.
It feels me, touches me, handles me.
Hurts me.
A once well-kept health now littered with purple smudges.
The violet raindrops on my skin slowly dissolve to a sickly yellow.
Bones inside my complex anatomy quiver, tremble, threaten to crumble.
Yet, it's all over in slight second.
The crimson, glowing, glittering, sentient walls seem to cave in.
The next level, the next trial.
Blurred brass now replaced with a stick with no stains.
By now, I have no guesstimate as to why the fight in me faded.
Sccrrraape.
A gentle scrape, blade, cutting,cold edge slices me like paper.
Though my own rust spills, I feel more alive than ever.
My personal pulse and hesitant headache fade to null.
Hot, burning flames lap at my body.
I would never have imagined a sickness so horrifyingly painful.
A simple warning would never have stopped my doom.
Rip, tear, slash.
Guts held within my willing bowl now pour like Seppuku.
Maybe my own subconscious knew that it was more than I could connect too.
What am I now but a corpse?
Carved wood, turning death into a spectacular sight.
Roadkill, squashed within confines of a simple vermilion hold.
Bed head, Split head, and a  coma that came to soon.
A drugged animal, put down for instinctive behavior.
A gift switched around, like a fetus left dead in the womb.

This is a red room

10 years, 17 days, 5 hours, 29 minutes and 48 seconds.
But who's counting?
I mean isn't that a super cheesy thing to do?
To count how long it's been since I realized
That I was over heads and heels
In love with you.
I guess I'm a cheeseball. shrug

38.2 times an hour.
Sure it's just a guesstimate,  
But I don't think I could actually count
The number of times I think of you.
So I should really just say "infinity".

7 out of 10 "Thank you's"
I say a day is to you and for you.
To you: you saved my life that day.
To you: you save my life every day.
For you: you are so...AMAZING.
For you: you're the best man I know.

26 years of struggling with the human life.
20 years of a broken, beaten body and soul.
But...
6 hours of willing suffering.
3 days of death.
Then...
1 "yes."

To the Man who knows my heart
Better even than i do myself,
To the Man who loves to bind my wounds
When i can't bear to look at them,
To the Man who makes me laugh
When i least expect to even smile,
To the Man whose broad shoulders
Have been the hanky for my many tears,
To the Man who loved me
Before i ever knew He existed,
To Him I say,
Yes.

I would guesstimate
At least half of
All sunburns
Are totally worth it