I am lost,
Only to be complete in my brokenness...
An imagination left to its fragments -
Almost methodically widdled down to dust,
My body left mindless,
My soul in shambles -
I am empty.

An uninhabited cup waiting to be filled,
A blank canvas needing paint -

Who am I to wander this world?
Who am I to love someone?
Who am I to exist?

feel lost.
I feel alone.
The feeling of complete brokenness.
I am empty,
Widdled down to dust.
My body is uninhabited.
My spirit is in millions of pieces.
I feel distant.

I wasn't always this way.
I once was filled with joy and laughter.
I once had hopes and dreams.
I once had a purpose.
It once was so easy.

Now its to difficult to bare.
I am now lifeless pieces lying on the floor.
Everyday is a tragedy.
I fall, I shatter.
Sorrow drips from my face like a water fall.
I am an empty shell.
Pain, regret, and despair is eating away at me from the inside out.

Then you find me.
You mend me together with gold.
I am now worth something.
My spirit is no longer in shambles.
I once again have a purpose.
I laugh and feel joy.
I contain hopes and dreams.
When I fall I don't shatter.
The brokenness I felt before is gone.
I am whole.

This golden fiddle sure does draw a lot of attention round here
I haven't had an empty beer glass since the day the Devil slunk outta Macon with his tail between his legs
Johnny the Devil Slayer they call me
You should hear them chant
It echos off the rafters of these hollow afternoon bars
They know my name because they know my fiddle
They don't know my face and they ain't never gonna remember it
I am the man who took their beloved golden fiddle from the hands of the Devil himself
They ask me to play the song that out played the Devil
Like God would come down from heaven and course that song back through my veins to impress four drunks on a Tuesday in Macon
They ask what the best that has ever been is doing at a bar on Tuesday morning
Like it wasn't my soul if it hadn't been this fiddle
Like it wouldn't've been their souls if it hadn't been this fiddle
They ask for Fire on the Mountain Run Boys Run like it wasn't a warning
Like I don't still have scars on my chest from the spark that jumped off the strings when he pulled his first note

I leave my winnings at home sometimes
Pay for my own beer
Listen to people tell stories about my fiddle
Say, "I'd love to see that fiddle"
Say, "If I could only touch it once"
Say, "I just want to hear it play"
Say, "I saw it once it was amazing"
I sit silently thinking to myself
How easy it is to worship the Devil's golden things
Often have I had the prideful impulse to stand and shout,
"I am Johnny you sons-of-*******
I am the best that has ever been
Memorize my face
Tell them my name
My name is Johnny
I am the man with the golden fingers who played my warped, cracked, widdled-down wooden fiddle 'til my bow was threads
My strings snapped and my fingers bled down the neck
Dyed my fiddle crimson that day
My fiddle, my fiddle brought down the Devil
This golden idol will remind you what his face looked like"
But that line of thought does not befit God's chosen instrument
They call me Johnny the Golden Fiddle
They call me Johnny the Devil Slayer
But that Devil ain't dead
He's in this here golden violin
And he smiles every time they stare
It's my crimson fiddle that shines the brightest when the days are dark

I thought I saw you
when I was out walking through
the street yesterday

But its been so long
I cant hardly remember
the look of your face.

It was a blessing,
but also quite frightening,
knowing you're not here.

Sometimes I wake up
in the middle of the night
drenched in my own tears

Then I remember
my brain is just tricking me
and it isn't real.

I wish it was,
because I miss the days of old
when they had appeal.

Walking on the clouds
with your toes in the sand
you wave down at us.

I dont see you, though
Eyes neglect to see your hand
and all you have touched.

Several years have passed
since I last saw what it means
to live with reason

And that reason was
to fight until the last dawn
of the spring season.

You widdled a square
you were unfairly given
into a circle.

Well, in other words,
you shaped the lives of many
who were out of shape.

So on this great day
Ill raise a tall golden glass
to the cloudy skies

Cause you never know
if you'll see the sun again
before your demise.

I thought I saw you
when I was out walking through
the streets yesterday.

But it wasn't you,
because seven years ago
is far from today.

Flames lick and flicker fueling the fire of a combustible iridescent soul until it explodes in formed phrases and stories told like fireworks. Wielding an unfathomable yearning for learning the true weight of words and how hot they burn for better or worse. Rehearsed and rehashed paragraphs, finely tuned non fiction, fabricated falsehoods, and forgotten lore are riddled and widdled down into one well written epic epitaph ment to inspire us to tightrope walk on live wires or fan the fires of our own burning funeral pyers for a chance that we may be understood through written word.

You are the epitome of a Broken, masterpiece
A Happy little accident, like a Robert Ross Tree

To procrastinate would just dehydrate their fate
Riddled and widdled to core instincts so innate

Like when reincarnated DNA lays a dinosaur egg

Like someone offering you a hand when you need a leg

Like a slap in the face when you wanted a hug

Like a crap in the place, but right on your rug

My point is you're rare, so much so ...so much I just don't know or care, because such blind luck should appropriately just not give a ****, or maybe give two...... and so the challenge lay at an absolute stalemate. Next time we shall both properly hydrate and then get in too mate and then hit the snooze and sleep in late...

She had been deep in slumber,
this little beast of mine.
Buried deep within where she would cause no trouble.
Curled within my hips just at the base of my spine.
I feel her unwind, my stomach begins to bubble.

I have been covering her over for so long now.
Afraid of who might see her.
But now I no longer know how.
Because all of my lines have begun to blur.

I know you may see an easy mark.
Something fun and light.
But all it would take is one little spark.
To catch her on fire and make your world bright.

She has been silent for so long.
Now her claws drag behind my silent lips.
She crouches haunches arched... she is so strong.
Right and wrong have become an eclipse.

It seems wrong to continue to deny her.
She is pleasure, she is pain, she is starving.
And it's your fault she now begins to stir.
Widdled away my resistance she is carving.

Life through the childs eye
Eye sees her truth
Heart contains the weak
Holding it up
Showering it with love
We fear to be alone
Feel the arms of embrace
Cloak the tears with sunlight
Dancing in the warmth
From widdled heart
to brightened soul
Life through the childs eye

I'm starting to wonder if anyone will ever find me.

Or will I keep getting widdled away by each person I come across?

A notch away from being absolutely nothing at all..

Sometimes I just need to write without a delete key
infest everyone's min d with the unedted versions of my soul
the cracks and brooses the widdled down soul of a man
denstined to be mistaken, destined to fall apart
an exhausted wretch the world never seems to want
but always seems to make a whole lor t of  
seeing tyhe red lines underneath gives my heart palpitations
my obsessive compulsive self crumbles
but I know it ia for the best, mistakes are apart of life
and they are are apart of myseldf in the best of ways
because i am a accumilation of mty mistakes
for wich there are plenty of and I regret none of
except mayvbe a few, but there is no delte button in the real world
nothing to hide the mistakes, to reconcile the scars
there is no delete button in the reality of life and there is nothing
Ican do about it, but love each mistake as  I love myself.