A Dead Man's Designer Suit

I would look great in a dead man's designer suit
It would fit me in all the right places and I'd make it good as new
The inseam would fall perfectly, the pants would need no cuffing
My chest would fill it out without a doubt

I would look great in a dead man's designer suit
But it would wear me just as well
Tight around my neck and wrists, but still just right
My bet is that it would wear me out

When I'm gone I don't want to have to worry about what I'm wearing
But I want to look great for a dead man
When I die I want to be buried in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt
So no one can steal my designer suit

Above All Else

A lapse of judgment I'd call it
Cause you can't take everything you read seriously
It's not like you don't overpopulate my dreams
I'm still human above all else

I've climbed a mountain to get to you
It was cold and lonely and each time I made it to the summit
You went and added a few more thousand feet to my assent
I did it with a smile on above all else

Test after test I whistled through them
Each mess I created I sifted through them
A virus inside me is all I have left of you
I go sleepless and hungry without complaint above all else

As I lace up my boots to begin my climb
I grab a picture of you to keep in mind
Why I'm patient this entire time
I can't stop until you're mine above all else

Less Than 3 Months To Go

Love through a wire is on display for all to see
It's a rock climb through states
While we're fully relying on satellites
Throwing all our faith into a keyboard

I beg the operator to hear me calling
Push all the right buttons
Cross all the right cables
Cause through the wire I'm falling
Without the bells and whistles
We do our best to listen

I'm holding you to all the plans we've been making
I'm hoping it's a good sign when your legs are shaking
Cause it's a good sign when you're next to me while I'm waking

A Constant Knocking

You’re making this easy for me, erasing yourself I mean
My memory is terrible as is without being reminded to forget
Inside my brain there is a stockpile of doors,
Lined up neatly because I wouldn’t have it any other way

Most are closed
Some get blown open by the wind that sneaks in through my ears
A couple of them have a window in them
There's also a row that I've never even opened

Most are locked
Some squeak so much that I have to jam them shut and board them up
A few won't open even if I tried
There are some that slam in my face as soon as they open

If you could walk down the corridors of my brain you would understand
You would see each door has a name carved into it, so delicately
And some that you would swear a monster was hiding behind,
Ready to tear you apart as soon as you touch the doorknob

But there's also a select few that that have managed to get their hands on a doorstop
These doors remain open, never locked
Knocking back and forth against the walls of my heads

All I'm asking you to do, as you scan the halls,
With knife in hand, is please,
Please pick the right door

Ladybug

I want you to know something
or some things,
I want you to know that I'll see you again
I do anyway, just not in reality
As I cocoon myself in blankets I feel something next to me
I've always hated having my face covered
but out of fear that it isn't you outside my fabric cave
I remain underneath

The thought of running out of air while inside always crosses my mind
So I cheat a little and allow for a small hole to let in the cold air
A tiny space between my blanket and the sheets,
too small for anything to peak but big enough for a ladybug to squeeze,
to keep me company whenever she pleased

But the truth of the matter is that it's winter
and there are 6 inches of snow on the ground
And I haven't seen an insect in months
I'm really beginning to miss the spring,
among other things

Roulette By Night

I call it roulette by night,
Let me explain..
Every now and again,
Unknowingly,
You slip into my dreams
You come and go,
just as you please,
And although they are becoming few and far between
I'd appreciate it if you'd leave it to the sheep

The Boy With A Camera In His Eye

When he looks at her he sees her in at least 3x5, 12 megapixel, perfect lighting
It's not his fault tho
He's just programmed that way

He tries a bit harder, which is obvious, and his intentions are opposite of mine
It's not his fault tho
He's just programmed that way


The boy with a camera in his eye is pointing his shot directly at the apple in mine
Even as neutrals tho, my blood will boil each time I hear a click or see a flash go off


When I look at her I see her as warmth, guiding me, but without artificial light
I do not need a blinding glare to find her in the dark
I use her glow instead

I've faulted and faulted again, which is obvious, but my intentions have remained
It was never about just her or just I
We've just been programmed this way


The boy with a camera in his eye is pointing his shot directly at the apple in mine
Even as neutrals tho, my blood will boil each time I hear a click or see a flash go off

The boy with a camera in his eye is only doing what he loves
However, so am I

A Bad Morning

I had a brief conversation with my stomach this morning.

In between the painful grumbles and growls,
it mentioned a few things about changing a few things.
You know, for the better of both of us.

We didn't know it but we had a lot more in common than we had ever realized before.
We both felt empty a good portion of the time,
nausea brought us to our knees,
and neither of us were any good at untying knots or bug catching.

I listened as I laid in bed
and as I tried to understand what it meant,
I got lost in the volume of my own head.

I need to start eating better I guess.

Tearing Up

I had this dream where you and I tore each other apart
I had found a loose thread hanging from your seams, and persisted to fuss with it until you came all undone
I was gentle but did not understand what I was doing and I became tangled in each strand that fell
You searched for a way to start a small rip somewhere, along my torso maybe
I saw you ask yourself where the best place to start would be
We took turns clawing at each other, picking at pieces we thought would sting most
We made sure our eyes were the last to go, so we could watch each other work
When we were almost down to nothing, I looked at you and tried to spell out "I'm sorry" with blinks and winks
You began to tear up, and your eyes looked angry but so sad
I'm sure things could have been different

I remember that we couldn't finish what we intended to do
I remember that we couldn't leave ourselves in a pile next to each other
I remember trying to patch myself back together
I'm sure I was missing pieces, but as long as I could gather you up and mend you together, I knew that you could fill the pieces I was missing

The next night I had another dream, where you and I told each other everything
We stayed up all night talking about your favorite color and my favorite band,
how you wanted to change the country and about things that I can't stand

I remember laying on my bed with your legs around my waist
I remember pretending I was dead so you would have to hold my weight
I remember your hands on my torso and the look that was on your face

Butterfly Belly

I stuck a net down my throat to catch all the butterflies
bouncing off the walls of my stomach

I put them in a jar and wrote your name on it
The jar sits on my top shelf for everyone to see

Sometimes a few escape and quickly make their way down my windpipe, back into my belly
They multiply once they're inside and I go get my net again
The jar is getting crowded recently but I don't think they mind
I heard butterflies like staying together anyway

If I were one I would fly next to you and try to keep up
and I would hope that the butterfly version of you would stop her wings
just so we can fly in sync

There's now a second jar that sits on my top shelf
This one is smaller but it fits two comfortably
I took a permanent marker and wrote our names on it
One right next to the other

Just a Stain

He is a paper cut, and an annoyance to her
and he sits gently on the webbing between her fingers.

She has a picking problem too,
especially when it comes to her hands.

He recites quotes from movies like Good Will Hunting and American Beauty,
but he screws them up on purpose so they seem like his own.

She steals lines from her friends when they least suspect it
and turns them into beautiful poems.

Together though, they have this dance that they trip through
that only feels elegant to them.

Everyone else dances around them in sync. No one ever looks directly at them
because they both have too much clout in this redundant town.

She thinks she's leading but then he drags her hand through a pile of salt.
She will dance with others yet he is the only one that still steals.
She has had deeper wounds yet he is the only one that won't heal.

It's beginning to rot now,
and nobody likes the smell either.

I stand at a safe distance
and watch the lesion that he is grow in size.

Pieces of flesh are left where ever they sit,
as they discuss the world and how they'll change it.

He scabs up and she picks at it
leaving the room a mess.
I tell everyone to ignore them
simply because we all know
it's just a pissing contest.

Cold Wet Bones

You are not here... in the future I mean.
You're not here now and you won't be here then.
You were around in the past but barely at times.
I was around at all times.
You don't look very brave when I talk to you.
You think bravery comes from standing against the horizon
while the waves are speeding towards you.
You, with your arms out and your head hanging low, knee deep in the saltwater.
You never looked like someone to crucify but we're the only ones here most of the time.
My arms don't hang as nicely as yours either.
My head doesn't weigh down on my chest.
You don't look very brave when I see you.
You think bravery is screaming angry words at the snow covered mountains
instigating an avalanche.
I think bravery is standing next to you, who is quicker than the waves and colder than the snow.

Silly Blunders

She sat sitting indian style with her chin resting in her hands. You could tell how involved she was in the crossword puzzle she tore out of the morning newspaper.

It was the only reason she ever bought a newspaper.

I pretended to get dressed, read email, change the light bulb that's been out for a few months now, but I was only wasting time to keep looking at her. I thought she had caught me at one point, and I'm not saying that I wasn't allowed to look at her...I just didn't want her to know how involved I was in her so soon.

"6 down, Consider an imaginary animal? Three words, letters are 4,2,4. Any ideas?"

I didn't understand the question but only because I was caught off guard.

She said it again, verbatim, "Crossword puzzle, Chris. 6 down, Consider an imaginary animal? Three words, letters are 4,2,4," but this time she said it with comedic impatience.

I asked, "Oh, well...do we have any letters helping us out?"

She motioned for me to come sit next to her on the hardwood floor. We meant to carpet it but we just never really got around to it.

She pointed to the puzzle to show me the letters, "I have a B, an R, and a D."

B _ _ R
_ _
_ _ _ D

The missing letters kind of seemed to fill themselves in for me.

"Consider an imaginary animal. Bear..in..mind. Bear in mind."

I'm not really sure why but it wasn't very hard for me to figure out the clue. I just assumed it was a lucky guess.

She held in a smile and wrote in the letters as she moved onto the next one, asking me for more help,"Ok, next one, Ones who never think of flying? One word, 10 letters, no letters filled in yet"

"Autopilot! I mean..autopilot." I couldn't control my excitement at another correct answer.

She looked at me again, suspiciously but content. She asked me if I did this puzzle before. I told her the truth and said, "No, I just think you and I are like a right hand and a left hand, ya know? One washes the other."

This time the look she shot me was the kind that agreed with me.

"See? That is why we keep each other around... to fill in the blanks," she followed.

I laughed and smiled but all I could think about was the time I spelt her name wrong minutes before she said goodnight.

The Downside of Never Losing Your Mind

The feeling is indescribable but I'll do my best to convey it here.
Once the thought enters the brain it's like a steamroller going 60 mph, destroying every other thought in it's way.
First, as soon as no other thinking can take place, it settles into the nerves inside my head but without regard.
Loud, obnoxious, and fairly difficult to get rid of, it is one of few thoughts that can send a man to his knees in pain.
Sometimes it creeps up disguised as nausea, other times there is no question as to what's happening.
A type of hurt accompanied by heat and anger and rage- rage that fills me from head to toe.
I can almost picture it, feel it, as it spreads through my veins. I would assume it is much like when a few drops of food coloring are dropped into a still pool of water. It’s a slow spread that brings on a rapid heartbeat.
It's the feeling that you lost but without grace. No friendly handshake, no better luck next time, no respect.
It reminds me that I was stolen from but also that it was my own fault.
It makes me wish bad things on a select few people I've never met, never seen, and on a few that I know all too well.
It's like a front row seat to watch someone you love get curb stomped.
The abilities of this one thought have shrunk my waistline more than a few times.
I'm sure that I am not alone in this feeling though. At least I know for sure the unlucky of my friends have had the same thought creep into their brains.
I've seen it take over their minds, I've seen it turn the mellow into the manic, I've seen it create vices. Some spend time in the hospital, but those are the weak. I find it's best to grin and bear it, clench your teeth, and remind yourself that you don't spend your nights alone either.
Do not try to outsmart it though. Do not try to pull a fast one on your own brain.
It creates a slippery slope once you delve into it with your fists full mast. You will regret voluntarily keeping your mind on it for any longer than needed. It can hit you at any moment but when it does take yourself out of the situation and just try not to vomit. Let it run its course, but be weary that it will return. It comes and goes as random as the weather. I assume it will still be one of my last thoughts when my bones are brittle and I am gray.
It is the downside of never losing your mind.

Alarming Me

I somehow slipped through the cracks in the floorboards
Through a small hole in the fence
And this feeling I get is alarming me

I can't keep living with my back against the wall
It makes me feel like I've haven't got a back at all
And this feeling I get is alarming me

Reminded by someone who reminds me
Of a younger me, carefree, without the subtlety
And this feeling I get is alarming me

I can't quite make out what I've been trying to say
If it were up to me the smile on my face
Would never be taken away
I hope you would understand

I've got a healthy home life I've been trying to save
Selfishly, but my heart's in the right place
But it still makes its mistakes
I hope you would understand

Tucked away in my pocket is a list of things
But I just don't have confidence in these wax wings
And this feeling I get is alarming me

Shutting my eyes to feel some of the things I cannot see
With all of my strength, it takes me
And this feeling I get is alarming me

Like a little boy I'll look through every hole in the fence
And I'll be curious until my days are through
And this feeling I get is alarming me

I'd like to tell you a thing or two about beauty and life
About the finer things I find
If you could just forget the real, just find some time
I hope you would understand

Underneath the floorboards I was taught how to smile
What it's actually like to be high
And where to go when you need to feel alive
I hope you would understand

Fire Eating Man

There is a match being held inside my chest, right below my breast bone.
Every bite and sip is like gasoline running down my throat.
Dehydrated and a bit delirious I've been laying in bed with my imaginary friends.
An inconsistent fever peaks at 101 to remind me that I'm burning alive from the inside.
Spontaneous combustion was a suggested reasoning but the burn is too slow to be considered impulsive.
No amount of water relieves the pain, especially when it's being pumped through my veins.
I screamed at the doctor today, "Call the fire department, send help! I'm spilling my guts and they're covered in blisters! What is it that you don't get?!"
You can see the glow illuminating behind my skin from the outside.
I haven't been coughing so the match is still lit and I won't stop my mouth from screaming until there is smoke pouring from it.

Just Know I've Been Underwater

I sat there, underwater. With all the time I once gave up weighing down in every direction, I lifted my hands from my lap using every bit of my strength. They moved slowly from the pressure surrounding them, from my lap to my face. I went to dry the sweat from my forehead but it was only by habit.

So I sat there, underwater, with all the time in the world passing me by in a few short, desperate gasps of airs. I couldn't see more than five feet ahead of me but I managed to take hold of the few blurred rays of sunlight slicing through the salted water. These few slivers gave me a few days of life, if I could use them sparingly. My grip was stronger than ever before, my fingertips scored and they held on tight.

As the sun retreated, taking it's arms of light with it, it lifted me slowly from my watery rocking chair. Each hour that crept by brought me just that much closer to the air above me, but the nearer I rose to surface the darker it became. The once secure rays of light, that at the time felt like the worlds strongest hands, began to loosen their grip on me. If I could feel my sweat, this would be the moment that it would become alarming to me, but I wasn't letting go no matter how dark and unsettling the situation grew.

I wrapped the fading rays of light around my wrists to take a better hold. They were the only light left. The stars didn't show, no lighthouse was in sight, these beams were saving my life without either of us realizing it. Time wasn't on our side and my lungs were starting to feel it. I felt lightheaded, delirious, and I'm sure I slipped in and out of consciousness a few times. I shut my eyes for what seemed like a few seconds, to try to regain a sense of reality, but I forgot to open them for hours.

I woke up to the sounds of birds but like as if I was having a nightmare, gasping for air, and sun burnt. The sand I felt on my knees was a sensation that I had not felt in so long that it almost hurt to touch. I looked at my hands, the same hands that took hold of the sun. They looked like they had belonged to a hundred year old man at this point. My skin felt heavier and weighed down on my bones more than I remembered but I was surrounded by air for the first time in a long time. I began to shiver but it made me smile. I took a breath, I was alive but the water made it abundantly clear that it had left its mark.

With You and You Alone

I rather spend my time with you
Than discover a new color
I rather spend my time with you
Than leave for a part time lover
I rather spend my time with you
Inside my chilly home
I rather spend my time with you
With you and you alone

I rather spend my time with you
Than find some buried treasure
I rather spend my time with you
Than fly like a feather
I rather spend my time with you
I hope I've made that known
I rather spend my time with you
With you and you alone

I rather spend my time with you
Grow old, big, and fat
I rather spend my time with you
If you could deal with that
I rather spend my time with you
To build a home of our own
I rather spend my time with you
With you and you alone

Now if I spend my time with you
Would you spend yours with me?
We'll throw our caution to the wind
and drift away at sea.
Please let me spend my time with you
We'll help each other grow
We'll spend our dying days together
Just you and I alone

L.F.S.N.

Walk a few stone throws away from where I rest my head half of the time and you'll find yourself standing in front of the tallest woman I know. I speak figuratively obviously but you would completely understand if you knew what I knew. A delicate frame built of steel, and smoke, and one that's reinforced at the shoulders. The weight I complain of on a daily basis could be tossed a mile high by her and she'd let it fall to pieces just to show the onlookers how untroubled it would make her. It would rest on her back in a neat pile, separated by index cards to keep track of how much weight is actually hers and how much belongs to everyone else. So far she has provided me the path to a love, a lesson in standing up straight, and hours of honesty that I would have otherwise lied about. Find her, talk with her, learn something.

Increase Your Intake, Decrease Mine

Keep your arms at a distance that allows only your fingertips to brush my face.
Bat your eyelashes on my cheek, act like a flytrap and make me feel their teeth.
Take tiny pieces of me to leave everywhere you go.
Insist that I still look great regardless of my plummeting weight.
Lose my voice for me so I can't scream and make it known for all to see.
Keep those goddamn hands away from me.

Stay On My ship, Burn With My Belongings

As it lowered into the water, miles away, I wonder if the sensation of heat that suddenly swept over me could be from the flame's warmth reaching shore. And at that moment, that is when I began to worry the most. There just wasn't a possibility that the blanket being draped around my shoulders was from the fire so far away. The wreckage floated every which way as the ashes trailed behind just before they fell into the sea. It seemed to burn for hours before completely disappearing from my view. I watched from the sand as it moved in any direction the wind chose, wondering if the continuous breeze would put out the flames in a just-in-time type moment, but the gusts only kept the wreck moving and never made an attempt to put an end to the burning. Just-in-time passed but I was relieved that the horizon ate the fireball before I could witness the moment of sinking that eventually would occur. As the realization that the warmth I had felt earlier was more than just a warm front sweeping in, I felt myself let out a sigh. It was a change of heart that came unexpected and now I'm stuck and left reflecting on things I thought to be so romantic but romance it just turned erratic.

When I Grow Up

I am not the smartest man alive. I've never claimed to be anything of the sort. The majority of the time I rather know less than I already do. As time has taken aim and taken hold of our ankles I've become jaded, lost a few passions and countless friends, and the amount of smiling on my part has greatly decreased. I've never stood alone on that fact though. We've all forgotten about how important the lines around our mouths are. They never stood a chance against death and taxes though, and when you have someone like Ben Franklin reiterating the fact it's not hard to lose sight of the moments that leave imprints on our faces. When and if I marry it will be to someone who is in direct competition with me to collect more laugh lines, and more crows feet than I can. When we were kids we were told to eat an apple a day, get plenty of rest, and exercise. But now, the apple's looking a bit rotten and I'm sure some of them have been poisoned. The amount of rest I get never seems to be enough and I can't help thinking it's because of the constant angel I sit on caused by the bulge in my back pocket. And exercising has been dumbed down to filling out forms and sipping on our favorite drinks. I'm proposing an idea though in regards to exercise. Instead of racing each other to the finish line, let's race each other to laugh lines. I've stopped caring about how full my head is or how fat my wallet is, just fill my face with wrinkles because I can't hide from Uncle Sam and the Reaper is hardly grim to me.

Poison and Water

I am composed up of a nasty mixture of poison and water.
The sip you take to quench yourself will be the same sip used to slaughter.
It drains out from every pore on my skin.
It floods from my eyes, my mouth and my grin.
The combination of the two has covered me in a rash with a silent itch.
Once I lost my footing my mind followed and it's been that way since.
I cannot control when it is one or the other,
or when it's both of the two working together.
The combination of the two has covered me in a rash only I can see.
But I am unaware of how long it will take to finally kill me.

Canvas Conditioning

Attached strategically to the canvas that covered her bag was where I ended up. I hadn't shined so bright for quite some time, until I had that canvas backdrop as direct support. I stood out in a box full of dull pointed earrings and mismatched buttons from centuries we could only read about. Laying buried underneath fake silvers and fools gold, I did all I could and made myself visible. Just enough to tap on her curiosity and enough for her to rummage through the old mess and tangles of garbage, just enough to spot me. So now I'm beginning to settle into this new spot I seem to be pinned to. So now I travel with her but only when it matches her ensemble. Things haven't been much better so I look on the bright side of things. At least I'm around and sometimes I can catch a glimpse of sunlight to see what's been going on lately. Sometimes I find myself wondering what it would be like to be attached to maybe a mailbag, or a backpack of some nature type enthusiast, or even on the collar of some spoiled girl's shirt. The places I think of when I pretend I'm not pinned to this canvas are lovely visions of fun and new sights and smells, but... I never really was much of a traveler, and I've never been too into the great outdoors for extended periods of time, and come to think of it I would never know how to stand out to someone who could have anything. Everyone, every once in a while, will glimpse over to the other side just to see how much greener things might be. But a quick glance is enough for me, my side's been green, dark green, light green, brown-green, florescent on occasion. At least it's consistent green, it's just in a different light than most understand yet. I'm happy with the canvas against my back now though. It's far beyond patience, or naivety, it's passed ignorance and bliss. It just is what it is. I figure, I've still got potential to become a part of the everyday ensemble, where I could be pinned to any bag she decided upon. Either way, she rarely loses things so I consider the canvas is exactly where she meant to put me for the time being.

Self-Inflicted and Shipwrecked By Science

I thought about all my belongings I must have left on board and how unsure I was now sitting and watching from shore. It was a miscue on my part and I now wait in hopes that the ship I left to sink will be blown back towards me. I sang my sorrows, mixed 'em up with some hope for tomorrow, the same hope that I begged to borrow. I sang and sat and watched.

Bigger eyes than mine with a nicer smile. The ship I came on I set on fire.
Bigger eyes, with a nicer smile. The ship I abandoned sinks on fire.
Bigger eyes than mine with a nicer smile.

It sounds far less charming when the melody is exiting my mouth though. It only goes to show that I'm far less aware of the truth behind Newton's third law.

No wonder why every time I tried to get higher I would only go down and every time I thought I was moving forward when I was only stepping backwards. Physics seems be the one thing that could turn this around.

Bigger eyes than mine with a nicer smile. The ship I came on I set on fire.
Bigger eyes, with a nicer smile. The ship I abandoned sinks on fire.
Bigger eyes than mine with a nicer smile.

I hit the books with that song in my head and began looking for an answer as to why physics could not explain the sensation of flying I am constantly feeling that only increases when you are around.

I am an object in motion and accordingly I am to stay in motion at the same speed and in the same direction unless I am forcefully acted upon by an unbalanced energy.

It is hard to explain the eagerness to change direction when everything looks great at a constant speed that never seems to skip a beat. Along with that, in order to justify the patience it takes just to put my feet back on the ground is not worth the argument if I can't argue against science.

Bigger eyes than mine with a nicer smile. The ship I came on I set on fire.
Bigger eyes, with a nicer smile. The ship I abandoned sinks on fire.
Bigger eyes than mine with a nicer smile.

Wide Awake With the Enemy

The sandman is a woman and she's got a crush on me. I plan on taking advantage of that in every way I can think of. She told me how lonely things get at night, while everyone waits for her peaceful touch. She asked me to call her Cassandra but I won't call her anything and it seems to bother her. We met some time ago by coincidence she says, but I can't remember how it happened. We spend hours in the dark together only because too much time spent alone can bring out the weird in people. Neither of us are very weird in comparison to our friends though. She came by the other night to grab a bite to eat. I didn't have much so I offered to take her out but we never leave my room. We've mastered two-player solitaire.

The Cannibal Above

A few nights ago, while everyone else in my life was lost in a dream or fully taken over by rapid eyes, I listened to the sounds of a sky in doubt. I'd lost sleep before but hardly ever because of anything outside my windows. Usually it was everything inside that kept me awake. The doubt crept in any time silence seemed to take me over onto the other side. It came as waterlogged tapping, some in time, most came randomly though, taking jabs at my windowpane. A strong breeze in disarray swept through my bedroom and left just as violently, throwing and scattering everything worse than ever. It threw my shades against the molding of their windows but there was never anything for me to catch to hold onto. The blue filter didn't even bother to come around yet to wake the birds and the birds, they normally acted as a distraction to everything else going on. They cut ties with me after a few mornings when I clogged my ears with cotton. I think it's selfish of them to be completely honest. Most of all though I think it was selfish of me to stay awake long enough to eavesdrop on a sky in it's most private of moments. It was the night I heard the sky begin to eat itself alive.

Beneficial Weeds

Sprinting side by side at full speed, I kicked up every dying dandelion I could see, as our sandals began to cut and blister our feet. Allergies were attacking us at all sides. Now along with the high, comes puffy eyes and sneezing fits. We paid no mind, and just basked in our time. Breathing patterns in sync, only off in times when one of our smoker's lungs kicked in and we voluntarily were forced to give in. Each flower we collide with guarantees next season to bring genetically identical, if not worse, allergies but it also gives each of us a chance to make a quick bunch of wishes in a short span of time. Sprinting side by side at full speed isn't always easy breezy. It feels like a time machine during moments of fatigue. At times when you can't feel your feet or during steps where we forgot how to speak, the time machine begins just in time to relieve. It takes us separately - reminds us what all the running is for. Sometimes we go back in time to help us remember where we've been going. Other times we're given a chance to stop in on the future, to rest, to dream, and to think of the next patch of weeds we'll run through.

To Start a Snowball Fight

Please stop.
Please.
I can tell when a person is lying 9 times out of 10.
So, I'm giving you the chance to gather your thoughts and start over.
Stop before you strangle yourself with your own words.
As your tongue weighs you down, I stop listening almost altogether.
I pretend that I'm watching you fumble, trying to carry the excess slab of flesh that hangs down your chin.
It collects dirt and gravel as it rests on the floor, as it drags behind you, as it leaves a trail of saliva-like-debris that mirrors a slugs.
The residue shines as I look at it. It's shiny, rainbow tint keeps me amused enough to keep listening though.
I'll make an attempt to change the subject in a few seconds to give you another shot at leaving this conversation behind us. You won't take it.
A combination of my ADD and the various other conversations going on around us are in your favor.
No one gives credit for multitasking anymore. I can walk and chew gum, but I can't expect an award for it.
You say something about a friend of yours, or a friend of a friend of yours, or maybe about something you heard an expert say. I'm an expert sometimes, do I ever get quoted mid-chitchat?
You mention that you can't decide if you agree or not with what you're even saying, so I better give you a reason to keep talking because I still have a little time to kill and you're pretty.
"Really? That's insane. What else happened?"
My foot is falling asleep, the guy behind you shouldn't talk to his son that way, I have to try to remember to get the results from my blood work back, and I have no idea what you're talking about at this point.
Pins and needles start at my foot, make their way up my leg, through my chest, and settle into my brain.
Pins and needles fit the mood perfectly. They aren't life changing but what an annoyance they can be.
The original lie has now snowballed and it's picking up speed as it rolls down your exaggerated tongue.
I feel like I should get out of the way before the on coming collection of bullshit barrels over me.
Here comes your last chance to redeem yourself so we can start over.
I'll look away for a few seconds to let you know I'm losing interest, only to come back to ask what your name is.
"Crazy stuff. I'm sorry, what was your name again? I'm terrible with this stuff."
Your name is irrelevant and I remember it just fine.
You tell me your name and follow with, "I'm so rude! Here I am talking about me and I don't even know your name or where you're from or anything!"
I smile, pretend to laugh, and tell you, "Oh it's OK, I enjoy listening and learning. My name is Jack, I live in Jersey but grew up in California."
My name is Chris, I've never stepped foot in California, and the truth will never matter to either of us, simply because it's more fun and easier to keep playing along.
You look at me while smiling and say, "Why, hello Jack, it is nice to meet you."
As you think of what to say next, you keep giggling and looking into my eyes. It makes me feel uncomfortable but it's OK because I'm impressed by your own multitasking skills.
I say something about my time in California and relate it back to our conversation, the snowball fight begins.

And a Heart like Pagliacci

The grinding teeth
And lack of sleep
Bring nothing but anxiety

Sandman, I plead
I'm on my knees
Fill my eyes with sand and dreams

Now, if I may,
I won't disobey
But if you leave and I'm not asleep
There will be hell to pay

Follow through
I'm warning you
Show your face at the same place
You left me some months ago

Merman

I look better on paper. I just wanted to let you know before you keep reading.
I'm much taller in person too. Not like I used to be but I can't stop shrinking.
There was a time that I would walk into a room and take a panoramic look over everyones head.
I was taller and stood up straighter. Circulation was better when I displayed good posture.
It helped out with the monopoly my heart had on the blood in my body but mutiny took place and now there are strict regulations regarding blood flow. My brain missed the meeting and my heart just doesn't get enough to pump the way it used to anymore.
My conscious was most likely keeping it busy from noticing what was actually going on.
For a while, in my life, I would never be a room for more than few minutes without locating where and how far every exit was from me at all times.
My secrets had a life of their own. They lived a more lavish life than I did and I began to grow envious. They had their friends and I had mine. The two groups never met.
I remember a day that they fenced me in and I was neck deep in ash and water with my back against a make believe wall.
Self-reflection came quicker than I would've thought so I learned to swim. But there are no exits when you're surrounded by water and I should have noticed that sooner. I slipped up, lost it for a while. My shoulders began to feel the water pressure pushing down on my entire body. It was the first weight that buckled my knees, even without a floor underneath me. I sank but it was a civil attack and my surroundings sank too, providing me with a clean slate.
Who knew I could breathe underwater?

No Artist Within Me, No Telescope At My Eye

Four, almost perfectly symmetric cylinder like pieces, smooth to the touch. All branching off of a waist no more than 15 inches in circumference, all tied together by a center button. Each part tan and each with 5 slender points darting out in every direction. Their tips coated in maroon and their base draped in gold. It felt almost disturbing how long these two colors could captivate me once they are placed together on a tan backdrop. I wanted to walk around and explore each piece as if in a museum. A fifth shape, lying atop the waist on a graceful support beam, finished off the star shaped body. I pictured her as the only light in a darkened sky, with each limb giving off a warm glow, stretched out as far as they could, escaping my eyes reach. I pictured myself lost at sea using this star as my only sense of direction. She would guide me to the place where I were to rest next. The time spent studying this piece of art gave me butterflies. The butterflies escaped my gut and surrounded her, only adding to her allure. Taking myself out of the situation helped me understand the work done to create such grace and elegance. It took my breath away, such a natural phenomenon, and one that boggled my mind. However, I cannot keep this piece of art to myself, as much as I would like to, I cannot. If it were up to me I would never share what my eyes have seen. If it were my decision I would selfishly display it for myself. A select few would be lucky enough to catch a glimpse from afar but none would get to study it like I have. If it were up to me, but it is not.

Bigger Than Bronchitis

There is a full-fledged war going on inside my upper respiratory tract. A microscopic battle between good and evil that I'm trying to mediate but I can't figure out which side I belong on. Battle lines were crossed somewhere inside my trachea. Airflow into and out of my lungs is partially blocked and only getting worse because of the swelling virus infecting me but I really know it's mainly due to the pile of dead white blood cells that the chemical solvents and smoke killed off. The shallow grave of cells is only growing, the man power is too low to rid of the deceased, and the allies are running late as usual. I cannot stop a war that I cannot see. From the outside all is quiet on the western front, but on the inside bloodshed wages on. A man in white listens carefully with a cold, artificial ear that he presses against my chest. He can only do so much though. He assembled a rescue team made up of three distinctively different components that were doing all they could but just couldn't work together so when the man in white wasn't listening I ordered two of the three to retreat and forget what they saw. I blame it on their differing war techniques and tactics. Reinforcements of my own are on their way though, an ambush of tetrahydrocannabinol is next, closely followed by an air strike of norepinephrine and dopamine. Chemical warfare is the only way. Miniature sized bombs filled to capacity with metabolized salts and clarithromycin are being dropped strategically throughout the day. An attempt to clear out any survivors left inside comes as dual flushes of smoke every couple seconds as the aerial attacks make their way around the sife. I cannot remember when this became a kamikaze mission and I will not be held responsible for any collateral damage. I can feel my respiratory system rebuilding itself but it will take time. There is a full-fledged war going on inside and I cannot assume it will disappear for good. There is a new-fledged war building up larger than ever stuck inside caused by a mixture of past habitual mistakes we had no idea about and present day patterns we cannot change, only this time I just can't quite pinpoint where or when the outbreak will begin again.

The Scavenger's Reflection

Around 12:30 pm or so I woke up and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. Usually I would do it in the kitchen sink where it's sanitary but I had slacked off the night before and forgot about the pile of dishes pouring out. The mirror was disgusting considering it wasn’t my bathroom. It was covered in fingerprints and debris from the last few people that brushed their teeth. There was soap still dripping down the reflecting glass but that wasn’t what I was looking at. Instead, staring back at me was squinty-eyed raccoon; unhappy about the situation we had seemed to get ourselves into.

“Was I on acid again,” I thought to myself.

He shook his head slightly back and forth while he scratched at the fur coating his chin, as if to say no.
We just stood there, looking into each others eyes, matching each other move for move, and then counteracting every step the other would take by moving in the opposite direction but still in an identical behavior.

“You know man, you’re really starting to fuck us. What about hierarchy needs? Didn’t think to include me in these times of change, did ya? It’s not even like we have our priorities mixed up, they are completely missing all together. You completely threw Maslow’s theory out of the window and I’m really beginning to think that your right mind should start consulting with me.”

It wasn’t strange that he was talking to me; it was more that I didn’t give my imagination that much credit, nor did I think my personification skills were that advanced.

Before I looked down to splash my face with water I turned off the light.

“Since when do raccoons talk intelligently?”

Weight Gain

I don't know how much of me I am losing to them.
So the knots in my stomach tangle up with the knots in my head,
and the knots in my shoulders begin to feel more like blocks of lead.
The stockpile of weight just collects as I rest,
as I lay up for hours at night in a bed,
so I do all I can and I hope for the best.
Now the weight on my shoulders weighs down on my breast.
It pushes my organs aside as it sinks into my chest
and even after all the abuse my lungs still try their best.
I work each day to lose the weight I collect
and I make sure that I work every chance that I get
just on the off chance I have only a little time left.
So I try to untie knots before I am forgotten or dead.
Every pound I've collected I will strip off and shed,
Every moment now on I will live to attest.
The knots are just knots, and the lead is not lead.
The tangles inside will soon leave your head.
But the more you feel stress the bigger the mess.

Going Away Party

Hopefully the mixture of weed, cigarettes, and beer helped shorten the length of my cold. I'm not too worried about it either way though, that wasn't what got me sick and it wasn't gonna make a difference one way or another. My immune system was slowly broken down by various things; lack of sleep, terrible eating habits, stress. But, I'm pretty sure the thing that got me was the cold car I shared for a few hours and the 10 minute conversation we had standing on her porch. With the wind chill it was probably about 12 degrees. We stood huddled together under the awning of her house wishing we were inside but knew that it wasn't an option. Neither of us moved except to either get closer to each other or to whisper something in the others ear. We would've stood there all night like a statue, a stone cut replica of what was once two living, breathing lovers. Ice would've began to freeze our faces from the beads rolling down from her eyes. Cheek to cheek, our skin would be stuck together. You could hear the wind blowing, barreling over our bodies and whistling through the gaps between our torsos, you could hear our teeth chattering and sharing a conversation of their own, but you wouldn't hear any complaints from either of us. It was out of fear, fear that as soon as one of us move, it may be the last time we would see each other for yet another year or so. So we just stood, like a monument getting worn and withered away by the elements, like a bookmark holding the page of story that was never finished. It felt like an eternity that went by in a little over 10 minutes, the longest and shortest 10 minutes of our lives. I held her hand and felt sorry for those who owned the fingerprints on her body that weren't mine, a years worth of necessary foolishness that mapped out exactly where she had been. I was just as guilty too. I didn't exactly stay put for that year either. I had my own map spread out across my body, down to my hips where most of the prints seemed to gather. However, we both knew that the atlases on our bodies would eventually fade away leaving only one set of prints remaining on us both. They would cover every inch from scalp to toe that only we would see. So we just continued our stand in the snow. I remembered a time when we did something like this once before, a moment when we stood in this same spot but under far happier circumstances, and it made me smile. I wondered if she could remember the moment that brought the smile on. Either way she knows I would remind her if it may have slipped her mind. She began to smile too. For the next few seconds we were almost back to that moment, resting on each other safely in the arms of her home. The wind whistled loud bringing us back to what was actually happening, but we continued to stand there with it all weighing against us. Words were unnecessary and even if we tried to force something out it was masked by vibrating teeth and quivering lips. Just before she went inside the icy weather found it's way deep into our bones but the fire we felt inside was still just enough for only the two of us to know we would never freeze alone.

Fetor Ex Ore

I can feel my heart beat
Pounding through my stomach
As it, as it's been eating me alive
And it always tends to remind
Of the times you took your bites
Out of the my flesh
Oh my god I needed it
Now I hope...you can't get me off your breath
I never told you but I poisoned every piece
Now I hope...you can't get me off your breath

Section B10 on 202

I litter the same winding, rubber abused road almost every day with two cigarettes, one while going and one while returning. As my lungs fill with the last bit of chemical soaked smoke, my fingers thrust the recessed filter out of the window. It gets swept up by the slip stream that's created by the other cars driving both north and south. I try to follow it's path through my rear view mirror but it's path is too erratic and I'm too worried about causing an accident. It tumbles for a few terrifying seconds and it's gone and I will never see it again. The remainder of the drive consists of me wishing I would've sprung for the 100s and the fear that the last bit of cigarette I just tossed is still lit and is now in the beginning stages of a forest fire. I'll worry about it on the way back. The road curves, bends, and barrels through two rival sides of a once harmonic forest. The pavement separates them like a mother would do to her two bickering sons. A few hours will go by until I'm back in my car, smoking a cigarette and traveling in the opposite direction. But, I can't help finding myself excited about being back on the road solely due to that minuscule chance of a massive fire awaiting my return.

Adding Sugar to a Saltshaker

Anticipation hangs just inches above the tip of my tongue, it dangles there like an icicle in March and I, the foolish, wait without a care. It sways effortlessly, but strategically, almost as if a puppeteer with years of experience held the crisscrossed strings high enough above me just so my senses could imagine what it would be like if whomever held the strings needed to give their arms a well deserved break. After all, it has been almost a decade worth of time since the pale arms above me took a 15 minute break. I've come up with what I think it looks like too. Even though I can't see it I have associated it with the image of a small, crystallized granule. No color, no scent; considering it's size, and no way for me to knock it loose - it just hangs there. It used to have a scent but I think I became immune to it like you do to the scent of your own house. Now, you would think my hands were tied at my side and my legs were weighted by some grandiose slab of concrete shackled to my ankle, but that is hardly the case. I am frozen with fear, but fear that had once turned into humor, humor that had resolved back to fear, and now that fear decided to stay put. Not fear in the same sense as zombies or snakes or zombie-snakes, but instead fear of the unknown. Like if you were an infant again experiencing the feeling of pain or the feeling of happiness for the first time, both seem to have a pretty lasting impact. My uncertainty took over and now I only added height to the pedestal looming over me. Still though, I sleep fine and don't find myself looking up too much anymore. My neck isn't sore but my curiosity is still aching to taste whatever it is that hangs delicately above my tongue, even if the granule turns out to be salt instead of the sugary morsel I had always imagined.

Rhythm and Beat Up

Hunger pains no longer stab at my gut but it still seems my mouth is open more than it's shut.
The frontal lobe I once owned has turned into a sponge that weighs heavy on my neck the more it gathers as it hunts.
I depend greatly on a spine that's hidden inside just to keep up with a head just about to bust.

But in reality the neck I rely on sits in my hands.
It's body weighs on my chest and my fingers take care of the rest.
It does what it can to keep time with my heart but we both miss the ride and crash played by my complimentary part.

45 Seconds, Give or Take

I'm about to faint so I want to make sure I jot down everything going on inside. My hands are shaking, my vision is tunneled, blood pressures raising, as my thoughts become bundled. I don't know how he does it but my best friend handles this much better than I could and I rarely give him credit for the things that I should. I apologize in this rare, insightful time but I hope he remembers he also owns an apology that's mine.

Self-Destruct

The cavity in my tooth
Tells me I've had too much of you
You're far too sweet
And I can't live with the ground beneath my feet
I must admit and must insist
That you resist and don't persist
I need my teeth
Like you need defeat

The coffee and cigarettes
Are taking bets
On how long I have left
But the thing they both seem to miss
Is the bomb you placed deep in my chest

A Bouquet of Ice Cream Cones

My alter ego smokes cigarettes and stays awake until 5:00 am without thought of the morning's responsibilities. He is addicted to sex and Adderall and lives a life that I used to daydream about while I was in class. Without him I have no confidence but without me he doesn't exist. He is clearly better looking than I am, but we are both still at odds with who's smoother. His temper reminds me of my father's, so much that I start to pace around the room fists clenched, grinding my teeth with no substantial way to back it all up. My right mind kicks into gear at that point and begins the uphill battle to regain control and composure. Most of the time no one else notices anything but a friend of mine often tells me I just have an over active imagination. Basically everyday she laughs at something I do that I would usually blame on my alter ego because she doesn't think he is nearly as tough as I make him out to be. She smiles and tells me "Toph, you're such a little kid, your imagination runs wild on a constant, nonstop basis." I never really understood it. After a while I decided to see if someone knew exactly what was wrong with me so I asked a doctor, but I know I'm not schizophrenic nor do I have Split Personality Syndrome and his white lab coat freaks me out, so I left his office and walked to the nearest fortune teller. She sat me down in a back room area with dim lighting from a seventies-style chandelier that hung low from the ceiling. A mesh bag of moth balls swung from the bottom of the chandelier and made the room smell as shady as it actually was, and only solidified my reasons to leave. So before she filled my head with hogwash I stood up, took out my wallet, handed her $50 and walked out with my dignity in tact but still with no answers. On my way back to my apartment I figured I'd stop in the bookstore to see if there was any reading material that could help me. The bells that rested on the inside of the entrance door served as an alarm to the bookkeeper when someone came walking in, and sure enough the bells that rested on the inside of the entrance door served as an alarm to the bookkeeper as soon as I walked in. At this point I was tired of hearing advice from other people but I had no choice right now. I went on to explain my problem and what I was looking for. Out of the three, the bookkeeper seemed the most interested but later I found out it was only because she thought I was making it all up and encouraged me to write a book. She let me know she envied my writer's brain, but her only advice involved me shooting a hole through the back of my head, thus killing my imaginary friend. I told her that it was an alter ego, not an imaginary friend, and I advised her to lay off the Chuck Palahniuk novels. The bells rang as I left and it reminded me of an ice cream truck so I went to get an ice cream cone. Ice cream parlors always made me feel so happy for some reason, probably because the sounds and colors and scents and probably due to my constant need to reconnect with my childhood years. Behind the counter a younger boy standing only 4'2'', that must have been the owner's son, was waiting to take my order. Although short, I would say he was about 14 years old. The entire time studying the layout of the place made me forget to think about what flavor I wanted. I asked his advice without remembering the terrible words of wisdom I had gotten earlier and he replied without hesitation, "I usually get 3 different flavors. I get 1 scoop vanilla, 1 scoop raspberry, and 1 scoop chocolate peanut butter in a rainbow sprinkle covered waffle cone." It made me smile because that was my favorite kind of cone. I asked him if he thought those flavors tasted best together. Again, without thinking about it he smiled awkwardly like someone would when they were about to reveal something strange about themselves and said "Nah, I just wanna make sure each part of my brain gets to have their favorite flavor, it wouldn't be fair any other way." I told him I want three of those and he rang me up for 3 vanilla, raspberry, chocolate peanut butter, rainbow sprinkle covered waffle cone ice creams cones. I handed him the money, he handed me the bouquet of cones, then I handed him one back. I said, "Thank you so much for everything and walked out." I met my friend in my apartments elevator on the way up to my floor and about half way through eating my tri-flavored treat. I handed her the almost melted third ice cream cone. She looked at me as she always had and once again smiled before telling me, "Toph you're such a little kid." It was the first time ever my schizophrenic, over active, alter-ego stricken, writer's brain of an imagination had nothing to respond back with except a smile of agreement.

C Sick

The current came calling
Her waves began rolling
And my body bent towards the sun
But the current that's daunting
Reminds just how haunting
The nausea you graciously brought
It feels like you

Now the times not the problem
The tide keeps it crawling
And the air still escapes my lungs
It's just that every so often
I exhale with a cough and
It's your breath that's always at fault

And it will be the salt of the sea and me
My chest red from sunburn and heat
The horizon ahead sings to me
The only voice I need

Since I stopped caring about dying
Each moment's so blinding
Now that everything shines like the sun
With eyes open I'm floating
I'm happy just knowing
That my pulse still keeps time on it's own
It goes...

And it will be the salt of the sea and me
My chest red from sunburn and heat
The horizon ahead sings to me
And she sings
Stay afloat, just stay afloat, stay afloat

And I, I've been sick
But it's not from the swells that hit
It's the time it takes to sink
To our wreckage where it now sits
To think that ship
Was the only place I would fit
Looking down from where I swim
Now helps me to see that...

This is the time away I need
Let my chest burn from sun and heat
The horizon will sing to me

And it will be the last place I thought I'd see
My heart and my head finally meet
Where the words that I scream
Will finally be what I mean
And now I'll float
I'll float
I'll just float
I'll float

One Nice Thing

We're both happy to say the least
But the things that we always miss
Seem to hide way up in the trees
Waiting for either one to see

So if I climb each branch then leap
Would you follow close to me?
And right before we hit
I'll ask you one last thing

If I do one nice thing for me, will you do one nice thing for you?
We could meet somewhere between the two
To help each other through

So I'll do one nice thing for me, and you do one nice thing for you
We'll meet somewhere between the two
We'll help each other through

Then you can do one nice thing for me, if I can do one nice thing for you
I'll promise to meet you between the two
I'll promise this wont fall through

Let's do one nice thing for me, then we'll do one nice thing for you
And if afterward we still can't do
The things we thought we could
We'll let it be and let it go
We'll let it be, we'll let it go
Please let it be, don't let it go
If this could be, please let me know

Sometimes Just the Idea of Water Can Have the Ability to Satisfy Your Thirst

The weather right now is too warm to freeze the approaching body of water, and even if a mirage, I'm far too thirsty to not attempt the walk. The only thing that concerns me is the fact that winter is on its way and in the same direction as I am trying to get to the water up ahead. It doesn't take much too realize that winter can and will take huge strides towards the same goal I can only take baby steps towards. By the time I get there the water will be frozen. I will one again be standing, facing you, on the same unreliable patch of ice that tempts me to walk onto it without thought to check its stability or thickness.

We've stood on the ice once or twice before though, with the sun working hard on our side to hide away so we avoid sweating as much as we can. The more we sweat the quicker the ice melts away. The nerves strung inside our bodies that control our need to sweat are another story though. They seem to always override their systems and start sending paralyzing circuits sporadically up and down our already shivering bodies. Our core temperatures inch closer and closer to the 100 degree mark causing heat to radiate from the two of us. We avoid touching for obvious reasons. Beneath us is nothing new to us. It seemed to be where we have the most fun. The ice was always on a timer though, and the cracks that split the ice between our feet never seemed to follow the line of a clean break.

The chance of it shattering under our weight is the reason it has always been so appealing to us in the past and this time will be no different. If it were to splinter into tiny shards instead of breaking into pieces large enough to support our individual weight we would have access to the water we've been so desperately needing to stay alive. The bittersweet aspect of the situation we constantly find ourselves in is that the water needed to survive is beneath us but if we were to finally have the chance to reach it our lungs would freeze up and fail from the rapid intake of water flooding our systems. Our nerves would no longer short-circuit, our thirsts would be permanently sufficed, and our intertwined still beings would begin to descend and disappear into the water.

On the long and lonely walk to the water, with the winter sweeping over me, just like usual, I began to think about where you are, if you're as cold as I am, and about the past instances when I have been in this spot just to help me prepare for whichever outcome may occur. However, the last couple of feet until the waters edge made me curious to see just how long we could go without a drink and I started to hope for yet another jagged slice of ice to carry us off in opposite directions once again.

Seconds away from blindly stepping onto the ice, I pick up the pace and force my legs to run full speed. The sun has hinted to me that another crooked slab of frozen water will be mine, and your, next destination by stopping itself from rising at all for one time only. The wind that picked up and what seemed to be 24 hours of darkness halted the temperature at a low enough point to keep the water a solid. Full speed ahead and we will once again find out if our thirsts will finally be quenched or if we will be going another unknown amount of time floating in opposite directions until the next piece of land comes our way. Regardless though, I'm assuming, preparing, and expecting a long, secluded, thirsty trip ahead of us both. I never want to sink with you and I fear the shock of water hitting my tongue for the first time again in years. So for now, I hope the two of us float, until we blend in with opposite horizons just to experience the rush when the waves carry us both close enough to see each other in the distance once again.

Concealment in a Forest Fire

Being in limbo is being turned upside down, lowered into the ocean by your ankles, rotating 18 times clockwise, 18 time counter clockwise, and then being lifted up 3 feet above the water just to be dropped quicker than the water can bead up and roll off your chin. Being in limbo is believing that heaven and hell exist but ending up in purgatory. Being in limbo is a constant nausea brought on by nothing but your own poor gag reflex. Being in limbo is meeting your wife at your mothers funeral. Being in limbo is telling everyone about the things you can't remember from the night before. Being in limbo is the pursuit for symmetry in nature. Being in limbo is searching for concealment in a forest fire. Being in limbo is waiting for the carbon monoxide alarm to go off. Being in limbo is killing me slowly. Being in limbo is saving my life.

"Did you try shutting your eyes while in bed?"

You never have to sleep if you never get tired and I'm on a mission to make you a liar
Once you realize that there are actually 24 hours in a day you'll start to get things done in a different kind of way
So until you take time to understand what I mean, may you constantly wake seconds before you dream
Until that time I vow to better whose left, my family, my friends, and in turn myself
So I'll keep quiet tucked away inside a space built for one, until the flashlights pass and the search party gives up
And I'll pay no mind to my muscles giving way, to my bones while they're cracking, under the world and all it's weight

5:30 am Intentions

Saw the power go out around a quarter past three
Lost two hours trying to predict when it would go back on
Bet $16, a couple coins, and a lighter that doesn't belong to me on 5:06 am
Saw the power go back on at 5:05 am, laughed to myself, and said "Figures" out loud
It's 5:30 am again, the same 5:30 am I fought with yesterday morning
The same 5:30 am that I fight with every night, or morning depending on your responsibilities
The same 5:30 am that mocks me by delaying the sun from coming up by another minute every 'morrow
But also with the terrible shade of blue that fucks the window behind my blinds
And with the soothing sounds of birds that I want dead only at 5:30 am
Got over it quickly and laid in bed
Started thinking about the person that won't have a light for their morning cigarette,
Or joint, or roach, or blunt, or bowl, or forest fire
I should stop gambling things that don't belong to me
Got over it quickly and laid in bed
Started thinking about the lighter I wagered and how it now belongs to 5:30 am
Wondered who it will belong to a few days from now and fell asleep

The life of a lighter is one I could only dream about, and that was exactly my 5:30 am intention.

Make Yourself Happy At All Costs

I'm fairly positive that I could slip past the guards and the security cameras that line the walls of Fort Knox like inappropriate graffiti in a men's bathroom stall. It's not about being cunningly sneaky or clandestine. It's about blending in and adapting to your surroundings. Fort Knox isn't the hard part either. Besides I would probably walk out empty handed anyway. I'm just curious to see if I can find a way in without being detected and more curious to see if they would let me leave through the front door while I shoot the guards on duty a nod as if to say, "Keep up the good work fellas."

Stealing things of monetary value was never what jogged my interest. The holy grail for me is, and always has been, to break into someones head and then into their chest. Like I said, it's about the situation you're in and how well you can adapt to it until the situation your in becomes the life you lead. Speak correctly and the rest comes easily. Slip up once and the situation your in becomes a world of mess.

What also helps my situation though is the mind set I was born with. Even though it's probably not true, I feel like I can see into the future, not in the sense that I can live tomorrow today and not in the way that the Mayans could do it. I do it in a way that anyone can just as long as they can slow things down while life continues to move around them at 100 mph. Like in a scene from a far fetched action flick, slow motion sets in and you now have time to take things apart piece by piece, moment by moment, breath by breath. With this ability math becomes easier as well, if A and B happen then chances are C will quickly follow. A + B = C, C - A = B, C - B = A, at least for the most part. This type of future spotting is more of an educated guess then it is a definite conclusion. You won't be able to stop things from happening but you can all of a sudden understand why those things happen and how you can intervene . So in turn, if C isn't necessarily the outcome you want in the long run, try replacing A or B with a different letter, or maybe even a number or a punctuation mark. Try even changing the mathematical symbols all together. Whatever it takes is what needs to be done. Make yourself happy at all costs, and once you finally stumble upon the equation to the outcome that makes you the happiest, let it happen and then, with that cunningly sneaky and clandestine behavior, replace every piece of that equation with ∞ and stand back to marvel at the work you've done.

A Trip From Point A to Point B and Everything In Between

When the concept of time is diminished and all your senses finally decide to work together the world just tastes better.

The trip from point A to point B is much more than it seems.
The fall from point A to point B is a trip once you've seen the in between.
The trip though, if you're traveling up, isn't a fall at all.

Hear a picture, see some music, taste a song.
Feel what it's like to finally be aware and alive and in love with it all.

The more I experience, the more I gain and regain.

Trade in time to expand your mind.

To Be In the Grip of Davy Jones's Locker

My voice of Reason has carefully written out a guide for me to use in these chaotic yet peaceful times. It has left me clues as to where a treasure lay buried and like the man that I am, with a bomb and timer locked around my neck, I eagerly await the next hint to be whispered frantically in my ear. But with each second, every tick and every tock seem to increase in volume and in velocity. They drown out the clarity to my auditory sensors and I fear that with potatoes in each ear my next sign will be too muffled to hear. However, a digital clock just wouldn't give off the correct ambiance for my liking anyway, so I'll just learn to listen more carefully. The more time spent trying to piece together the puzzle leads me only to believe that inside the sunken chest that has been controlling my every turn for the past year will be nothing but a single paper with a three number combination. The only sequence to unlock the explosives decorating my collar. I search only because I have no choice. Reason does not wait, nor does it wait long after one of it's various demands are met either. Once #1 is done, 2 can begin, after #2 then #3 is shortly breathing down my neck. One by one each mission completed turns me from someone once motivated by greed, to a drone left struggling just to breathe. And without regard or consideration, for any number of the passing strangers, my last clue, my missing pages, to get this necklace off once and for all, will be plastered billboard sized on the wall. And Reason will shout, "X marks the spot, the treasure is near!" Now the search for my treasure becomes my greatest fear. You see there is now a barrage of pirates all with bombs around their necks all searching the surrounding area for a nonexistent X.

Do at least one nice thing for yourself everyday.

I've forgotten so much.
I've forgotten every date that has ever been important to me.
I know it's all either September, or maybe December, and even June or August.
I've forgotten which date coincides with what feeling and now I just don't want to remember any of 'em.

I can only remember one night when I was told that the stars were aligned, but my astrological sign can't make up its own mind so it fights with itself over which side gets my pride.
It's why I do not believe in horoscopes.

I've forgotten so many beautiful words that I made a point to remember.
I've forgotten to remember the things I chose to forget.
But mostly, I've forgotten how to remind myself of it all.

Like, why can't I just refill like you do?
Or like, why can't you sit still like you used to?
Or, why can't we just kill the weakest of the two?

I'll bet the rest of my memory that the amnesia has infected you as well and that now you can't remember the last time you felt all is well.
If that seems to be the case, then I'll also bet that my last recollection of you was one that never actually happened.

I try to remember now, to pick up where I left and to make it a point to cover up all my steps.
I try to remember about everyone else but make sure to do something nice everyday for myself.

I do not remember, any longer, to worry about where you rest your head.
Nor do I recall the reasons I forget.
So until I remember to feel more like myself, I'll keep at reminding you to take care of yourself.
And that you look both ways before crossing the street,
and you count all your blessings before taken by sleep.
And when your head gets too heavy to hold up on its own remember the hands you left back at home.

I was something then. I'm something else now.

My eyes are sinking into my skull out of spite.
Down the hatch, problem solved.

"If you don't sleep, then we won't see."
Down the hatch, problem solved.

I feel terrible for what I'm doing to myself and everything attached to me that unfortunately has to take the fall.
Down the hatch, problem solved.

After reviewing my options it's still the best choice for the time being, but I don't know how much of me I'm losing to them.
Down the hatch, problem solved.

My stomach has resorted to eating the remaining guts and organs I have left ever since that day. All apologies are often forgotten or misplaced, so why bother?
Down the hatch, problem solved.

Sorry guys, at least our lower half is doing just fine.

I was something then. I'm something else now.

She left me at 150 and she met me at 140. Gravity now tells me I'm 134. I'm slowly disappearing but it's no surprise that I am now transparent. You kept me from disappearing. Please keep me from disappearing.

A Lion Mistaken for a Lemming; A Lion Swayin' the Lemmings

There's a narrator in my head. He sounds brave and he sounds care free but he is stern. He's been with me all morning. Usually he feels either jealous or cramped when there's someone else bidding for my attention but on this afternoon he knows that the company is keeping him and myself from tearing out each others jugulars.

There are actually 5 others with me, or us; four small bodies tangled up in the back seat of a '98 Cherokee and two more up front due to size constraints. If he were real he would be sitting shotgun considering he has mastered the art of co-piloting long ago. Instead he sits coach in the backseat with the angels and myself but takes up no space.

The narrator up top mentions to me that the road reminds him of a brick building and we are the vegetation crawling up, meshed together in the cracks. We are every type of moss and ivy and vine all balled together.

The wind from the open windows controls every strand of hair and makes it hard to decipher whose growing each piece. They tangle like our bodies, like vines. The smoke from the 4th, 5th, 9th, 17th cigarette is the only scent and it climbs the road with us. For the time being we are all together and content with the height. He then motions down and tells me the fall from this point is painless and invigorating. I smile because I trust him more than anyone and I quietly agree. We wait for nothing but the elements to knock us loose.

I'll take credit for the reassurance I'll give everyone just before we're about to descend. They trust me and relax their bodies as we are about to fall together all wound together. The landing will be a smooth one, he promises me and keeps quiet. As the wind picks up and we start to sway. We're almost ready to voluntarily lose our grip, all of us.

The rain sends down thousands and millions of watermarked hints to try and tell us something but we ignore it and look towards the sun for a safe landing.

I can't see him but I know the narrator is happy with me and they are too. Life is a breeze at this height but the rain is usually right.

Sheraton's Lie.

Have you ever began to believe a lie you fabricated so long ago that you start to misconstrue the lines between what is true and what is not?

It's the moment that you're face down in a pile of your own words and they seem to surround your lungs with rusty swords. Dull enough to lick the edge of the blade but sharpened enough to drain your veins.

At this point you just commit and breath in every drop flooding your eyes, nose, mouth, brain, even your pores begin to give off a greener shade than usual.

Trash the room, sleep in the bed, then walk away and wait for housekeeping.
Check out is at 10:00am.

May the rest of your organs fail.

You're God damn right I'm fuming. I'm writing out of anger and talking out of anger and I don't want any of it taken with a grain of salt. I want you in my brain to experience first hand the screwed up shit I'm seeing and I want you to boil in my blood.

I want it too though. I gotta find a way into your being to explore what keeps you ticking. My choice of entrance would be the gaps between your teeth. I won't be able to breathe long though from the nicotine and bleach.

Next step is surviving the fall down your esophagus. If I make it down alive, I'll land face first into a pool of acid your stomach creates each time you forget to feel guilty or ashamed. Your belly does not collect the same abundance of sweetener as most would to fight the sour, corroding acids. It's a form of suicide, it won't eat away at your physical being, but instead your mental and emotional self.

The clock I'm searching for does not keep traditional time so I am in no rush. I am alive and I'm on a mission to prove the world wrong. This tin man has a chest and it plays a one man song. I'm out to prove everyone wrong. Contrary to popular belief, I've seen you weep and I've seen you fall to your knees. It's here, somewhere, I just need to find it. For my own sake I'll take the long way. I'd climb the disks in your back straight to the center but no disks exist where a spine once fit. Instead, I'll jump from organ to organ, steer clear of the lungs for obvious reasons and be sure to scale the left side of the ribs. Disorientation is prevalent when you're inside someone.

At this point, I'm starting to sweat. I should have seen signs by now that there is life here. Last tier, last rib, just one more closed door and I'll finally see what I've been waiting for. I made it. What's it like to feel someone else's beating chest inside your own?

Something is off though. I hear only my own beats. I even stopped mine to see if we were in perfect time. There was no sound though. I would swear we shared a brain at one point but I knew we never shared a heart.

Before finding entrance through your teeth, I borrowed, from her, the only set of keys. Here I am now at the space where it will be encased. I'm here to show each person in your life that you are a real boy, that you feel after all. My hands are shaking from nerves, mine and yours, and in fear that you also don't believe in your own core I'll unlock the door and scream from the top of your lungs.

"You need to see this as much as the rest of us do!"

Maybe it will remind you of the old you. Now, on 3.

1-2-3

The door swung open to reveal a cavity all cold and broken.

After all these years of trying to show the world that you own a heart of your own, you have proven me wrong again.

Anywhere but 39.677485,-75.753563

I've disappeared before, did ya know?

3 times now. Each time a little more intense then the one before it but all equally bone rattling and brain shaking. Each time I lose a part of my insides and they're replaced by stone and gravel and mud and clay.

I disappeared again today. You know though.

This time I just vanished and settled silently with the dust gathering on the fan blades. I waited for some unsuspecting someone to flip the switch. It was the sheer excitement that now some foreign being will determine where I'll land.

However, this time I went prepared.

Before I incinerated I opened every door and every window in my house and stuffed my pockets full, with a compass, map, and a prayer. Now once the fan begins its rotation I'll be thrown from the blade and swept away in the up draft. I'll be like a rookie pilot commandeering a microscopic aircraft caught in the most turbulent flight of my life.

I made sure the moon would be out also, for guidance, extra light when the night approaches minutes before take off, and obviously for luck. But most of all because the moon generates the wind I'll need.

I'm ready for my final mission. I'll be out and on my way dodging rogue pedals of dead dandelions and sweeping my way by any rain drops that always seem to be prevalent during times like these. I'll be avoiding all precipitation while embracing the gusts and breezes that now hold the key to my existence and to my destination. The compass is only there to help and to reassure I'm heading in the right direction, the map for reading material, and the prayer to send me anywhere that is not here nor there.

If you're in the north, I'm heading south. If you're on the east, I'll be west coast dreaming.

Please moon, just this once, bend the waves in my favor and send the winds my way. Send me to the next place I'm supposed to be. I do not beg though, I am merely throwing my faith blindly and literally into the wind with hopes you will float me in the direct path of a new breath for me to settle into and learn.

I disappeared today. Now if I could only remember how to reappear.

Guilty before the sin.

Don't it seem like I'm cleaning up someone else's mess?
Does to me.
Guess I better learn how to do my own laundry,
before I have to wash the blood from another blouse.

98.2 °F vs. 3 Inches of Plastic Spinning Fury

My fingers can't type as fast as my hands can write.

Logically it should work the other way but,
ultimately it's up to my brain.
Physically my fingers can punch more words,
emotionally, though, my hands do all the work.

Mentally now, I wonder -
if I can do more with paper and pen,
then shouldn't I be the one with a noisy, over-worked, cooling fan?

No Fault

There wasn’t much
that we could do

As we watched the sun
replace the moon

And the night began
to slip away

Along with it
went your holiday

Now looking back
I should’ve tried

To bribe the sun
for some extra night

But how could I
even offer

Something just
to keep a lover

From a happy life
too far to see

From a life we knew
she'd always lead

Now since that night
a lot's been done

Enough to fill
2 coffee mugs

Like the ones that we
will one day share

Once head and chest
are finally clear

Possible Side Effects

Erase a few days from your life.

Luck out with the nicest weather of your life.

Talk to a sunflower.

Talk to a sunflower with your best friend.

Truly understand music written by Apex Twin.

Surround yourself with aliens.

“Do whatever you wanna do”

Listen to “Waiting on the World to Change” by John Mayer and watch as the world starts to change.

Listen as Gods green Earth speaks to you for the first time.

Watch every piece of bark in your view turn bright purple.

Fall in love all over again.

Close your eyes then open them to see 3 of the most important people in your life murdered in front of you.

Drive your car while driving next to yourself.

Own a dog that can call you out any time you’re fucked up.

See a tornado form inside your face.

Hear your mother speak to you in a demons voice.

See, hear, smell, touch, and taste the beauty in everything.

Believe your life is over.

Sink 20 feet into your comforter.

Freak out in your own bedroom because you think it’s the world’s un-safest place.

Travel to the Philippines via painting.

Take 2 hours to roll a blunt.

Turn into your best friend.

Experience every aspect of the emotional spectrum simultaneously with someone you love without saying a
single word.

Feel 3 hours go by in 15 minutes.

Get eaten by a toilet.

See music.

Drink 25 bottles of water in 4 hours.

Don’t let Jay Z bug you out.

Pass out face first with your pants at your ankles mid piss.

Pretend you’re on Nick Canon’s Wil’n Out.

Hang up on your girlfriend.

Have the piles of snow under your feet turn into clouds.

Walk on clouds.

Feel the vibrations of an acoustic guitar overwhelm your body.

Hang on for dear life.

Don’t slip.

Laugh uncontrollably at the thought of someone you went to high school with.

Understand what the birds were conversing about.

Then freak out because you think they’re talking about you.

Finally appreciate how much a wind chime needs the wind and vice versa.

Examine a cigarette like you’ve never seen one before.

Turn off your phone for safety reasons.

Fall in love with weed ever more.

Start and finish in the exact spot that you began.

Lose yourself in a patch of moss.

Feel like a ghost of yourself from now on.

Come down.

And then come talk to us.

Attempting to Locate a Difference Between Voyeurism, Schadenfreude, and Paraphilia

Watch as they take turns remembering to forget what they saw.

Pay close attention to how quickly the situation at hand turns from playful to bad, from bad to ugly, and from ugly to vile.

It’s seldom that one human being lowers their guard enough to show another that they have almost completely forgot all aspects of evolution we’ve gathered over the years. To observe someone of the same design devolve into their primitive form is near nauseating.

Keep an eye open, consciously, while the primate-like protagonists begin their "see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil" charade that begins shortly before and after the act.

Listen to the insolent hollers escaping the alpha male’s mouth and listen closer as they fill the ears connected to his envious crowd.

It’s one group of words that is sure to never fall on deaf ears. In actuality those hollers can captivate the rowdiest pack of men enough to have them sitting indian style, on a rug, in circle, eagerly waiting story time. And the story at hand comes with pictures, the story at hand has the potential to reach the masses, and the story at hand will have all truth stretched from one side of campus to the other.

Notice the spectators increasingly grow in size, in depth, impatient, and in curiosity. Make a mental note as the flooded area separates into fractions based on their view of the situation:

½ hover around not sure of what they're seeing, thinking, or feeling but they don’t know him and they don’t know her, so they don’t/won’t interfere. They just blend in and look on.

¼ consists of his friends that will all take what they saw and eventually jazz up the details to tell this story as if it were their own.

¼ made up of the average closet creep that will use what they saw as material the next time they’re lonely and under the sheets.

It's shocking how simple math becomes when applied to situations like these. Now, if only "Advanced Voyeurism" was an elective, your GPA wouldn't be as low as you'll feel tomorrow.

Feel the room sway in unison as each person moves either one step left or one step right just to get a better view past the heads of the people in front of them. The only thing separating the stars of the show from the bystanders acting as the audience is the blockade of ¼ best friends making sure nobody gets a better view than they do. And all this bobbing is in anticipation for the great finish. The moment is as close as he is and her respect is as lost as she is.

It’s hard to turn your head away from a burning building and it’s too tough to look past a car crash. By nature our necks turn to rubber when something we rarely see is presented to us. However, doing the right thing is even rarer than everything that went on tonight. For her it’s wrong place, wrong time and for him it’s right place, right time.

Ignore the fingers being pointed and hide your laughter as it’s forming due to the new nicknames being produced. Almost instantaneously, as soon as the spectacle comes to an end, the entire space will clear out. She won’t be alone though. She’s not the only one that’ll turn red. A wave of guilt will sweep in from the backdoor and will blow past each individual that took the liberty of watching the gratis exhibition. The force alone will turn the skin of everyone involved a bright burgundy shade. Although a temporary side effect brought on by guilt, it will jog the memory of all immersed and remind them that minutes earlier they were as human as she is.

It’s in that moment when anyone who walked by without saying a word will get weak in the knees, and it’s in that moment that anyone pretending it wasn’t happening will get struck by reality. It’s the moment when anyone insisting it was a good idea will leave feeling filthy, and it’s in that moment when anyone remembering to forget what they saw will have the images of the night embedded in their brain permanently.

It’s in that moment when laughter would ensue if it weren’t for the story being 100% true.

Boustrophedon

There’s a splinter underneath the thumbnail on my left hand that I watch while I write.
It runs parallel with the lines on the paper and provides stability I need at this height.

It is of no nuisance to me but more of a muse, one I’ll exploit and the rest I’ll abuse.

It’s an anonymous brand of timber that aims to link a pencil to my fingers, one of which I hold too tight.

Stubborn and still from time to kill, it burrows deep to starve my brain from ideas I thought of along the way.

Fittingly though, it mimics me, plants a seed then briefly leaves.

I’d let it stay, I’d let its roots tangle with my veins and I’d water us both with rain.

After all, what kind of host would I be to tear out the roots embedded in me?
And for nothing more then just to see how long it’d survive as just a tree.
The truth in fact is that we’d both be petrified if not for it, if not for me.

Been some years since that splinter lodged itself under the thumbnail on my left hand, which I only use to write.

Pardoned By the Exocutioner

There it was once again, I felt it, the blanket of heat, the subconscious wave that just began to swell above me and the surrounding area.

“Guilty by association I guess.”

That’s how I would explain when it came crashing down, taking out everyone in it’s path- women and children included.

It must be all over me, written one my face for all to see, like the fingerprints of ex-lovers that only your present lover can spot; and in this case the entire room is filled with present day love interests ready and willing to dust for prints.

Either way, I felt it scribbled clearly across my forehead, my cheeks, my lips – and just my luck, no mirror.

I tried to use her poker-faced eyes she was born blessed with to see my reflection, but it was like trying to see your reflection in the back of an old, stained restaurant spoon, where everything’s been caked on in secrets and where everything’s backwards and upside down The kind of spoon so tarnished you can never really tell who used it before you.

I struggled to grasp how she continuously read the fucked up ideas in my head and how she seemed to always keep time with the off time beats in my chest. Together, the ideas and the beats worked as one to speak in a language she had never heard before yet she could understand it, read it, write it, and even worse, predict it. They were finally on the same page, the ideas up top and beats mid way, and they were speaking loud and clear.

“Did you say something?”

She spoke with a level of assertion that could easily either a.) scare a man or b.) turn a man on.

Commence silent freak out.

“Nah,” I stood my ground. I didn’t lie either. I didn’t say anything, at least my mouth didn’t.

“I could’ve sworn I heard your insides screaming. Like they were begging me to keep you around,” spoken with the same tone she gave before.

She listened closer. She listened harder, but with ease. Each heartbeat inside of me struggled to tell her what it meant by every pound.

The sounds always came out muffled due to the build up of blood that seemed to congregate day in and day out in my chest but for some reason always seemed to forget about the appointment it had with my brain.
“There it is again! I heard it!” She continued without hesitation, “But it’s in a misplaced romance language I thought we lost long ago. I guess it’s just the parlance that has kept us bound all along. Don’t you agree?”

I couldn’t say it out loud, but in my skull, where it's safe, I was yelling at the top of my lungs. “Yes! Exactly! Run with that idea, because my legs have given out long ago and I’m begging you to carry us! If you let me use your legs, I’ll let you use my eyes.”

It was her sole flaw, the only wrinkle in her blueprints- she had a terrible time using her eyes to see what was directly in front of her, although, she did use them for everything else.

I continued on in my head. It’s more than likely that too much time has passed since she asked me if I agreed with her, and it’s more than likely that enough time has went by to lose her attention completely. This time was different though. I was taken back by it, but I knew I could take my time. So, again, I went on with the run on sentence in my brain that refuses any type of punctuation mark to be attached to it.

It was better that way due to the fact that my ADD keeps me from finishing any thought anyway. That’s what she was always around for. She finished my thoughts, she added the period to my statements, the exclamation point to excitement, and she was the reason so many question marks were gathering violently in an unruly crowd in my cranial space.

At that moment I began to believe to a pseudo type ESP. Telepathy between two people and only two people. I pictured my brain waves traveling through the air and wished that they would sneak their way directly into her thoughts. I could see them come out but as words, complete sentences shockingly enough. I watched them while they held their breath and as they traveled amidst the tension soaked air to their main destination. They knew if they could only make it a few more feet they would end up where all my words wanted their final resting place to be, calmly nestled inside her brain where she will analyze and store them and place them in memory banks that are alphabetically ordered. Mine would all go under the letter “C” of course but not because of my name but because that is where they belonged, directly next to her thoughts.

All at once my words lined up and sub-consciously displayed to her what my insides had been discussing all along.

“It’s in a code! Dissect them because no one else can. No one else was ever willing to take the time to recognize the beauty in the mess we’ve made. While we stand on lies in the form of ice, with heat at our feet from the sun in the sky, we wait for our certain demise. And personally, I never thought we would survive long enough to see the melt.”

But like clockwork, somehow, with brash intentions and a sense of cavalier bravado she was about to conquer the road less taken and she was going surprise the world for one last time.

She spoke calmly because she knew I needed it and she called me by my birth name because she never did and knew how bad I wanted it.

“Relax your bones, Chris. Take a second to catch your breath, let me explain. You look like an inmate next in line for execution, but what I don’t understand, and what I’ll never get, is how you consistently and peacefully prepare yourself for another death by my hand. I should be the one strapped to a chair with electricity running through my veins. I should be headfirst in a guillotine with your hand tugging the rope.”

Commence silent freak out.

“Boy, I can feel you thinking and I can hear your chest. I can see your words as they try their best. And even though your lips are differing I’ll just let those words fall to the ground. For once I’ll listen to your heart this time I can hear it loud. Please forgive my mistakes and look passed my ways. For once we’ll listen to your heart, this last time we’re never coming down.”