A canvas of possibility,
colored magnificently for the occasion,
yet inevitably disposable.
Though my life be short,
I witness the Joy of my purpose.
And they love me for it.

the first time I kissed you,
It was frigid and your breaths came out in clouds.
Your hands shook,
But your mouth was warm.

Your words were covered in sugar,
Too sweet to swallow
Too good to pass up.
Your hands were strong enough to carry the world,
But you couldn't get a grip on life.

The words became bitter,
Coming up with the drinks from the night before.
Smelling of regret and bad decisions,
I kissed you one last time.

In the same place our love began,
It died.
Your hands still shook,
But your mouth was finally cold.

The clock ticks away
as another sleepless night
breaks way for another
wasted day.

The ***** ran out hours ago.
I was left to wait out the clock
during that empty part of
the night when the
liquor stores close and
the street walking girls
walk their
final walk of the night.

Too wired to sleep,
mind too full of
memories to do
anything else but try
to **** them all away.
Sat on the toilet and
fixed myself a shot.
***** for breakfast,
two beers I'll call my lunch.
Dinner I'll spend 
with her
in a restaurant,
picking at my
plate while
tossing back the
wine.
Again disappointing
that girl who
still remembers
that guy I used to be.

This day I'll spend like
all the rest,
battling to be me.
The past recedes and
my need to stay numb
grows more with every
deed remembered.

These days don't change,
but most of the faces do.
There aren't too many who will
stick around and watch you
wait on death.

There are those who
remember you
and try there best to
guide you back.
If they could
only hear
the symphony
of screams
within my head.
Or the faces that
flash,dead enemy's
and dead friends.

If just a few of them
could experience
the empty in which I
live in.
Then maybe
they'd bring me a
bottle.
Christen my
voyage like a ******
ship to sea.

Wish me
well  then leave me be
and hold true to those
memories of  
the Who
I used to be..

Music that will turn you
Into a slobbering, broken, beautiful mess
While your arms lie stretched over the keys
Shaking, shivering uncontrollably
And your throat is tied tight, restricted

That is my favorite kind

The beat
It lives inside of me
It thrives inside of me
It moves and breathes
And throbs
Underneath my skin

When I set it free
This wild beat
When I let it go
This ravenous beat

It can't be stopped
I can't be stopped

I think it's about time
Yes
It's time to release this beat

My fingers gently cradle my wooden weapons of art
And nothing
No one
Stands in my way
With a satisfying thud of the bass
I begin

Soon,
I am lost
Floating
Falling
Screaming
Burning
But it's good
I am on fire
And it feels good
My world is spinning
The lights flicker
My vision blurs
But somehow, my limbs find their way
They know their way
In and among this chaos
The beat crashes down on top of me
Shattering over my head
The splinters of this beat
They fly
And stick
All over my body
Embedded beneath my nails
Stuck in my side
This beat
It is growing
In size
In strength
In intensity
It cannot be contained
It splashes up
Splattering my arms
Licking my legs
Sliding down my chest

And
Suddenly
It's all

Okay

I  shrouded
my shame
behind blacked
out
sunglasses
and spiked my
lies with
deep
red wine .

You were right
Last night, I was close

But when I asked
You said
Of course
Like it was a definite thing
Like it was something I could count on
Not just then
But always

You were there

You didn't let go
You wouldn't let go
And in that moment
That was what I needed
The most

Sometimes, I grip my pen
So tight
My fingernails
Dig deep
Leaving behind cavernous indents
The remains of desperate claws
Marring the intricacies of my palm
A reminder to hold on
An indicator of what happens when
You let go

Sometimes, I write
So fast
With so much intensity
So much emotion
So much urgency
My pen
Catches and
Rips
Right through the page

But it's better.

It's better
To break through my paper with my pen
Than to slice through my skin with my blade

Everyday I have the choice
I make this choice
The pen
Or the blade

And today
I choose the pen

Because
One day
Someday
Out of all this
Ripping
Breaking
Slicing
Will come
Something

New