I like to look at poetry like this:

It’s just like taking one step at a time.

Then I remind myself:

Walking can take a while to get you somewhere.

Do you like puzzles?

Because I've got one for you that has over a million pieces.

It's called "My Broken Heart."

And it's guaranteed to have you saying:

*"Some assembly required my ***!"

If you really did "Love me to death,"

Then why am I the one who was left here for dead?

There is always a light at the end of your darkness.
There is always a light at the end of your turmoil.
There is always a light at the end of your troubles.
There is always a light at the end of your pain.

Just don’t close your eyes.

If I wrote some words over here.

                    And then some more over here.
                                Would you realize that I

            Am trying to tell you

That
     I

Love you?

I’m just writing words
And putting them into lines
So they might just resemble a poem
And you might read them
And relate their meaning to your life.

I’m just writing words
And putting them into lines
So they might just resemble a poem
And you will read them over and over again trying to figure out what they mean.

I’m just writing words
And putting them into lines
So they might just resemble a poem
And you might read them

And say “This poem *****. I have no idea what’s going on.”

Oh, but remember my friend,

This isn’t a poem.

I found a penny on the ground today.
And you better believe I picked it up.

And I held that little delicate coin in my hands so tight.
That the color started to fade away.

I was holding on so tight hoping that this penny would be the answer to my questions.
I was holding on so tight trying to make my dreams come true.

I was holding on so tight that Honest Abe himself shouted:

“Hey kid, *******!”

I HAVE FINALLY RE-EDITED AND FINISHED MY FIRST BOOK, FROM CRO MAGNON TO PRO AVERAGE MAN: AN ASSORMENT OF POEMS!!!!!

Well, I have officially made my first book of poetry. The book is entitled From Cro Magnon to Pro Average Man: An Assortment of Poems. This was the first time I ever attempted making a book, and finally I have pulled it off!!! I made this book through the website: www.bookemon.com. Just a few minutes ago, I actually published the book on Bookemon for the whole world to buy! So, if you’ve wanted a copy all along, are interested in reading it now, and/or just want to help me keep chasing my dream of becoming a known-poet by paying for the book, YOU CAN!! Here’s what you do:

You go to www.bookemon.com

You enter “From Cro Magnon to Pro Average Man” into the search bar in the upper-right hand part of the screen.

When you hit “Search,” my books should pop up!! MY books! I actually made it.

There are two types of the book. A hardcover and a softcover version. It will say which version is which under the title. The hardcover version sells for $28.72, plus tax. And the softcover version sells for $18.07, plus tax.

If you would be so awesomely-amazing to buy a copy, just hit ADD TO CART, Then scroll down and hit PROCEED TO CHECKOUT. Hit CONTINUE under GUEST CHECKOUT, and enter your information there.

NOW, I KNOW THE BOOK IS KINDA PRICY, BUT BOOKEMON SETS THE PRICES THEMSELVES. MY APOLOGIES.

Or, if you don’t have any money to spend and just want a little preview of the book, you can hit READ beside the book and get a free 20 page preview!!

Again, thank you to everyone who has supported me through this long process of self-publishing my first book of poetry. And thanks in advance to anyone who is willing to buy the book and actually does. THAT WOULD MEAN THE LITERAL WORLD TO ME.
Thank you all again. Now I have all my time devoted to the continuing and making of my second book, Pocket Change for Priceless Memories. It’s coming soon!!

Thanks again everyone!

Nick

It's funny how nowadays if we see someone we know,

We nod our head up.

And if we see someone we don't know,

We nod our head down.

But when we see ourselves in the mirror,

We don't know what to do.

If only I could get a date for once.

And no, don't be an ******* and show me a calendar,

Followed by the saying, "Here's 365 of them."

Because it's probably a leap year, *******.
That would make 366.

But I need a date that's better than all the dates you could find in a calendar.

I need a date where the two of us could just be ourselves.

A date where both of us could have the time of our lives.

I need a date that could literally save my life.

With that one special lady.

I need a date with Lady Luck.

Or does she go by "Destiny" now?

Nowadays, people seem to always ask me how I'm feeling.

I say I'm either sad or mad.

It confuses them, because they can see sweat dripping out of my pours and tears escaping my eyes.

And they ask, "Well, which one are you feeling?"

And all I say is, "Sweat looks like tears if it rolls down your face far enough."

And then grit my teeth and cry.

Both pens and babies deserve the same chance.

The chance to tell the world their story.

Fight back tears, we joyous human beings have to do.

With life being as unknown as it is, it puzzles me that we know so much about pain without knowing really anything at all.
Make sense yet?
Well, pain really doesn’t.
But it hurts.

So why do we have to experience pain?

It’s an interesting and frustrating concept.
When you think of how many people are on the Earth, and how many of them could be facing their own personal pain, what do we do?
People face their own personal pain in many forms.
Crime, the loss of a family member, disease, love.
All of those hurt.

Pain is an evil temptress.
Because she comes in all different shapes and different sizes.
She comes in different capes with different disguises.
And she affects everyone in one way or the other.
And it hurts.

Pain is hard to swallow.
And that’s because sometimes, pain is the dagger,
The dagger that is too busy being plunged into your heart for you to swallow it.
And that hurts.

Pain is something we think we can overcome.
Because, if we’ve already had so much in our lives, why would we need more?
Why can’t we just have our sunny day?
Our clean bill of health?
Our relationship we try so hard for?
Pain is something we curse because even through the constant struggle of pain, we can’t seem to find happiness.
We can’t seem to win.
And that hurts.

But we spend so much of our days imagining winning.
We enjoy the splendor of happiness, the warmth of joy.
We can see ourselves playing in the field of dreams.
We are past our struggles.

But then pain rears its ugly head.
It reminds us of our imaginations.
It reminds us that we are still immersed far within her grasp.
Pains reminds us of one thing:

Some people are just not meant to win the big one.

And that’s what hurts the most.

This life that I live is hard.
Gets harder and harder each day.
But it's the only life I got.
Will it get better?, I can't say.

The pain that I suffer through is silent.
You can't hear me scream.
My life is a scary nightmare.
It doesn't even recognize the word "dream."

I cringe every day.
I tense up like a statue.
I pray to God for one thing.
And that one thing is truth.

I've been given an open letter.
Telling me to run free.
And after reading that letter.
I question if running is for me.

Freedom is all I think about.
From early in the morning to late at night.
I can't get it off of my mind.
It's such a beautiful sight.

But I scare myself sick.
I worry too much.
I worry that I won't ever get away.
I worry that freedom, I'll never clutch.

And that brings me back to the life I live.
The one that gets harder and harder each day.
It sadly is the only one I got.
Will it get better?

I can't say.

We all stood outside as the building burned away.

Everyone was watching the flames shoot toward the heavens like rockets.

Everyone was watching the bricks crack into pieces, the metal starting to melt, and the windows starting to shatter.

Everyone was watching the building turn to ash.

And I was just watching everyone.

And thinking, "Man, out of all these people, I don't know anyone."

It can get lonely in this world.

Especially when everyone around you is watching a building burn away.

All the while you're burning away on the inside.

The listening stopped a while ago.
It’s like the monotonous sounds spewing from your mouth just didn’t meet the qualifications of entering my ears.
It wasn’t always like that, though.
You used to deliver information to my being like you were the great Giving Tree.
And I was a nearby flower.
A delicate, nearby flower.
A flower that went about its normal routines, such as photosynthesis or pollination or other flower things.
Ah, those flower things.
To me they are everything.
This flower would blossom in the spring and wither in the winter.
I would spend my flower days in the summer breathing in the glowing sunlight and living my flower life.
And in the fall, I would spend my flower nights rocking in the breeze, waiting for winter to come and bring me my renewal period.
I would look with my flower eyes toward you, the great Giving Tree.
Tall and ***** like the unstoppable force.
And I, there on the ground, the immovable object.
Your knowledge was so delightful at first.
It lit up my surrounding flower world more than the Sun ever could.
Your knowledge would come at all hours of the day, no matter rain or shine.
I remember once a long time ago when I was a little, tiny flower.
It was raining on my little tiny flower head.
But you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
The rain that would beat pitter-patter on my pedals.
The water that would run down my stem.
You with your knowledge would tell me “Soak up the water my son. You need as much as you can hold.”
And I did just what you said.
Because I knew you were an unstoppable force, and could never be wrong.
And I, as the immovable object, would never let something stop me.
And then there was the time when I was an older, bigger flower.
The Sun was shining on my older, bigger flower head.
And you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
The sunlight that shine zig-zag on my pedals.
The shadow that would cast from my stem.
You with your knowledge would tell me “Soak in the sunlight my son. You need as much as you can hold.”
And I did just what you said.
Because I knew you were an unstoppable force, and could never be wrong.
And I, as the immovable object, would never let something stop me.
But now I am a current, normal flower.
The world is passing by my current, normal flower head.
And you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
You with your knowledge….
Said nothing to me, your son.
I didn’t know what to take in.
So I did just what you didn’t say.
And I just kept watching the world float by you, great Giving Tree.
You, the unstoppable force.
And I just kept watching the world float by me, the delicate flower.
Me, the immovable object.
And for the rest of our days you said nothing to me.
You don’t pass your knowledge to me, your delicate flower son.
Your immovable object.
And I stop listening to you, my great Giving Tree.
My unstoppable force.
The monotonous sounds spewing from your mouth just don’t meet the qualifications of entering my ears anymore.
The relationship we had has faded away.
But I had a feeling neither of us would win when we first met.

“Because you know what happens when the unstoppable force meets the immovable object.”

After intense summer heat,
Comes delicate autumn breeze.
A withering winter follows,
And in turn is followed itself by a blossoming spring.
There is no in between.
No time for reconstruction.
That summer heat, cools.
That autumn breeze, freezes.
That withering winter, subsides.
That blossoming spring, burns out.
When is the period of review?

The World has to have time to stand back and marvel at its own beauty.
Or maybe its own destruction.

Depends on how you want to start the cycle again.

“He hit me while I was down.”

Well, maybe you should get back up.

“But what if he hits me when I’m up?”

Well then, maybe you should pay attention more.

“But I didn’t do anything to him!”

Ah, you finally understand how the world works my friend.

It was all a dream that I knew was a dream but I didn’t want to admit it as a dream.
And my dream, oh my dream, was a dream come true.
It was a dream depicting me spending my time with you.
This dream I was dreaming was only a mere dream.
I knew this dream wasn’t real.
But what was real in my dream was that our time together was standing still.
You were there in my dream, clear as day.
A dream angel in the flesh.
I was staring right at you, dream dumbfounded at best.
Unfortunately, I knew what this dream of mine entailed.
This dream scene behind my closed eyes is not what it seems.
But I will see you again, my beautiful mother, in my dream that is all but a dream.

Love is truly a one way street.

But I always preferred "Avenue" over "Street."
It just had a better ring to it.
Like "Heartbreak Avenue."
Or "Pain Avenue."
They just sounds so sophisticatingly better than Heartbreak Street or Pain Street.
Street is child's play.
Like when children play in the street until the late hours of the evening.
Or when we would sit thinking about the the world down the street.
The perfect world.

And in our perfect world, every street would be an avenue.
There would be no heartbreaks.
There would be no pain.
And in our world, it would be us coupled together coupled with happiness.

But what the hell happened to that world?

It disappeared.
It never was.
It was shrouded with darkness.

Weren't we supposed to be happy?
Weren't we supposed to be together?
Weren't we supposed to be in love?

Well, I guess we took a wrong turn down a one way avenue.

So this is where we are:
Another empty bottle, another broken heart, another ******* ugly scar.
If only scars could tell stories-
Mine would write a ******* novel.
The bottle and this broken heart are one in the same.
They both had a label on the front trying to convince the world that they were something different,
But you used them up so quickly it's no wonder you couldn't taste.
You put me to waste and did so with such haste.
I hope you paced yourself, because now I'm out the door.
And it's weird-
There's a world out here-
With people, and cars, birds and trees- more than you and me.
I never knew there was a world outside of your touch,
Your embrace,
Your eyes.
But this world is cold and dark;
This world is strange.
Now I know that one thing's clear-
It's darker an colder in your arms than it is right here.
Here, my dear, is quiet and weird.
It is baffling to see the clouds so white
Or the sky so blue.
It's weird to see the world not revolving around... you.
So I've got this broken bottle-
I'll take it to this scar.
I want to see inside.
I want to see what I broken heart looks like- more than just a feeling,
Like how I saw the outside world for the first time just today.
I want blood to pour from this scar, no, this souvenir-
To fill another empty bottle,
So I can drink my sweet poison once again.
Drink my sweet poison once again!
AGAIN!
I swear I've lived this scene before.
Is my life a revolving door?
Is there no way out?
Or is there no way in-
No door for a savior to run through;
No savior to bare a cape,
No savior to sport a flashy name or spew lies to ****** ears.
Oh wait, I meant victim, not ******.
Victim.
It's not the first time around, remember?
Now that's a label I could wear!
You took my innocence in every way possible,
But is it possible
That I'll end up back for more?
This deja vu, this loopty loop-
Is this the first or the last of my being through with you?
Whichever it is, I know how it will end,
Because this is just where we are:
Another empty bottle, another broken heart, another ******* ugly scar...
Except this time, they all belong to you.

Dead fish do not move.
They lay there,
Dead.

Dead fish do not breathe,
They lay there,
Dead.

Dead fish do not speak.
They lay there,
Dead.

But the dead fish do wander.
They wander around fish heaven,
Or fish hell.

Dead fish's minds, lasting longer than their physical bodies do,
Explore crevices of the universe that people aren't even familiar with.
Well, at least not people from Earth.

Dead fish not only wander, but they do this thing that sounds like wander and is spelled like wander but is called "wonder."
Their minds forever wonder about things.
Like seaweed, ah the good ol' days of eating seaweed.

Or maybe dead fish wonder about what life is like now that they are gone.
They might wonder if it's raining, or if it's sunny.
But they're fish, so what the hell matters if it's raining or sunny?

You see, dead fish also do this thing.
It sounds much like wander and wonder but it's different.
The thing is "nothing."

Well, I assume "nothing" would sound like the words "wander" and "wonder" to a dead fish.

Considering dead fish can do nothing.
They just lay there,
Dead.

But we are not dead fish.
We are alive people, well at least some of us.
We can do things.

Like ride a rollercoaster, or eat a sandwich.
We can watch televisions shows probably longer than most other human beings can.
We can write poetry books that only five and a half people will read.

(One of those hits home for this author.)

We can go out and live lives livelier than those dead fish.
We can live for those dead fish.
We can wander and wonder and do nothing all at the same time.

We are all given life to live and lives to breathe life into.
Alive humans and dead fish.
At one point in time, we all have the opportunity to be someone who does something maybe even with somebody.

Alive humans and dead fish.
Dead humans and alive fish.
Alive humans and alive fish.
Dead human and dead fish.

Creatures have beautiful and blank canvases on which they can spill beautiful masterpieces on.
Or even blank masterpieces.

It just depends on who you're asking to paint you a picture.
An alive human, or a dead fish.

Both have some type of story to tell.

Why would I?
Why should I?
Why could I?
Why would I crawl back into that thorn bush?
Why should I travel back in time to have it hurt again?
Why could I be a superhero?

Well, because that thorn bush has roses.
And traveling back in time and experiencing that pain would be better than the pain of today.
And well, because, I'd look **** good in a cape.

But why would there be roses on a thorn bush?
And why should I still have to go through pain?
And why could I pull of a cape so dashingly?

Well, because there's beauty in beasts.
Pain is never-ending.
And well, I've been my own superhero for quite sometime.

Would I show it?
Should I show it?
Could I show it?

No.

And it's better that way.

I dream of you all the time.

And the good thing is, I get to see your smiling face and know you're not in any pain.

I dream of you all the time.

And the bad thing is, you're not there when I wake up.

I looked to you for hope.
For inspiration.
For love.

But all I saw was an empty reflection.

And I looked to my friends for sanity.
For saving.
I looked to them to help pull me out of this rut.

But all I saw was a party, and I wasn't invited.

I looked to my mother for guidance.
For information.
For help.

But all I saw was the slab of concrete baring her name.

I looked to life for hope.
For a savior.
For an answer.
And all I see is a dark and scary place.

And I fit right in.

To my mother, Gina,
Who's watching over me.
Today is your birthday.
You would have been 50.

You had me when you were 31,
And left me when you were 49.
No one knew that you were going.
No one still knows why at this time.

You were an angel of a woman.
A healer and a helper.
As I was growing up I'd say,
"I wanna be just like her!"

Even though life hit you hard,
You wouldn't let it phase you.
You'd keep a beautiful smile.
Oh, this much is true.

When you passed away,
It was a sudden blow.
Like from my chest my heart was ripped.
And from my body too was my soul.

Everyday I cry tears.
I leave the evidence on my shirt.
These tears stains are just evidence.
Evidence that it still hurts.

And today is your birthday.
May 2 is the date.
Today is your birthday.
50 is the age.

But you're not in the next room over.
Not there for me to run to.
I can't come say "Happy Birthday."
And you're not there to say "Thank you."

You're up in Heaven.
The big glorious kingdom in the sky.
And it's just got me thinking,
I wonder what birthdays in heaven are like.

You're celebrating a new life.
Eternal life is the name.
You get to walk those golden streets.
And never feel any pain.

But down here on earth,
We miss you, oh we do.
And it's heartbreaking that we have to go to a graveside.
Just to sing "Happy Birthday" to you.

But even through the pain,
There's still happiness here.
Knowing we get to celebrate you.
Is the greatest celebration my dear!

So today is your day.
Our celebration will ring through.
Happy 50th Birthday Mom.
I love and miss you.

Competition is a dangerous game.
People of all different sizes and all different colors compete daily with one another.
In sports, school, television, life.
Competition tends to drive our society.
People wake up every day ready to compete against someone.
When will we learn that in the end, every grave looks the same?
Because competition is deadly.

If 7 billion people are competing for the same spot on the mountain top,
That better be a **** big mountain.

Falling freely has become a specialty.
A long, painstaking journey from the top has become routine.
Almost as routine as tying your shoes.
Just think about it.
You take a pair of shoes out of a closet daily.
You place your left foot in the left shoe, and mirror that with your right.
Your feet familiarize themselves with the rubber insole within.
You take both laces in your hand, both possibly resembling a small, hairy animal going around a tree.
Now, instead of tying those laces, take them and make a noose.
Fixate said noose around your neck and tie it.
And whenever someone asks what the most important piece of advice you learned during your fall from the top,
Tell them this:
“If the shoe fits, wear it.”

Are you scared?
Because I am.
I live my life everyday being scared of something.
I can't stand it.
I know I'm fine.
But my mind is telling me different.
It's like a constant devil on my shoulder.
Except its in my head.

Are you tired?
Because I am.
I live my life everyday being tired of the day to day operation of my being.
From school to home life, it's all a mess.
I keep forgetting to do things because I am suddenly remembering to do things.
Get it?
Cause I don't.

Are you fed up?
Because I am.
I'm fed up with how life moves on and forgets you.
Like when something extreme happens in your life.
You just want people to stop and ask you what's wrong.
And sometimes, you just want them to hold you.
But you realize they don't.
People have their own lives to live.
The world moves on, even if you don't.

But that doesn't mean you have to quit.
As individuals, we all have our own intricate vocabularies populated by words we find intriguing not only to our tongues, but other's ears.
And in that vocabulary, there should never be the word: quit.
Quitting is something that we should be allergic to.
We should hate.
We despise.
Because if after all we've been through we want to quit, we're not realizing our full potential.
Reach for it.
Grab it.
We have to chase our ambitions.
Our ambitions won't come to us.
But quitting will.
It will rear its ugly head at every turn.
But we must never give up.

Are you a survivor?
Because I am.

Have you ever walked through a store and stopped at the bakery?

Just stopped and stared at the doughnuts?

Noticed how they had a hole in the middle?

Man, how they resemble my heart.

Well, aren't you just superior to everyone else?
Well, you act that way.
Well, well, well.
You just make me so mad sometimes.
You sit up there on your high horse and look down upon all of us.
I've traveled with you for years and I thought we were one in the same.
But now I realize this isn't the thing for me.
You left me behind while I was wallowing in my own sadness.
And the worst part is, you tried to act like it was ok.
And the even worse part is, you said it was my fault.
"You wish I would have" is something that will pierce my ears for many years to come.
I guess you'll just wash me away like the ocean.
Well, the ocean is a beautiful thing to see.
Except when it's cold out.
But now you've gone and done it.
And by it I mean moved on.
It's a bitter pill to swallow that after all someone can do and thrive at, that they get dumped to the wayside.
I guess I can use my talents here.
But boy, I could use them some place else, I know for sure.
Go ahead, forget all that I've done.
Forget my past accomplishments.
Forget what I've contributed.
Forget me.
Oh, but it seems you already have.
So have fun.
But don't spend too long "wishing" I'd been there.
I'm too busy wallowing in my own sadness.

My muse has left my body.
They must be following the trail of tears.
I've never felt pain like this before.
November 14, 2014 will be a date I will forever hate.
That was the day my mother was taken from this world.
Don't get me wrong, I'm glad she can no longer feel pain.
But man, the pain I feel right now is unbearable.
And now I have to keep walking this path alone.
And I don't even know the way...

Can I ask you a question?

"First of all, it's may I."
"And second of all, you just did."

It's really hard to carry the weight of the world.
It's really hard to ask a girl out.
It's really hard to love myself sometimes.
It's really hard to stop this heartache.
It's really hard to be happy with pain.
It's really hard to convey this to people.

Life's just really hard to live sometimes.

"Who wants me anyway?" is the question I ask.
No one answers.
No one is listening.

"Who wants me anyway?" is the question she asks.
I answer, "Me."
No one is listening.

Someone please save me because I am drowning.

And the most important thing is:

I don't know how to swim.

My life is a big mess.

And I don't know how to fix it.

On these blank pages is where I write my story.
It has some sad moments, but my story is a happy story.
I grew up without a father figure there to guide me.
No man to say "Good job son" or play catch with me on Sundays.
I grew up large, literally.
I've always been a bit on the heavy side.
I like to think of it as: "God had too many ingredients to include when making me, so he threw them all in anyways."
But I think he included too many tablespoons of self-disappointment.
I lack self-confidence in myself to accomplish even the littlest task.
I've always felt embarrassed in situations around "cool" people that I always fumble and botch what I'm doing.
I've never been with a woman.
I think they all were just made to avoid me but I know that's not the case.
As much as I may "avoid" them I hate it.
I desperately want to talk to a girl, but I lack the words to say.
And even when I find the words to say, they all come flying back at me eventually.
"Women" is something I think I'll never understand fully or even get, unless I pretend to be a Christian on Christian Mingle.
Or Farmer on Farmer's Only.
But I digress.
Even though I consider myself to be a nice guy, people still hate me.
I have no idea why, but they do.
It spreads like wildfire around me.
People snicker here and people snicker there.
It drives me insane.
Life drives me insane.
My lack of confidence drives me insane.
I just want to stand and flip this table onto the ground.
And sometimes I want to shout "*******" and "this is hell."
I just want to stand and start a revolution.
Tell people how I really am.
Kiss the girl I like.
Say "**** it" to the rest of the world.
Become someone who matters.
I just want to stand and scream, but I don't.
I just sit back down at this table, typing on this computer.
I'm surrounded by friends and tables.
I look around the room at all these people going about their lives and their days.
I just refocus back on this blank page, where I write my story.
It has some sad moments,
But my story is a happy story.

Those eyes are beautiful.
Like diaries unopened.
But I need to be careful.
Before I fall for them again.
They stare into my soul.
When I look at all the pictures.
Their main goal.
Must be to injure.
Injure my pride.
My ****** emotions.
To send me sky high.
To cause one big commotion.
Those eyes have lust.
Lust not for me.
They don't just settle for rust.
But all and every thing.
When I stare at them.
They turn into a book.
But when I stare again.
I see myself as the story's crook.
I lust for them.
As you lust for me.
But I'll rust for them.
And you'll rust carefully.
Eyes can reveal and they can hide.
They hide our darkest secret until the end.
They witness our lust for each other, in pride.
But pride is a sin, my friend.

I never knew you felt that way.
I wouldn't of expected it from someone like you.
Someone as beautiful and delicate like you.
I never knew.

But **** I wish I did.

Many people think that when I say:
"Oh, it's alright"
That I'm complaining.
But for me, alright is just that,
Alright.

Not like "alright" get off my back about this or that.
Not like "alright" I reluctantly give into temptation.
Not like "alright" but it could be better.

My life is alright.
And I like it that way, alright?

Come here baby, let's just lay down.
Our feet are tired from running town to town.
Yet we have to stay on our toes.
Running together but nobody knows.
We need a break, a get away.
A tomorrow's beginning's on yesterday's today.
You look beautiful my darling, like a boat set sail.
You look brave down to the last detail.
Running from town to town, place to place.
It doesn't faze you, doesn't show on your face.
We should just rest, get away from it all.
In each others arms is the only place we should fall.
Dirt on our shoulders, mud in the boots.
Dusting my hair off while I'm looking at you.
Bypass the hotels, motels and more.
Straight to the beach, watch the stars from the shore.
Police won't stop us, because life hasn't yet.
We've gotta keep running, not looking back and having regrets.
Sand in our shoes.
Is all we need to prove.
We've survived an onslaught, we've survived denial.
I'm tired of running, let's rest awhile.

Notice those smiles.
Happiness and joy filling their faces.
Notice them run.
Run toward freedom and prosperity.
Notice the grass.
How it's greener only where you water it.
Notice the sun.
And how it always shines when I see you smile.
Notice the rain.
And how it falls to wash our troubles away.
Notice me.
Noticing you.
For once, my darling angel.

"And here we are".
You've led me into a dark lit room.
"Take off the blindfold babe".
I remove the blindfold, and see beauty.
I see a magical world around me.
"Like what you see?" She says with that beautiful smile that anyone could see and instantaneously feel better.
I see a sign that reads: Paradise.
"Yea. A lot." Is all I manage to say, still in awe of this magical world in front of me.
I realize that she is so kind to bring me here.
She is so helpful, bringing me out of the darkness and into this light.
She is so beautiful, I always stare.
Such beauty, much like this place in front of me.
"This is yours." She says to me in that seductive and beautiful voice.
"Let's go." I say.
Venture into this world together and experience it's beauty.
The two of us together, man we're unstoppable.
She smiles at me and says, "No. I'm not coming with you."
She turns and runs, I call out for her, but she is gone in a flash.
Disappeared.
I turn around, all I see is darkness.
Thunder crashes over head.
Rain starts to pour down on me.
I see a sign.
It reads: "Paradise. If Only We Had Paradise. Maybe We Wouldn't Be So Sad."

Sad again.
Cried again.
Clawed again.
Thought again.
Slept again.
Hated myself again.
Pain again.
Lost it all again.
Come back again.
Please.

Love is such a poignant drug.
It is something you cherish for your entire life,
Until the one day where it is from your hands and from your heart untimely ripped.
What happens when you lose love?
Do you go on a four hour car ride through nowhere and drown the sorrow with music?
Do you cry about it until your tears can fill the Pacific?
Or do you simply thank that person for their time, and walk away?
"Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened."
That has been said to me over and over again.
It's like my guidance counselor telling me that when I take a trip to her office due to a bout of depression.
Again.
But, I strangely find validity in it.
I believe that no matter what those cold-hearted, vicious, egotistical ex-lovers have told you, you still exist simply to prove them wrong.
You have to show them that you are prepared to wear the blood from a broken heart like a badge of honor.
Like a sign saying, "I'm a survivor. Can I have another?"
Love is a fickle, funny, nonsensical, amateur, thing.
That's all love is.
Love is not about proving yourself to someone who has thrown your mentality of life away.
It's about being able to see yourself drenched in all that wasted blood from all those broken hearts and say,
"****, that looks good on me."