The glory of the warriors has disappeared.
It has vanished like smoke through a keyhole.
Glory goes to the one with the most power.
The warriors are now the ones I pass on my way to the top.
But it is said that those you pass on the way to top are the ones you see again on your way back down.
Trust me, I am no warrior.
But mark my words.
When I climb to the top, I am never coming back down.

Hate is such a strong word.

But a weakling like me needs some strength.

I can hear the birds chirping loud on this morning.
I hear them chirp from tree tops, traffic stops, outlet shops, and until their lungs pop.
Their chirping is a sign.
It's a conveying message.
It capitalizes on the dualities of hope and inspiration.

These birds fly every single day.
They remind me of my mother.
She went day after day caring for us after my father left.
She never stopped, much like this bird I see above me.

These birds chirp to find other birds.
It reminds me of my friend Rick.
Rick was a struggling alcoholic who always pushed people away.
But one day, that changed like the tides.
Rick realized what his life was amounting to, and changed.
He saw life for better, and he reached a helping hand out to anyone who needed it.
He'd give you the shirt off his back even if you had 20 to spare.
I remember the first day I met Rick, he offered to pay for my movie ticket.
Man, how fast two years has gone by without you here.

These birds I watch from my window, they never look sad.
I wish I could put on that facade.
I wonder how truly happy one must be if they're happy all the time.
I know some people who are happy all the time.
Or atleast they act that way.
I just feel like they are drowning, but they don't want to bother people by saying, "save me."
Birds can fly away, so people would think they wouldn't need saved.
But what happens when a bird flies out too far over the ocean?
Who can hear its cries then?

These birds, they're pretty cool.
And I'm probably not pretty cool for calling birds pretty cool.
But when it comes down to it, birds are warriors.
They can see what other's can't view, fly where other's can't reach, and sing unlike any other creature.

Many people go through life trying to be a strong valiant warrior.

And birds can do it on a Thursday morning without even breaking a sweat.

I watched them go swimming one day.
They were ok at best, but they kept trying.
Backstrokes and breaststrokes, repeat and more.
I watch from the sidelines as they laugh and cry and share their happiness.
I can hear them shouting, but I can't make it out.
It sounds like a cry for help.

But it's funny, I'm the one who's drowning.
They're the ones standing three feet away shouting "Learn how to swim".

I was never the most handsome thing to look at.
I never had nerves of steel or confidence of a God.
I never had the best financial situation.
Or the best hair.
I never had the physique of a male weight-lifter.
Or football player.
Or dancer.
Or even ping pong player.
I never knew how to capitalize on opportunities like other guys did.
I never knew how to stand comfortably in my own shoes.
I always seemed to mess up.
To botch my words.
Ruin the moment.
Poison the air with my disappointing appearance.
I never had my emotions figured out.
I never seemed to enjoy a day of happiness.
Because I was too far lost in sadness.
I lost my forest through the trees.
I never even had a forest.
I never had a place where seeds of hope could grow into trees of glory.
Where my legacy could live on forever.
Where my love could rejuvenate even the sickest of souls.
I never had an opportunity to show what my love really could do.
But I always had love to give.
Too bad I never had anyone in line who wanted to receive it.

Fight, you've got to fight.
Give it all you've got.
You've got to fight, you might just fall.
Let this fill your thoughts.
Give the oxygen masks to the children in black.
Tell them to have their fun.
Blind them with your magic tricks.
But never blind them like the sun.
Never fail to amaze.
It's your job to hold the habit.
Your pedestal holds the strength.
Oh every single bit of it.
You feed the discontented mouths with every single sound.
You're the voice of the voiceless no doubt.
Feed them words, feed them truth.
Give them the words to shout.
The chalk outlines fill the streets.
The kids fill the army.
Seven nations could never cease.
The things that those kids tell me.
They want it all.
They're tired of the wait.
Impatience would be a silly thing.
To use as their bait.
Look at them, they're so proud.
They feel they've done it all.
They live to fight, and fight to live.
But they'll never live to fall.
The kids in black love the thrill of attack.
They love to watch it unfold.
They sit back, relax, and watch the destruction.
They never do as they're told.
"Slave to the Grind, Slave to the Grind!"
They'll never have enough.
Those kids in black, with their oxygen masks.
Are the up-most kind of tough.
Their courage reaches beyond our borders.
It overpowers mankind.
Oxygen-masked kids in black shout:
"Slave to the Grind! Slave to the Grind!"

You know, life is pretty funny.
Even laugh provocative, to say.
The game that we play, where the rules constantly change.
You know, the one where we constantly miss who player 2 is.
Don't say a word, let me count the days.
Tick tock, there goes another.
Down, around, and back again.
My, my, one of our talks helps, my friend.
We fall on our backs, so we may witness our rise.
Don't you get it? It's hidden behind your beautiful brown eyes.
You know, that game that we play together?
The one that ticks by, just as the days tick down.
My old man once told me you learn to play the game after awhile.
A slap in the face and 10 bucks become the same.
You know they are not your destiny.
You're something bigger.
Something brighter than the sun, babe.
Don't change for me, change for yourself.
No matter what I do, it shouldn't affect your view.
Don't tell me what you would've done,or what you should've done, tell me what you already did.
You know, I'm not going to be the pretender.
Oh, and you should know, I will never surrender.
But in this world, you either play the game, or change it.
You know what they say, if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.
And if you can't make it here, welcome to the club.

You say life is but a dream.
Well then when will I wake up?
I'm tired of living in this lie.
This fantasy.

You've diluted these waters I swam in.
You've poisoned my sweet serenity.
How could you ever look me in the eyes and tell me the truth?
You have drowned me in my own existence.

I'm struggling to wake from this nightmare.
I can barely tell right from wrong all while I'm trying to right the wrong you've perpetrated against me.
I'm struggling to resurface.
You constantly hold my head under while I drown away.

And now I've become the deadpool.

So come and take a swim.

That cold slab of concrete,
It just sits there.
Sits through the sunshine,
Wallows in the moonlight.
It beckons for us.
It enjoys our company,
Because it had gotten used to our capacity.
We'd pass monosyllabic expressions back and forth,
As if it resembled gunfire.
We'd share laughs like they were on sale,
And we had coupons to buy them.

I looked at it today.
I stared at that cold slab of concrete.
Images filled my mind of parties and celebrations,
We had the best times there.
We, meaning we all shared in the good.
But when it came to bad times,
There was only one occupant,
Me.
I wore the burden of pain.
It's like you didn't even care.
You'd run just like the rest of them.
You'd run toward anything other than me.
You'd run like you saw laughs on sale,
And you had coupons to buy them.

I sat on that cold slab of concrete today.
I was actually glad I was alone.
The silence was soothing,
Like an early morning beach breeze.
Knowing that no one would run or ignore,
That reassured me.
It was nice to sit on that cold slab of concrete.

I sat there and said to myself,
"I think I like it here... by myself."

I got up and left,
Just like all of you did.
But next time, I'd be back.
And the time after that,
And the time after that time,
And for many more times after that.

If they ever put that cold slab of concrete up for sale,
I'd buy it.
Too bad you ran away with all my coupons.

I always said that I'd be there in the end.
No matter when that would come, I'd be there.
I looked you deep in the eye and told you that the end would never be unpleasant.
You'd never be alone.
I'd never let go of the rope.

But I did.

Or did you cut it?

Because all I'm doing now is falling.
It's like I'll never reach the end.
I keep seeing these moments etched in the darkness I am plummeting through.
The smiles, the tears, the heartache, the pain.
I see it as it is; it resembles a castle of glass.
With one big crack down the center.
But it stops right in the middle; the location almost symbolic of where a human heart would be stationed.
Around it I see a ring of fire glowing.
Glowing and burning and burning and glowing bright.
It's as if its preserving something delicate.
Something tender.
Like, love.
The love that was extinguished from my very being.

Out of my lungs like someone cut it out.

Like one would cut a rope.

I inch my trembling hand closer to what's inside this ring of fire.
It resembles a note.
I open it, and read what's written.
And in the most delicate,
Tender,
Lovely handwriting I've ever seen,

It reads:

The end.

These... scars on this desk. They're markings,
Redefined.
And these hand prints on the wall... they're memories
Of mine.
Tiny thoughts trying to escape my brain.
But what they don't know is, they're free to go.
You see man, these thoughts of mine are like grains of sand.
They're all stuck together, but there is so much of it.
So many ideas racing through my mind.
That's the key term, my mind.
Man, no wonder they're trying to escape.
My mind is an imaginarium where belief and hope have collided with lies and insanity to make a new feeling called: Complacency.
I've reached this state of nirvana where I can kick my feet up and relax.
I can sit in my rocking chair and watch the world burn.
"Oh, what a wonderful world."
Look at all those people run.
But they're not running with their legs, they're running their mouths.
They're spewing garbage and lies about themselves to attain a higher place on a higher pedestal.
But those pedestals.... they're made of,
People.
Bodies, skulls, blood, bones.
But more importantly... they're made up of,
Ideas.
The hormone that rushes the body along.
The juice that keeps the body hydrated.
The ideas of our minds are indestructible.
They will live forever.
No wonder they're trying to escape.
Ideas were brave Kings upon a mountaintop, but those Kings are now dead.
These Kings are now beggars at the gates of Hell.
Because only the good ones go to Heaven.
The best of Saints may be the worst of sinners.
But their ideas carry weight in gold.
But if we're speaking about ideas,
What are those anyways?

The scars or the hand prints?

This is for all the boys and girls.
You, yes you know who you are, the ones who go through hell.
Who go through hell day after day and yet are still breathing.
How do you do it?
Well, you do what I do. You fight.
You fight until your knees give out, and then you keep fighting.
It's like we all carry first class gold memberships to Hell.
We're first on the guest list.
God, how are our feet still there after walking through Hell so many times?
How are our eyebrows not singed from the burn?
How are we not dead yet?
Why do we keep fighting for a cause we know that we won't receive?
We won't win?
We won't reach?
The cause we wake up every morning sad about because we don't have it.
The relationship we long for, the happiness we wish to attain, the imaginary world called sanity we wish to discover.
Why can't we have what we want?
Why do we suffer?
Well, I'll tell you why.
And I know from experience.
We can't win because we are the only brave and true fighters left.
If we weren't fighting, there would be no one fighting.
We'd all have what we wanted.
But that's not how the world works, the world needs to have a battle.
Which requires fighters.
Which means us.
The ones who go through Hell like it's our path to the bathroom.
We have to fight the battle.
Even though we didn't sign up in the first place.
We're the ones that wish for what we want.
We make the 11:11 wishes, we pray, we long for, heck, we even follow those stupid things on Facebook that say "Make a wish, count to one hundred, blink twenty times, and repost this and your wish will come true, but if you don't repost this you'll never get your wish."
Well, I guess I have to stop reading that, or at least start reposting.
My wishes never come true from doing that but at least I believe enough to do it.
Believing is what keeps me going.
It's what keeps us all going.
It's the pillow to lay our heads on after a long day of battle.
It's the Nutella(R) to indulge ourselves in when we feel sad, happy, lazy, or even if it's a sweatpants and t-shirt kind-of-day.
It's the last bit of gas in the tank that gets us to the next gas station instead of breaking down on the interstate.
It's the denial in some, but it's the blood in me.
Because I'm more than just a body of blood and bones, and so are you.
You're a believer too.
So fight for your goal.
Reach for it.
Shoot for it.
Repost the Facebook statuses to make it come true.
It doesn't make you a bad person.
We all have our weaknesses, we all have our flaws.
Heck, even on my best days my evil ways still show.
But I don't worry about that.
Because I leave the mystery of me open to the world's interpretation.
And you should to.
Because at the end of the day, you'll never finish the battle you wage with the world.
So never, ever give up.
Even when you're breath is gone and your blood has poured, keep going.
Because in the end, we'll get that dream car we want.
We'll get that perfect job.
The great Hercules-like body.
The relationship we try so hard for.
We'll finally receive the true meaning of what it means to believe.
And when we get that my friends.
Our battle will be over.

I smile.
You smile.
Your face tells a story.
My favourite book to read.
And every time you walk by,
I have to check my vital signs to see if I'm still breathing.
Because you take my breath away.
And even though we don't know,
Each other that well.
I really want the time to cross paths.
I keep holding onto hope even if no one else knows why.
Because you mean a lot to me,
Even if you don't realize it.
You make me smile in the saddest of times.
Your cute laugh.
Your priceless smile.
It draws me in like a pencil; erasing all doubts.
I just don't know what to do.
I know there might be a chance.
But what if there isn't?
What if you turn out like all the others?
I don't want that, you don't want that.
Why chase something that I'll never reach?
But I want to reach you so badly.
Too badly.
So sadly.
Bye-bye.
And that feels like the end of another hopeless journey.
Ended too soon.
Good-bye.
I'll miss you.

If I could go back to that night and live it over and over, I would.
I'd go back one million times over.
And then some.
The time we shared was short, but filled with so many memories.
We walked around looking for our destiny, but we couldn't find the destination.
Once we did, it was vacant, just like the hope we had of now having a good time.
But we marched on.
Led by a beast, we walked toward a nightmare.
A long, long, long walk.
Through the lights and sounds, the noise all around.
We walked town to town it seemed like, until some of us started to have doubts.
So, in that next moment, I was off on foot to try and save our weary souls.
I soon reached my target, and I drove the getaway car toward salvation, literally.
After missing the right signs with so many wrong turns, I finally found good news.
I sped toward the west end, bypassing every fall.
I passed the destination, but found my friends in the streets.
They were just looking for some Family.
We rode together toward the flashing light of prosperity, and found the rest of our gang.
We stood together as one, and even though it was scary, even though we got separated, and even though there was moisture, we came out together.
We started to part ways.
But soon most of us were back in the saddle together, tighter than most families.
We soon drove way out to the country where there's five forks in the road, not just one.
Then, as night lagged on, I found my way home.
I layed down in my bed, still feeling, no, still wishing I was there.
Oh, if only I could go back.
Because if I could live it over and over.
I would.

I just don't get it. I really really don't.
And that's what's killing me.
I'm trying to rack my mind to find out where I messed up.
But I can't seem to find the answer.
And I never will.
And it's starting to make me mad.
It hurts when I pause and look at the world and notice how everyone's together, how everyone's happy.
And then I just look at myself and I wonder why aren't I happy, like them?
Why am I not together with someone, like them?
Why?
And that's what brings us full circle, folks.
Just me going on and on, but nobody really cares.
Nobody really is listening.
I do everything I can to put a smile on people's faces even when I can't put a smile on my own.
I try so hard to show people, but the world outside doesn't care.
But they'll sure as hell care about so many others, but not me.
Thanks, it means a lot beautiful.
I've come to learn I'm just anther spoke on the wheel.
The wheel will keep going after I'm gone.
And so many people out there are so hypocritical.
They're so cheap they won't even tip a canoe.
It's like they don't pack enough chromosomes some times.
I seriously think most people out there take IQ Tests and they come back negative.
But then there are people who have egos that are so fat they can go to the beach and sell shade.
See my point, people don't care unless you're famous or dead.
They don't care how hard you try and fight.
And now, 205 years after the birth of the man behind the concept of "Survival of the fittest," I find myself learning to realize that postulate is true.
And it also feel like it's the survival of the sickest, and I'm infected.
And why I can't be someone out there without making someone mad makes me so irritated.
I try my hardest to put everyone first, but still everyone puts me last.
I'm just a guy looking for someone to care.
I'm just a guy looking for someone to ask what's wrong and actually stay to hear.
But nobody wants to listen.
People won't listen to your cries, your pain, or your problems.
But if they'd listen to one thing, they should listen to this:
From here on out, It's anything goes.
And trust me, trust me when I tell you this right now.
I have the best thing going.

-Nick Moser

The saying is "Always live your life in the fast lane."
But how can I do that if my life has faded like smoke through a keyhole?
It is blank like a notepad on a little girl's desk.
The girl who is constantly bullied for the Bell's Palsy that consumes her face.
The notepad that sits on her desk that she has ripped pages upon pages upon pages out of.
Pages that read words that are thrown at her everyday.
****, *****, *****, loser.
Pages that have drawings of her and that one guy she longs for, but that one guy longs for her disappearance.
My life is like that blank note pad.
The only thing it retains is it's last message telling the world "Goodbye."

The sound of my beating heart echoes off these walls of my room.
I'm implanted in darkness, but all I can see is a vivid picture of you and I.
My body trembles as my thoughts of you continue to grow bigger and bigger, as does my love.
And you can feel it too.
And I don't want to let this slip away like my father did.
Five years since I've seen him.
It feels like a lifetime.
But at the same time, it feels like I've known you for a lifetime.
And at the same same time, lifetime is the word to describe how long I want us to be together.
But right now I feel like I'm forcing this down your throat, constantly
Day after day like a disease.
I feel like I'm hurting you with each word I say because with each word I say more and more of my affections fall from my heart and my mouth like sand through an hourglass.
I want to give you the world wrapped in a rainbow.
"This is yours" I whisper.
"I am yours."
And I feel like you're stuck in an abyss, falling deeper and deeper forevermore into agony and sadness.
And I just want to swing in on a rope and save you.
I want to dry your tears like the sun dries a desert, which seems to describe what he's doing to your heart.
He's leaving it dry and barren.
He only pleasures your heart with a sprinkling of false affection.
He wouldn't travel to see you, but I would fly to the sky just to bring you back the stars.
And now I feel we're in a Pythagorean theorem situation, just looking for a solution.
And with every word and every thought I feel like I'm driving you and your affections away but I don't want that at all.
I've realized all along that not even space can separate us.
We're bonded together by something too strong to break.
Passion, caring, love.
And I just hope you feel the same and never lose that hope.
And someday, we can share that hope together.
As we are together.
In each others arms, shielding each other from everything that tries to break our spirits.
Anyone that tries to make us pebbles in their shoes, just for them to act as giants and crush us.
And someday, when it's you and me, I'll give you the world and whisper, "This is yours. I am yours."

Her hands are shaking.
Trembling, trembling as the box moves closer to her reach.
Her heart is racing just as fast as she used to everyday after school when she ran from the school bullies.
Her heart is pumping blood just as her wrists do after she introduces them to a blade.
Her heart is slowly being mended just like the reconciliation of her relationship with her psychotic sister.
Her hands are shaking so bad she can't make out the outline of them in this dimly-lit room.
The candle light ricochets off the walls.
All she can think about is how he has stood beside her this whole time.
The room smells of cigarettes, which reminds her of the first time she met him.
That night at the corner liquor store where she went after her grandad died.
Trying to drown the pain by drowning herself in
pills and alcohol.
She was approached by a man who smelt of death who tried to steal her money, and if he got any further, her virginity.
Just as the man went to put his hands on her, the boy stepped up and protected her.
That trend continued for years as he protected not only her, but their love as well.
She knew she had finally found something worth loving truly for.
No more hiding who she truly was behind drugs, lies, and a noose hung ready in her closet.
She realized that he made her complete.
She'd walk to the end of the earth for him and he'd crawl with broken legs all the world around to see her.
But as the bills piled high and the eviction notices multiplied by the hundreds, they didn't know how to move on.
She turned back to the drugs and the pills as she knew she was drowning,
Drowning deeper and deeper.
Waiting to feel his hand plunge deep in the water to save her life.
And he'd do it every time.
She realized that he took her sky high with his love.
This would soon overcome all her addictions, leaving her only addicted to his love.
She could barely breathe as her hands touched the box.
By now she was surprised they hadn't fallen off from trembling,
Trembling so much.
As she opened the box, her breath rapidly started to leave her body.
She could feel herself going numb.
She couldn't speak.
As he pulled the ring from the box, her body shook more and more from excitement and shock.
He asked for her hand in marriage, and she started to cry with joy.
After they kissed he whispered, "You've always been my addiction."