Tears don’t always fall.
They drift in the mind
like satellites
loosed from orbit,
slow-motion signals
across the blackroom of time.
Not grief,
but gravity remembering.

Love isn’t a moment
it’s a constellation
burned into the hands of an oaken clock and every breath,
a frequency that keeps pulsing
long after touch has stilled.

You never forget the day they vanished, the shape they left behind
an imprint in the air and universe
like heat after lightning,
like a silhouette scorched
into the filmstrip of your soul.

Some things pass in a second
But memory?
Memory is spacetime’s rebel.
It lingers longer than a moment itself
It's a glitch in the hourglass,
a clock that refuses
to stop ticking
even when the hands are gone
it still chimes.

They may have drifted
maybe forgotten from time to time ,
maybe just changed shapes
but when you reach inside
you still see their face
in reflections,
hear their voice
in the background static
of late-night silence.

We carry them:
in bloodline-chords,
in laughlines carved from shared jokes,
in arguments we still finish
alone.

Moments become galaxies
in the afterglow
brightbursts we revisit in an instance
when everything else fades.
Time dissolves,
but memory is ours to keep
memory is a stardust archivist.
It is our catalog of love lost and found
in the particles
we breathe without knowing.

And so we orbit one another forever
even when apart,
family and loved ones remain
a constellation-map
etched in soul-skin.

The world moves forward,
but the hands of time on some clocks refuse to reset.
Because we were built to feel
to remember,
to carry love
beyond the math of minutes and moments.

And when the universe forgets
we don’t because love lives in our hearts forever

We gather the remnants,
build temples from echoes,
and stand together
in the gravity
of what once was,
holding it all until the day memory fold us together
again

I am my lust incarnate
full moon piercing howl
I am the rage of gods
as they breach their final hour

I am my burning envy
blackened from within
I am the slightest odds
of a life steered clear of sin

I am the barren hillside
a stairway to the grave
I am the preying madness
waiting, wanton and depraved

I am the ****** garden
ringing around the rose
I am the unheard pardon
of matters never broached

I am the pills I swallow
I am the victim's cost
I am the vacant hollow
I am all that I have lost

It’s so much easier to like
Them
Isn’t it?

Much more convenient
For you
To walk away from me

And make up

A million

And one

Excuses
Why you need to leave.

Would it really hurt you more
Than me
To tell me in my face that

It’s so much easier to like
Them

Isn’t it?

A family is like a circle.
The connection never ends,
and even if at times it breaks,
in time it always mends.

A family is like the stars.
Somehow they're always there.
Families are those who help,
who support and always care.

A family is like a book.
The ending's never clear,
but through the pages of the book,
their love is always near.

A family is many things.
With endless words that show
who they are and what they do
and how they teach you so you know.

But don't be weary if it's broken
or if through time it's been so worn.
Families are like that -
they're split up and always torn.

But even if this happens,
your family will always be.
They help define just who you are
and will be a part of you eternally.

I need to solve a problem
perhaps you will serve
as thee issue at hand
to be

Well you know the process
of necessary perspective
and relative importance
as regard to matters

About which we lose our wits
you sonovabitches how angry
is the milk of all our ******
and how you see your juicy self

chewing whilst identifying the wave
you ignorantly surf as confirmation
and its churning laugh escapes you
used as we are by life pressing hard

no ones knows against what the ****
are we bludgeons welt against now
lasting a single swing and spent
then i realize waves are sloshing

Tired of the way you don't talk
Tired of the way you don't walk
Tired cause you think your lifes hell
Tired cause you're rushing me,ringin the bell
Dead cause you pushed me,but I wish I fell