She paints death alive again. Cement cracked. Who said that? I did. Where’d you get it. I heard it once. The sky raged looking for shelter. Pulling at faces. Where’d you hear it? -In my head. And that’s why I trust her. The foundation of our souls stood upright releasing each of us freely.
Dedicated to my Wife. Megan.
What’s your favorite word? I don’t have a favorite word. Everyone has a favorite word. I’m not an everyone. The boy retraced his mind. Who’s everyone. The grayness closed in. There was no sun. There never was.
The boy climbed out of his window and onto the large tree and quickly made his way to the ground. He ran to the woods. He needed to sit on his rock overlooking the river. He pushed his small frame as hard and fast as it could carry him. The words were rimming in circles within his mind and now gathering pace toward the tip of his tongue. Not yet. Not yet! You will only speak them first once. Finally, his rock in view, an overwhelming feeling of joy perched in his chest; he reached the top of his rock and lay on his back to catch his breath. Sitting up, viewing the river, he spoke the words which were brimming in circles within his mind and pushing their way to the tip of his tongue- No one had given these words to him and he had never heard anything like them. He opened his mouth, ready to watch them fly, “Can memories live beyond thought?” The tiny hairs stood on his arms. A leaf fluttered slightly more north from the smallest push of air. The leaf landed nearly silently into the river. Having changed the world.
I’m the type of guy that will stuff my brain inside as not to let it show. When push comes to shove I stand on a bloody face with my boot on a head reciting a poem mixed between Emily Dickinson and Charles Bukowski knowing no one will understand why I created blood. And fuck them all.
‘A controlling personality is never satisfied. They will manipulate your time, your content mindset, your ability to laugh and be happy when there is nothing to be happy about for the pure jealousy of it. They will imprison you with irrational outbursts while pulling at your sanity; after all, you are the crazy one. They will take your very freedom to think. They will push onward with the power of their stupidity until they have left you ruined and wondering how you became yourself.’ – the young child put their mother’s diary back into the night stand.
Thanks for reading
Time can leave now-
Tonight I will light a cigar while thinking about
the normality of time and why I feel it fits me,
not the other way around, and why I’m able to look at
a star and wonder if having seen this one star
tonight carries more importance than having seen
it the previous night- is the difference in one night
not the proof of existing- and does this lend an ear to tomorrow-
and now someone I do not know – is taking my space
asking without permission things I cannot answer
I want them to leave – they bare no resemblance to any other I’ve
ever seen – another will be here – and another
much like the words that come – that are often given
to me while I sleep –
Do you see the moon
and the soft haze lingering
watch with me as shapes will shift and move on-
we’ve just seen a very thing that will never be again
This one star – it too will become gone – in time
death is as real as life
I will not dress for death
Death will not dress for me
I will not smile for death
Death will not smile for me
I will not fear death
Death does not fear me
I will be death
and Death will be me
Cheers everyone. Thanks for reading.
One boy saw too much. And the ones around him grew along. Wanting to know how he knew things they did not. A counter called time went on. He couldn’t tell them- It starts in a terrible way. It starts with a question. It starts in a dark bedroom. Without anyone seeing. Or, it starts in a car without anyone around. It starts without sound, then with sound, and then it doesn’t stop. A young boy saw far too much. It didn’t need to be this way. It just was.
a young boy watches his reflection in a small pool of water. he wants to say hello, how are you. instead he says nothing. he sees his reflection say nothing back. blocked is a horrifying feeling when you see the words and the everything so easily and it’s not so easy too. cars pass by. some swerve slightly to avoid what they think is a dead animal near the road. the boy doesn’t mind the cars. at least they have a voice.
Doors that won’t lock and steam that rises not enough. A smile pressed upon the see through door. What happens when a nothing of a thought dies. Begging to begin again with the same thought. Asking again with the same question. Can I come in. Still is the heart that sees.
It’s a confusing thing to look at a moon. There were no footsteps helping to be heard. Hush little..Don’t say a word. -A young child holds onto the moon from a place within they fear not know again. -Hasn’t it been a nice day. Hasn’t it not yet rained. Haven’t we all had a wonderful time. -While the smiles walk on.