One more shot

I live my life in shots. Dark shots of thought, clear shots of conscious, and rushed shots of regret. They stand in a line as far as the eyes can see. As far as my life has been. Do I regret the action of my inaction to stop or instead might I find comfort in finding answers. At the bottom. Finally.

One more shot.


Glass house

They will shatter your dream because they can. Because you play their game and they make the rules on how to make rules. You will pour your sweat and blood into your work. They do not care. You do not fit in with what they want, what they hope for, what they thought would happen. Instead you are an outlier and outliers are meant to be cut. Cut my string if you must. Allow me to fall away, I live my life away. Break my glass house just enough to let me know you can. So that I must view my world through cracked vision and you can laugh in the background. Force me away from what I love because you can. I do not care anymore. Depreciate me till I am back to square one. Till I am but a memory. I am but a ghost in your world. A slave to your obligations. I will not live that way. I would rather die.


Left hand

You are my hand of freedom and I cherish the moments I hide behind borrowed innocence. So foreign to moments of action that you do not hold back in inaction when it is your time to shine. We love the cool caress of newly quenched steel, as it is pulled from the fire of desire and still burns bright for more. Kindred of spirit, we do not sheath the blade that is our cross to bear… or could it possibly be intended for someone else? That is where the left hand is for… in creation of such scenes of tragic realization. Would we guiltlessly thrust our higher code into the gut of another man in hopes to spill his faith, and smile the whole time saying “it will be ok… there will be another day.” How strong must the demeanor be of the man who stands with his back to the spreading darkness and only preaches of the light. Even as those before him widen their eyes in anticipation, still he preaches on. Would that not be the perfect time for the left hand to strike and silence those words, as darkness and light finally meet.


Burning Rain

Burning rain floats, it does not fall.

Gently gliding, it brings no pain at all.

Chasing dreams with a net.

We slip, we fall, “Get up you shit.”

Driving ourselves because no one else will.

Walking like zombies, is this world real?

And yet we know that it is each day.

As the burning rain floats along the sun ray.


Peeling Daisies

Peeling daisies, I have peeled them all.

From the small to the tall.

Until I happened upon a rose.

Able to stand toe to toe.

Finally an equal I had truly found.

For were there not two crowns?

Why do all the work yourself?

If you can have someone else to tell.