I barely feel the world get by on its own. It’s encompassed by its own stagnant cycle; keeping itself on a steady yet still continuation of all life forms.

Slowly they continue on without the intention to prosper.

They make unconscious decision while the world also makes its own unconscious decision to move selective species forward.

In what seems like pure coincidence comes to what now looks like an intentioned benevolent gift.

The world must have someone to give and share its wonders to, just as much as we have much to give to the world.

Indiscriminately focused on keeping the wheels turning, we forget the machine we’re turning the wheels for.

Cursed with the need for knowledge and expansion.

So much that we might even die for it.

So much that we might even kill for it.

The atoms that mend the fabric of space and time, the atoms that hold together my skin will fall apart at any moment.

The ground beneath me will crumple away into nothingness.

A large blanket of nothingness through empty space.

Each and every one of us is a continuation of one consciousness.

When a life has ended, a new life begins and so proceeds the start of a new chapter in a single book that is but a single thread in a series of books.

We lead and formulate the content in chapters based on our actions.

One who writes a chapter full of misconduct doesn’t have the satisfaction of the end of it’s book.

Where we each serve as a chapter in a book, the ones who write a chapter full of misconduct will continue the series and the book will not end until the mysterious deity finds satisfaction in the original and sincere choice of words.

My book has yet to be finished.

Perhaps it hasn’t started yet.


For the ‘Less in Touch With the Feminists’ Women

You are a girl.

The youngest actually

And you’ve got two older brothers.

All your life you’ve grown up tough. You were taught to walk proudly, to play hard with the boys, to speak hard like the boys, to suppress sentiment like the boys.

Perhaps you’ve been living a lie because the girls around you spew statements about not having a chance to play ball with the boys or never feeling like they’re taken seriously by the opposite sex. And now you can’t relate and you feel like the douchebag for being so privileged as to be seen as “one of the guys”. But are you really? Have you become the enemy of your own sex?

But you see it.

You do see the struggle of your kind. You hear their gagged screams in your deepest nightmares and you’re so helpless you almost try to vomit out the evil you’ve seen reflected through that poor girl’s eyes.

You know you want to help.

You try to support your girls because you know what it’s like to feel eyes of the opposite sex latched onto your body like leeches that suck everything out of you; your self-worth, your hopes, dreams, your confidence in others. With a ‘Like’ here and a ‘Share’ there. Share, share, share. She has a good point about this, he’s got a good point about that. “The solution is..” the first, second, and the third.

You’re still helpless.

You’re hiding. You’re not helping, only giving ammo to those who will stand up and fight but you’re so pathetic. “Why can’t I do this?” “Why can’t I speak?” “Why can’t I breathe?” “Where are the words I want to so desperately spit out to the evils of the world?”

I am so sorry you feel this way, because I feel this way too.

Cursed with the need for knowledge and expansion, we lose focus of the broken pipes of our souls. Who we are as people, who govern this political world, are broken and such change cannot occur without looking within oneself…to oil the cogs and wheels before all of humanity is lost. Before we’re driven to an insanity that is beyond repair.

If I could be the oil, if you could be the oil…


An exhausted mind exposes an honest heart.

He was going to take a shower,

But he changed his mind..

He was going to take me out to the porch with him,

But he changed his mind..

I was given a second chance

I shouldn’t be here,

But I am..

To that, I concluded,

“I shouldn’t waste this.”

You’re a Work of Art

Why do you creep into my dreams?

You’re only a friend

I’ve only ever talked to you

And felt warmth by you

And loved you

So why do you walk slowly in my peripheral vision?

So why do you say nothing?

So why do you vanish when I flash a look at you?

Why do you creep into my dreams?

When you have nothing to do and you have all the time in the world

Having all the time in the world might make you feel a bit invincible. Like you can pick and choose what you’ll want to deal with today. You’ll continuously put off all the important annoying stuff for another time. It seems all the annoying stuff are usually the important ones, doesn’t it? It makes it even more exciting to put off. But when the night passes and nothing’s been done, you start to wonder; am I the problem or is IT the problem? The illusion that our productivity contributes a good amount to society. That society will improve upon our contributions. The pressure. That society will improve upon our contributions. “You can’t be a lump on a log”. “Stop being lazy”. “You’re a waste of air”. Perhaps we’d much rather work on our own priorities instead of yours.

The Aftermath of a Broken Society

I can’t remember the last time I had anything to drink.

The people have rioted and their outbursts have kept us far from society and, therefore, out of reach from resources.

Our tethered clothing have just barely kept us warm.

My tongue is swollen.

Every night I do still go to sleep.

I wake up screaming not too long after. Still, something grabs hold of my windpipe and squeezes so that I don’t make a sound when my whole body shakes with rage as I try to let out the pain, the fear, the hunger, the thirst.

Our bruises and scars sting with phantom pain.

There is no society here. No life.

This is not home.

Out of My Hands

A cool summer breeze brought a current of fragrance from the natural world that surrounded me; it had blessed my nostrils with the scent of wet dewey summer grass, orchids, beautiful azaleas. The ground I laid on was moist and molded against my body as if the world had the intention of swaddling me like it’s own child. I took a practiced breath. My muscles relaxed. Before I could react, the ground beneath me began to crumble. Not so much that it was a swift cave in but that my body seemed to have felt like it was sinking through quicksand as the ground rumbled and the soil simply broke apart beneath me in small chunks before the final rumble separated the earth I laid on. My body followed the forces of gravity, and to this day, I have never stopped falling.

A Chill to the Bone of my Ribcage Heart


Broken windshields can really mend a girl’s heart.


A little girl stands at the end of the hall and she wonders why her oldest brother had to lay his hands on his girlfriend. She thinks, “Is that how they show love for each other? Will I ever be as loved?” She won’t notice but she’ll push away all the good guys. She’ll go for the hoodlums who want to roughhouse and let her go home with bumps and bruises. She’ll always think, “fight me so I know it’s real”. She’ll constantly try to see the good in men who are no good at all. There goes a life lost.


Broken windshields can really mend a girl’s heart.