Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“You aren’t here anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m alone. Even though it’s hard, I’m able to keep going with a smile, because of you… Thank you.”

When my light begins to fade,

And I cannot tell the difference

Between the edge of our Sea

And that rocky ledge

Where old things go

When they are called home.

In that half-light,

Where time splits open

And everything that once could fly

Embraces the finality

Of a perpetual slumber,

Know that when everything goes,

Nothing is diminished,

Nothing is extinguished,

Not a single part of my love

Will be dulled.

At the end, it remains.

It must remain, because it’s you.

I have no other reason,

And for no other reason,

Could my heart endure.

It’s you, it was always you,

And I promise, my sweetling,

We will always be,

Forever love.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“My breath is being forced down my esophagus and into my stomach, where it’s keeping my bubbling guts company as I choke on another dozen pills.”

I had the rights words.

Sweetling, they were here,

Careful carved into

The chalky remains

Of my soiled soul.

The perfect combination,

Equal parts desire and guilt,

Cloaked in the allure

Of a better tomorrow.

If you had waited,

Just through today,

I swear I had it all.


If you ever find yourself

In my tomorrow,

I know my words

Will still be there.

So please, listen,

Because I know,

Once you hear them,

You’ll know it too;

That these words for you

Would have been

The right words

To make you stay.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

I’m a big fan of slow Mondays. I feel like everyone is the same, just trying to get things started. It makes me think it’s not too late to start over.

I prefer sliding doors over the old fashioned 2-3 hinge models. It’s much easier to slam the latter, and while I’ve had my fair share of rage needing an outlet, it never appealed to me as a good way to vent. Why, you ask? Well, to put it simply, I hate the sound. It’s a whoosh of wind, then BAM! And it’s over. It rings for a little bit, a few milliseconds as the noise works its way into every corner and crevasse of that classic 50’s ranch style home. I hate that moment. It’s not the loudest or most annoying noise a house can produce, but it still irks me. I think it’s because the sound is trying to come off as something that demands attention, but it can’t demand a damn thing, so instead it worms its way into my ears and just sticks to whatever song or voice was already taking up my auditory receptors. See, it can’t demand shit, so it can’t drive out the sounds already in my head. No, that slamming can only latch on, like some sort of parasite. It’s a whoosh, followed by a BAM! And the moment is over. Only it’s not over. That slam is taped onto the opening guitar of Crazy Train. That whoosh is lingering in the background of the second half of Bohemian Rhapsody. That BAM is an annoying echo to every bass drum kick in Forgot About Dre. Like, I can forget Dr. Dre, but I can’t forget that goddamn annoying, dramatic, pointless, stupid, rude ass, motha fucking door slam! I don’t care if you slammed the fucking door, alright?! Slam all the fucking doors you want! Slam them, break them, who cares! You won’t ever have to see those doors again, right?! You’re slamming them and leaving, and they won’t ever have to take that abuse again! So just keep going! You want to make a scene, make me yell, make me scream bloody murder, but I won’t! I won’t even notice! Just watch, I’m going to sit here and not move a muscle, and you’ll slam those doors and leave, and I won’t ever turn around or say shit to you! I won’t say a single word! You don’t deserve my attention! You can’t demand a single fucking thing, not a God Damn THING!!! So I won’t answer that slamming door…I won’t even flinch…I’ll barely even register the noise with my headphones on and my music playing…I won’t react…Not right now…I won’t give you the satisfaction. I won’t do anything until you’re finished slamming those doors! So hurry up, get it all out! I know you’re still at it! I can still sense it, underneath my music and podcasts….in the bass lines and snare drums and lyrics…it’s there…you’re still there…you’re there…



Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

I promised you shelter, but I just realized my heart is full of holes. So maybe I was just using you to plug them up, to make me feel whole…

“You say that it hurts to be alone, but you are the one pushing aside your phone when it lights up, ignoring every invite from friends and family to go out or come over. You aren’t making an effort, so can you really say that being alone hurts?”

~It’s not being alone that hurts. I know I’m making this, a conscience decision, and it’s that feeling of giving up on me even when others haven’t that feels so Goddamned awful.~

“So it’s being self aware that causes you so much pain?”

~I can see that I’m not alone…that I’m not at rock bottom…but I feel like I should be. After all that I’ve done, and all that I haven’t, I’ve earned loneliness.~

“But being alone isn’t something you just decide for yourself. When you make that decision, you are making it both for yourself and those who want you in their lives.”

~And I want to say it’s the guilt, the unrelenting feeling of failure, that keeps me making the same, selfish decisions over and over and over…but no…that’s simply an excuse. I can say I don’t want to hurt others all I want, that it’s my desire that they all remain happy and healthy without me, but the only truth that matters is I am ignoring what they want to satisfy my own desire for punishment. And that guilt leads me further down this rabbit hole, cycling again and again and again AND AGAIN! IT NEVER ENDS, I JUST KEEP ON WANTING TO LET OTHERS DOWN, TO GIVE THEM A REASON TO HATE ME, BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY, TO GIVE ME SOMETHING FRESH TO HATE ABOUT MYSELF! SO IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT MY REASONING IS! IT DOESN’T MEAN A FUCKING THING! IT DOESN’T!!!...It doesn’t matter…I’m picking self-hatred over their happiness…and nothing could be more disgusting than that…~

“…You want to hate yourself…that’s what you want? You want a reason for everything that has happened. You want meaning, because otherwise, what was it all for, right? What were all those nights spent doing laundry, desperately trying to wash off those dark red streaks for? What were all those days spent in a haze, throwing up regret only to purchase another bottle on the way home from work for? What were those nights spent sitting in the shower, fully clothed and freezing, watching as the blood tinged the water red, unable to take your eyes of that crimson river, what were those for?”

~They weren’t for anything. I already know…they weren’t for anything…if they were, then I would have found it by now.~

“That’s not the answer.”

~It’s my answer.~

“That’s not your final answer.”

~It’s the answer I came to, after using up all 3 of my lifelines, and having 2 choices in front of me, A or B. And I picked C, because I didn’t want any fucking chance to walk away…~

“But you’re still walking.”


“You’re still walking, and breathing.”

~The pills are starting to kick in, so breathing might become a bit more difficult here in a few minutes.~

“You’re still walking, and breathing, and living.”

~This…me…I’m not living; This isn’t fucking…You idiot, you fucking idiot…this isn’t…THIS ISN’T FUCKING ANYTHING!~

“You’re still walking, and breathing, and living, and screaming, and crying, and falling, and failing, and breaking, and cutting, and overdosing, and..”


“…And you are still hurting, and loathing, and running, and..”


“…And you are still here.”

~…why am I still…~

“Isn’t that really what you want? Not reasons to hate yourself, but a reason to live?”

~I don’t deserve something like..~

“Funny thing is, nobody asked you if you deserved it! Nobody asked if you wanted it, and nobody will ask you to give it back! It’s not fair, and it’s messy and difficult and maybe it’s not going to end up feeling like it was worth it at all! But YOU ARE STILL HERE!”

~It’s a joke…all of this is one big fucking joke.~

“Maybe. Maybe God hates you. Maybe God thinks this is funny. Hell, you might even be the main character in some weird, God produced sitcom, and the entirety of the Heavens are laughing at your expense. But none of that matters. At the end of the day you are still here, right here.”

~I’m only here because I’m too weak to pull the trigger.~

“And that’s still a reason.”

~Not a very good reason for living though, huh? I’m to much of a piece of shit to end it, so I just keep dragging my feet all over creation.~

“It’s not a stellar endorsement, but it’s a starting point.”

~It’s not the reason I want.~

“Meaning you don’t just want any old reason, but you want your reason to live.”

~…I’ll never find it.~

“But you’re still here, so you must not have given up completely, right?”

~I’m 99% there, at the end.~

“One out of one hundred. One out of one thousand. One out of one trillion. The odds make no difference. You still have the chance, a chance for a chance, a chance for that chance to dream.”

~…it still hurts…so much…~

“I know, I do, trust me, I know.”

~…I don’t have the energy to save myself…~

“But you have the energy to take a shower, and brush your teeth, and crawl under the covers. That sounds like a pretty good start, right?”

~It could be worse.~

“It could.”

~…will you stay with me?~

“…For a long as I can.”

~Thank you…I hate being alone…it’s so cold…~

“Just get some sleep, okay? Tomorrow will be here before you know it.”

~I don’t need tomorrow to come…but it will come anyway, right?~

“You’re starting to learn.”

~…please, don’t leave me…~

“…Get some sleep, okay?”

~I don’t want you to leave…please don’t make this goodbye, not again…~

“…It’s not a goodbye, just a goodnight. Goodnight Taylor…and sweet dreams…”

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

Walking through life I feel fake. I smile and think I’m faking it. Maybe I am, but probably not, and it doesn’t even matter anymore.

There are times when we feel as if we can really understand ourselves, far past the point of contradictions and the strong belief that we have a limited sense of self, constricting a personality, now limited to a certain sense of reality; imagination now a poor joke, a small laugh in the corner of society. Of course, more often than naught, we feel the opposite; our understanding is very limited, sometimes nonexistent or at least very, residually small. Sense of self is best described as scattered. When do we know who we are and what we truly want?

People very often say “what am I doing, how did I get here, what is it I’m looking for?”

(Was it you?)

People place upon their tongues the most unbalanced of words, playing with the sounds about their lips and finally letting thought become lost words in the open air. Do we say what we feel, or do we say what we want to feel?

“I love you.”

(What is love anyway?)

“Yes, of course I want to be with you.”

(Why am I fighting for something I’m not sure I really want?)

She no longer was my Goddess of the day. She was my every day; a constant, never changing force.

“Ah, so she is no longer your goddess?”

(I didn’t mean it like that…)

“You only fight for her because you feel obligated too?”

(I don’t want to think of it as a duty…)

My self-conscience has dwindled with time. Since when do I question what I do? Since when did others gain the right to question what I do? We all question everybody, anybody we can.

“I don’t know how to explain this to you.”

(No, you never could explain it to yourself.)

“Crying only makes matters worse.”

(Such a cold truth, yet you try to say it with such delicacy)

“Can we still be friends?”

(You want to hold her, but you know you can’t)

If this world were perfect, then I would not need to think. If this world were perfect, I would not need to ever worry. If this world were perfect, this pain would not exist; this regret would not exist.

(Can you regret what hasn’t happened yet?)

Plans, schemes, control, demand, obligation, separation, distance, longing, love and lost love. Can I really be sure you are the one? Can’t someone in the ever judging, ever watching world that we now live in tell me the signs so that I won’t have this deep feeling of remorse in my gut just for thinking about a different path?

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”


“Do you believe in me?”

(I couldn’t say…)

“Do you believe in yourself?”


“Ask me again why we started this thing.”

(Ask away)

What is it you said to me when this all begin? You cannot remember, but neither can I. Can anyone remember the first words spoken, the first words to fall from their mouths?

(Her voice was gentle.)

What do we say now? Was it all for the best; well of course it was. I don’t understand, so I am average. The average person will never understand. Understanding is no longer a necessity, but I strong ambition. You hope for it, fight for it, but the way things are, you no longer need reasons for anything, anymore.

“I don’t need to explain things to you.”

(You can’t explain things)

You feel, but you do not understand what it is you feel. You have forgotten what it feels like.

(No, you never really knew did you?)

Saying such things is easy when you think about it. Perhaps I only wished to feel this. Perhaps I only wished to understand this. O well, we were never meant to understand this.

“Do you even care?”

(More than you will ever know.)

“Why has it come down to this?”

(I wish it hadn’t… didn’t I?)

This world can be lonely. You know the pain of being alone. Are you willing to sacrifice your feelings not to feel alone? Does anyone know what I should do? Is true love just accepting that you may not find something better? I thought I felt content; it was enough. Now I’m not sure I can ever feel content. We just don’t get it. Is love a joke or a play on words? How do you feel what you cannot understand?

“I like you.”

(Wow, she’s cute)

Do you really love anyone?


My first bold answer. Even though I do not understand it, even though I may ridicule it, even though it may cause me pain, heartache, I still at the very least know the feeling of love. We still know the feeling of love. It is a mystery, which adds to the thrill of perhaps finding love.

“Fix it then.”

(Can you tell her no?)

“Fix it then.”

(How can I fix it with no tools?)

“Fix it then.”

(Know this, I did love you.)

Shattered is too harsh, broken to cold; a subtle change. Not forced, just slightly, gently pushed into a corner. It’s not that hard of a choice, it’s the fact that no one will understand. Understanding is a rare event, a solar eclipse. We will understand only when the world is at its worst, its best, and no in-betweens. You left for a change, and still you pushed that change away.

You can never fix it.

(You never wanted to, did you?)

“I don’t know…”



“It’s cold.”

(Warm her up)

“It’s lonely.”

(Be her friend)

“It hurts.”

(Hold her tight)

“I want to cry.”

(Be her crying shoulder)

“Just leave me alone.”

(Stay with her)

“You don’t love me.”

(I do)

“You don’t understand.”

(Nobody does)

“Leave me alone.”

(Stay with me)

“You were the one who wanted to leave.”

(I know, I can’t explain it)

“Just get out.”

(Just stay…)

“I can’t…”

(I wish…)


(It’s for the best)

“Let me go.”

(Watch her fly)



“Now what?”

(Move on?)

“Was that the right choice?”

(I hope so)

“It’s cold.”

(You’re alone…)

“Find someone.”

(You’re alone…)

“Stay strong.”

(Try to understand)

“Was I right?”

(Were you wrong?)

“Hold on.”

(There is still time)

“Can you understand now?”



Almost there…