Change The Course Of History, Then Disappear

before we connected i was sealed shut, you tapped in and i opened up.  you became privy to my deepest fears and greatest aspirations.  you understood, and told me they were tokens, and now that i had the keys - highs would be certain.  unfortunately for me i was the worst when i finally got a chance with the best.  now when i have something, i feel like shutting back down.  when i had your perspective i wasn't ever in search of my own.  i remember thinking how your view was the best i'd ever seen - now i'm reminded of it every time i wake from my lowly dreams.  what i saw through your eyes made me forgive my past, set my sights on leaving, only for the better, to rehash my plans then work hard from there.

people might think my tapering sadness was much to laugh at, but! hear me out,
you had founded me, established me, so much so, i hadn't minded. i finally believed in something (which easily could've been me).  i wonder if you're still alive up to what looks of no good.  taking over the identities of individuals, dragging their dying dreams off the shore, handing them a high that never would've been looked for, then just walking out, knowing it will all follow.  you left me alone and befuddled, searching for months at what you brought up.  a source of life that's so hard to get in touch.

my mentor since asked me if i was certain of your intent.
the ground shook roughly beneath me and i couldn't breathe.  it had seemed the oxygen had left the air, possibly what the new life that would live within me probably needed.
i froze up, my insides churned, then i finally gasped. this meant so much more than what my mentor had asked.

you might have helped me more than anyone, but i still hate you for it.  i'd kill to go back to when what-could-be wasn't rapping at my feet.  trying so hard to get so much from me.  i thought i could ravage your head, take out all the mistakes i'd made, melt them down, remold, and replace.
then you wouldn't know why we weren't talking in the first place.

tons of people make up lies about life, but the ones  you create hold up.
and i'm not quite sure why i hurt, but since you i know why i don't.

If You Can't See It, It Can't See You

i think about the distance we worked so hard to create
we thought would keep us safe
and it was all in good faith

you with all your friends, the ones i never met
standing at the basement stairs
i wonder if you'll descend

i'm at home alone, in my complacent room
away from all the clamor
you taught me to distaste

i'm just wondering
-the distance
-was it a mistake?

A Figure Of Speech

once when i was a clever student of life i wrote the most splendid piece of poetry on how i was dependent upon your love. not much had changed in the months that followed since i produced it, and i pressed hard to overcome that little problem, but when no solution presented itself i did the only thing i knew how and gave up. but i didn't walk away with my head down, no, instead i bagged your love and sold it to my neighbor who promised to put it to good use. when he tried to talk me down i got nasty and told him i'd find another buyer. then he clamored something about the value of a buck and reluctantly bought it.

the son of a bitch then challenged me to a foot race, and without a moments hesitation i accepted. i stopped racing, but for all it's worth i think i would've won. after i dragged myself to the side of the road i sat down and waited. for what i'm not sure, but i was sad when it didn't show up. and in between all the waiting there was some longing. after hours passed i decided to start the walk home. when i arrived i went right to the couch and there i sat down. i retraced the events of the day for all the good and bad. all the love i harbored and i had sold yours. i made some coffee and sipped it slowly. i started to hum the melody of a song an old grade school teacher taught me and with that my eyes got heavy.

i died on that couch. that day. alone.
thinking about what i'd have to live without.

Sticks & Stones

i love sad stories. i make my friends tell me theirs over and over again. they never get old to me, and each friend has one in particular that i love. here is brittneys, and i wont change her name and not because i'm insensitive (i am), but because girlfriend don't care.

i'm gonna take you back many years ago, when brittney was still innocent and pure. when she thought the sun was the other side of the moon and still believed her parents to be in love. before hard work and verbal banter from colleagues and family about her smoking habit, and the rather melancholy mood that follows.

she was a small elementary school student, and with that said happiness was easy to come by. she had gotten a book from the school library, but while she had it out something terrible happened. soda got spilled on the book, and it was completely ruined. a few days later and with no other choice, the then pathetic third grader that brittney was took the book back to the library apologized and received a small lecture. she felt much relief because at 8 years old nothing could be more stressful.

the next year (and the next and the next and the next until her moving up ceremony in 5th grade) during the library orientation speech the librarian began describing that students must take care of their books when they're out of the library, because surely it's a privilege to be allowed to do so. she spoke about not bending the bindings, and not folding the corners of the pages, and when she got to the part about being careful around liquids she reached below the podium and pulled out the copy of the book that brittney had ruined the year earlier. she showed it off as the "what not to do" example. brittney hung her head down, remembering the embarrassment, nervous that someone else might know besides the librarian. this was the first time a mistake would come back to haunt her. she will be the "what not to do" example a couple more times.

happy april fools day.