The Room

Photo: (Street Walkers – Aaron Johnson)


Anxiety and depression wrapped neatly in the corner creeping closer

I might die in this room 

Or you might lead the way out 
Either way I’m here and you are too
Before I panicked because things changed,

And currently worry because I don’t know if they’ll ever go back to the way they were

What do these memories mean?


The same way I invite people in to ruin my life

I can find purpose in the pain if I work through it 

You see the best in people 

I expect the worst 

Can we meet somewhere in the middle 

The only other option was death or a dull life, I kept going

Never fall victim to the vices set before you, posted at every milestone

Forever uncomfortable 

living in-between the lines 

Funny how people never get around to living life 

The spider, the fly, and the witness 

Looking back at the life you never had 

It’ll eat you alive in the end.

The human condition and west of division

Fighting over parking spots and other frivolous things. The DNA in most humans is actually quite terrible. The longing to have your name live on long after you’re gone. Beast in a flesh cage. Livewires grounded by the realities of humanity. Impermanence. Fear and loathing spread past Las Vegas. If you take a step back you can see the beauty in it all. Everything perfect in all the imperfections. But where do we go from here? Life. A puzzle perpetually unsolved. Every generation given a new chance to answer. Silence still. There are those of us who have the answer. Silence still. Because to answer is belonging to question. To question is to suggest an origin. An origin. A beginning. A beginning, an end. Having the answers to questions solves problems. Life may have many, and may no one find it. So that it may keep going. 

The end of the world can wait 

I’m here 

Summer sunsets at 7:45pm


Burn in hell
An end to your human experience is inevitable, but how you go and where you go is still up for debate. Does pain and pleasure really get triggered by the same censors? I’m not trying to raise hell like some cenobite but why does each extreme feel so extraordinary on opposing ends of the spectrum? A cut, an orgasm, a death, a birth. 
Burn in hell
Are you afraid of what you cannot see and don’t know? I’ve been human for so long, almost all my life. I’ve been plagued with affinities and tendencies which another human will gladly justify my obsession and aid in my quest for the indulgence of these pleasures. Decadence. But lately the pendulum stopped swinging and is stuck. It’s stuck on pain and everything hurts. How can I explain this? Have you ever processed what it really means for something to be over? 
Burn in hell
The “wrath of god” is an amazing phrase. It takes the idea of this super being inflicting immense physical pain typically through the use of a medium. The idea of physical pain is enough to scare the simple. Pain is something we understand since we’re young. You do wrong, pow pow time, see? Simple. Now take that simple mind and tell them it’s infinite pow pow time (please explain what infinite means to the child so they can grasp what’s going on). You see how you mitigated the inherent evil just by extending the punishment indefinitely. B-R-I-L-L-I-A-N-T! 
Burn in hell
I came back from hell to tell you that there are no fires, no torture chambers, no bodies of blood, horrible screams or anything of the like. There’s just silence. The silence slips over your entire body and engulfs your soul in a sense of dread unlike anything you’ve felt on earth. You begin to feel yourself cry for no reason at all, but no one hears you, it’s dark and you can’t even hear yourself. You begin to panic. Where is everyone and everything that you’ve grown to love. The memories you made on earth are gone and you’re unsure of who you are. You feel your hands in front of you, your pupils dilate to catch any light to reassure that these are indeed your hands, but blackness is the only sight that registers. You feel desperation flip to fear and fear to agony all in what seems to be mere seconds. You begin to cry again. All you’re wishing for now is to hear the sound of your own voice but the heavy silence snuffs out any audible escape from within. You’re going to be here awhile. To burn is to actually feel, and wishes aren’t granted in hell. To burn for an eternity would be a pleasure in comparison. 

The Ghosts of New York City

I remember the first time I finally managed to fall in love, it was with myself, then this idea, then you. Twisted love stories told by wilted magnolias down by the bodega on the corner. Your house on the hill is your top floor apartment, no one can see you cry up there, and if your tears should ever fall from the top floor and escape your window, please convince the pedestrians below that it is just another rainy day, and that too shall pass. 

You hold the key to my heart but the only thing on your mind it seems when you let yourself in was robbery, and after everything was in shambles I didn’t ask for the key back. 

And these are the ways things have always been and the horizon of the way things will always be.

We were a puzzle, putting everything together and couldn’t see we didn’t have all the pieces as we got towards the end … I’m still glad we started everything… because I go back and look at what almost was…

but it’s too late now.

You promised me you wouldn’t fall in love with anyone else, but I can’t help feeling this feeling you lied, it’s your eyes my medusa, and the melodic hypnotic sound when you speak with them, like the wipers on your windshield fighting the rain, one kiss and I’m rock stiff … 

Heaven. 

Dear Relationship,

To whom it may concern,
I ask for a lot of things, but being a detective is not one of them. I am used to the tricks and how quick you can flip the script to “why were you even looking when you said you trust me?” See that’s where you’re wrong, I trust that I can’t trust you, so that’s why I trust myself to never let my guard down against someone like you. Imagine me falling backwards with you behind me as the only intervention between I and the concrete. A person would have to be truly mad to put their own best personal interest and prevention of injury in the hands of another person. See, we don’t have to do this, I’m fine by myself, I’ll sacrifice the future family photos and meaningful memories that will mean so much more when you’re gone because we can’t make anymore because you’re not dead, but gone, which is virtually the same thing, and I can’t stop thinking about you, and the “what ifs” and what everything could have became, and these tears keep staining my fucking page as I write this letter that I’ll never give to you, and then I realize I hate you because I need an emotion strong enough to counter balance all of the love that I had for you…

…and it’s like everytime I wake up the world is on fire again,

And as I sleep the waves from a sea of darkness wash out every ember.

Please forget me as soon as possible 

The feeling of falling out of love is watching a star die, a million miles away, knowing there’s nothing you can do aside from watch and know that everything related to it has ran it’s course. An easy contender for one of the most miserable feelings ever felt, because every night you would go out and make a wish on it, and the star would wish for your return every night. You went through the trouble of finding the star, searching a pitch black sea for forever, to only one night watch what took forever, disappear forever, without so much as an explanation. As an adult, you’re expected to get over these occurrences and deny ever believing in fairy tales of stars having any kind of relevance or meaningfulness to your existence, so as that star expired, a piece of you dies along with it, and you drag it along daily, weighing you down, hoping no one notices or sees, but they do. Nothing tastes the same, feels the same, and at the thought your eyes begin to glitter and glisten like your love in the sky once was. And everytime you tell yourself to not look for love in the sky, because it is something beautiful yet unattainable, you never listen, becuase a million miles away doesn’t look so far at night. Closer to the stars, closer to your dreams. 

October 29th 2015

What are the odds
What are the odds that I ended up here, out of all of the places I could have been 
What about falling in love with the feeling of falling in love 
The “what ifs” of every situation kept me so sedated from actually living in the moment I began to get sidetracked from who I was. I wasn’t making memories if I wasn’t making mistakes. Being on the fence about something is worse than being on either side of an issue or situation. Incidentally, at the very minimum if you chose the incorrect path, you can see your fault, and reroute. You have the opportunity to analyze the mindset before hand that led you to this path and from there make the nessecary adjustments, but if you chose to wither away standing in the same spot you started, because of anxiety, angst or fear, thinking you will never lose anything if you never try, you will lose time. Time, or the theory of, is one of the greatest assets bestowed to us. Time is a blank canvas, you can draw your life. We may have different canvases but I can choose what I want my final product to look like when I finally check out of life and say I’m done. Color my life, because we’ll never be these kids again.