one day I realized the music in my ears was beautiful

the colors in my eyes were bright

and I was alive

I see a reflection yet no sight of me.

Mind moves Curiously and aimlessly

I question everything

blasphemy.

I see a reflection Yet no sight of me

I see potential, modestly

I see a kid who is eaten up by the world of rivalry

It’s the elephant in the room i can’t contain my emotions inside of me

I see a reflection , it’s animosity

Man wtf is wrong with me ,

It’s disgusting !

honestly !

I see a reflection it’s harmony

Waves crash , birds soaring , blue skies

Winds blowing . Friends Family Health new beginning. I saw a reflection it was based on a true story , new prespective on reality. I was once 15 years old , currently in the unknown but on my way to C.E.O

Today is a good day

Good morning .

I will not count down the minutes.

No. I will roll off of her, and playfully slap her bare bottom.

I might even light a smoke. A cigarette used to be good afterwards, back in the old days, the nicotine soothing after the vastly increased heart rate. Besides, why the hell not?

I will definitely sip whiskey, a good bourbon that tingles sweet and smoky like root beer against the tip of my tongue. I will close my eyes as it spreads its familiar fire, flushing my heart and belly with warmth while it slowly leaches through me. But mostly, I bid the toxins come to soothe unsteady nerves.

I will tug into my boots, so that I might die as I lived, tooth and nail.

I will go outside. I will invite The End to meet me beneath the sun, or the stars. As The End chose the time, I shall choose the place.

I will lean my back hard against the rough bark of an oak tree and scratch a dog’s ears. Those ears will be soft, like velvet in my stiffening fingers.

I will look back with fading sight on a life well lived, thankful for those who shared the journey, who helped along the way, and who gave it purpose.

I will recall a line from Shakespeare...

“Golden lads and girls all must,

as chimney-sweepers, come to dust.”

... and I will consider what was written, what the letters and the spaces between them force us to consider; that in the end we are all equal, regardless of station, that we all quiver beneath the wonder of it all, and at what lies ahead.

Finally, I will reach into the back pocket of my jeans for the tattered paperback that is there. I will read a few stained, and yellowed paragraphs. I will find some little bit of comfort in it’s familiar words before marking my place with another folded down corner.

And then, like the untold number of “golden lads,” and “chimney-sweepers” before me, I will lay back my head, relax, and let go of my weary body.

“I too shall come to dust.”

She lives in daydreams with me

I don’t know why, no idea

She’s a tear in my heart

I’m on fire, cut me farther

She plays songs I’ve never heard

And my bones start breaking

My heart starts shaking

Since we know my

Dreams are dead please, oh

Please, lets pretend I can

Treat you better than anyone else can

You’re so golden as I open my eyes

And I have no idea, no

Instructions, I’m freaking out

The story of my life

I take her home

Remember when I was

Falling in love, oh

And we danced all night

Smooth as silky lightening in

The incandescent air

Emotion, devotion

Coming to take my life

I know what it’s like

I fell for it twice and

Now I’m just warning you

Just say the word and

I’ll go anywhere blindly

They said run, don’t walk away

Now I’m a little too late

The way you bend the rules

We’re waking up to ash and dust

Everything, everything you touch turns to gold

We’ve got to get away we’ve got to

We’ve got to turn up the crazy

Meet me in the hallway and

Just let me dance, there’s

Nothing holding me back

Breathe me in, breathe me out

She wants me, she needs me

Nobody can take me

Nobody can drag me down

I like the way you talk, about

Staring in the clouds to

Our big bright future

It’s fun to fantasize about our

High, high hopes please

Don’t ever change please

Don’t give up it’s a little complicated

I’m bleeding out for you

You tell me to hold on

You tell me to hold on blasting

Music from the car radio

More, I need more

More to put my mind at ease

If this is a dream, don’t wake me

should i ever go, my darling

bury me in roses

and let the crows

feast upon my bones

the sunset glides

in violent tides biding its time

until you finally die

and lie inside

those hollow bones

of smoke and frozen stones

that years ago you

called home

and that day you will pray

to stay and gaze

upon my radiant face

and i will say

welcome home, my love

welcome home

After a lifetime of wonder and worry, it is apparent that death is not the end, but neither is it a beginning.

I frequent the old haunts, collecting dust among the cobwebs in the high corners, swaying with them in the breezes while she carries on.

She has changed. Gray has crept into once dyed, and highlighted hair, while the style has grown out. Quick, light meals have whittled away what was already a naturally small frame. She spends more time on the porch, less on the phone, more in the garden, less on the computer, more with my dog Roscoe, and less with her friends. She pauses in hallways as she moves from room to room, enchanted by outdated photos in outdated frames. She lies awake deep into the night, then rises before the dawn. The things she once teased me about she has become. She is contemplative, skeptical, aloof.

She and Roscoe are now fast friends. She even lets him into the bed at night, an abhoration just a short while back. He lays with his chin on her foot through the quiet nights and days, needing to keep her close. He was a good dog for me, and he is a good dog for her.

She is only happy when the girls come, but they do not come often. They do not like the changes. The changes in her. The changes in Roscoe. The changes in the house. The interminable silence.

They tell her the house is too big, that she can’t keep it up alone. They are right, but she will stay. She and it will fall apart together. Memories do not travel well and there are too many to pack, so she will stay, she tells them, and keep those memories company.

”But it is so sad here,” they say, “with Daddy’s things all around.”

But the things do not make her sad. They are her things, too.

Me? I am indifferent. Indifferent about the house. Indifferent about the things.

I am only eyes that hover here... watching her, and waiting.

Granny had a heart of gold, she wouldn’t hurt a fly.

But the dear could not help everyone, no matter how she tried.

Up late one night and couldn’t sleep, she turned the TV on

And caught the end of “Prayer Time,” with Reverend Jesse John.

Granny watched the preacher tell a tale about a friend,

A goodly lad, who knew no bad, and never tried a sin.

He didn’t drink, nor smoke, nor cuss, this good man that he knew,

but only worked, and never shirked a Sunday in the pew.

And how the Reverend Jesse John did work for Granny’s heart,

Expounding tales of woes and jails with histrionic art.

He mined that heart, and dug its gold, and never cared a bleep,

that the check she sent was for her rent, and put her in the street.

But dear old Granny, bless her soul, has found her angel’s wings

all the joys that heaven holds, are in the song she sings

While one mistake became the fate of the Reverend Jesse John

A plain mistake, anyone could make, unwound his holy con.

The reverend never dodged the IRS, nor feared the courts.

He thought himself above all earthly judges torts.

But justice always finds a way, and evil always hangs.

For you see, Granny’s grandson led a bad-ass biker gang!

Vengeance comes in many forms, it always finds the few

who think they are above it, who think that they can do

anything to anyone, impune from all impass,

but The Reverend Jesse John had vengeance shoved right up his...