I was walking north and the wind

blew ever so slightly,

my hair whipped around my head.

Your scent must have clung

to my long, blonde hair for dear life.

I try to hide my smile

and thank the wind

for the reminder of my souvenir

from my night prior.

Poor Satan-

so misunderstood.

A lost boy, undermined by his brother,

he boasts into his adult life to feel important.

Day by day,

he surrounds himself in darkness.

His Underworld-

his cave, where he finds solace

“aiding in mortality.”

One day a woman, lively and colorful,

surpassed the hexes meant to exile the rest of the world

and explored his realm.

Recognizing the possibility of magic,

the Devil Himself invited her to stay,

but he was still… himself

and could not resist loving her demise.

After all, he had only ever known betrayal-

punishments were his chosen protection.

As time passed with his lover,

he grew to realize the goddess of spring

could never bloom entangled in his darkness.

Satan, consumed with hopelessness,

released his muse, his last chance at mortality,

back into the world.

Is The Devil truly a monster

or essential in one’s soul purpose?

a work drone

happily working hourly

something about

beers after work

the game this Sunday

holding his coffee

grinning like

the Cheshire Cat

morbidly smiling

only this is real

the next forty years

seductive with frequent

pay stubs and home loans

I‘m watching myself

as if from above

miming for air

only to be told

this is how I will grow old

tonight i don’t care

anyone could text me, call me up, and i’d answer - and not in a bad way, not in a depraved way - i simply would talk to anyone right now, and listen, and enjoy it, or feel nothing at all

it’s odd and off-kilter and i feel that i’m floating a little, floating in a space between passive and passion

the words ramble in my mind

is this disassociation? i look in the mirror and see me, me who can smile with sparkling eyes, me who can laugh with head thrown back, me who is doing nothing but staring at herself, motionless, but feels rigidity in her bones

it‘s not sadness

it’s not peace

there‘s a desire to do something reckless, to feel something hot and fierce and bold and cruel, to set fire to something or throw a hammer through a window or tear a pillow to shreds with a knife

maybe it’s a stage of grief? heat coils in my belly, the words in my mind are flat

tonight i don’t care

and i could do anything with it

What's the soft spot in your heart that could be targeted by someone seeking vengeance? For me it's our dog. Our dog who bestows nothing but love and happiness onto all that she meets, and who deserves no bad days.

I'm a level-headed big dude and feel the pressure to use my attributes to correct imbalances and bring calmness when things get heated. But despite that, if the aggressor in the situation learned where I live, had no love for animals, and targeted my dog as a revenge method I would shrink to the size of a mouse. Those thoughts can paralyze me with fear and have, at times, made me turn around and go pick up the pup from home...just so I knew she'd be safe.

So my greatest fear? Someone finding and exploiting one of the few soft spots I have in my heart.

I sit alone

at a bar in a tiny beach town.

no one knows me here,

I find it quite comforting

and I order a whiskey.

I escaped the cold here,

the weather and the feeling.

it’s funny isn’t it?

what a little distance does

in not only miles,

but time.

I felt the sun on my skin today,

it penetrated deeply and

I could just feel it

reawakening my soul.

that almost killed me.

that. almost. killed. me.

but… it didn’t

so now I’m figuring it out while

I sit alone

at a bar in a tiny beach town.

it’s carnal

it’s cravings

heavy mouths and searching hands

no romance

no reason

heavy heart, one-sided plans

the passion

the pressure

frames together, worlds apart

you filter

you falter

soft misgivings from the start

i wonder

i worry

blindly give myself to you

we lower

we linger

feign we cannot sense the truth

i’ve nothing here to hold

card that you are, you fold

the story stops right here, it’s done

the rest remains untold

your mouth, mine soon will miss

my heart can’t take the risk

no matter how I ache for you

that was our final kiss

1. Have kids. They don’t give a flying fuck what the clock says. They want Cheerio’s in the Batman Bowl with the green spoon (that probably needs washing first), and they want it immediately. You will be so used to having your sleep snatched from you, that you probably won’t even notice that one measly hour slip away. Oh look, there it goes, along with your sanity. Bye-bye now.

2. If you are a little smarter, you possibly don’t reside with tiny humans, and therefore may get to travel a bit. In this instance, pack a suitcase before bed. When you wake up, adjust your watch (you may need to guess a little at this point), and then unpack your suitcase again. This way, you can trick your body into presuming you are jetlagged. And you know the best cure for jetlag, right? Yes, that’s right, any alcoholic cocktail you can get your hands on. Vodka in your coffee totally counts. And if someone says, ‘Hey you drinking at this hour? You know what time it is?’ You can laugh and say ‘no’ because you genuinely haven’t got a fucking clue. Is Google in charge of the time now? Are you? You’re drunk, you probably shouldn’t be. But seriously, whose job is it to reset the time on your phone? Make sure you pay through the nose to ring Direct Enquires to find out the actual time. Or stay ‘jetlagged’. Your call.

3. Again, if you don’t have tiny sleep thieves littering your home, you may consider this final option. Now this one you need to start the night before and you are going to want that Vodka. Or whatever other alcohol you can get your hands on. But go steady now, you’re going to need to pace yourself. This one may prove tricky if you are over the age of twenty-five. You are gonna just go straight through. Weekend bender. Deal with it Monday. You are going to feel shit no matter what.

If you are over the age of twenty-five, give it your best shot. You will pass out and wake up feeling like the aforementioned shit anyhow. And you definitely won’t care what time of day it is just as long as no one opens the curtains or breathes too loud.

In conclusion: make bad choices and Daylight Savings Time ceases to matter.

I hate you.

You didn't raise me.

You tolerated me.

We both grew older.

My heart grew colder, and I drew further from you.

Hoped I'd never see you again.

Then I got the call.

"You're mother's dying"

When their words stopped, I couldn't stop crying.

I love you.