imdead-goaway

Don’t rely on those who love you for everything about you that is beautiful, because that is not enough to merit trust. Instead, turn to those who love you despite everything about you that is ugly because when you let go, they’ll still be holding on and when you give them your back they will still be there when you turn around, ready to forgive even before you’ve mustered the courage to apologize. Turn to those who you call brother and sister though you don’t share a lineage; those you call mother, father, children through a bond thicker than blood, because though they did not give birth to you, they give life to y

Wall It does not fool me – a visceral understanding allows me to see through this veneer: a wall of stones solidified by struggle, and cemented into place by insecurity. Painted with patterns of positivity, it deceives passersby so well they never once think this façade is framed by a fortification, and just beyond that barrier wanders a soul, tangled in a maze of its own making. This fortress fabricated from fear is possessed by the spirit who haunts its passages, and makes of it a prison, but this confinement was not crafted consciously. Tattered by trauma, the body became a bastion, walls within which the mind withdrew to dw

A caffeine induced Insomnia, I forgot what morning feels like, I'm the first customer. A shot of espresso in a cup of coffee to forgot I'm tired and a cigarette to feel normal. It's cold, I'm shaking, not sure if there's a relationship, and here it is: Early birds are trying to get a head start populating the roadways, I want to tell them, hey, man, hey! the worm is a myth.

It’s not my fault you expect a fish to walk on land like you, but maybe it is my fault for taking the bait, letting you yank me into the air to deal with the questioning criticism, “Why can’t you just breathe like everyone else?” I know, you tell me you care but I’ve swallowed enough worms to know what that means - You care what others say. You care about the comments, about how I have fins instead of feet. You care about a perception of me, because when you look down into this pond, you see a distorted reflection of yourself. You don’t know the schools I swim with, you don’t know the depths I live

Sober used to be “normal”, but now it’s “not drunk”. Drunk used to be a destination, but now it’s a way-point. The shelves of brown liquor used to be an adventure, but now it’s a road map. The clock used to be fifteen minutes ahead, but now it’s as good a time as any. It used to be the future, but now it’s tomorrow. It used to be a glass half-full, but now it’s ice. It used to be one drink, but now it’s another. It used to be a pleasure, but now it’s a tolerance. It used to be a cigarette, but now it’s a filter. It used to be today, but now it’s tomorrow.

Maybe from the dust of stars, which span from one side of the universe to the other, you were conceived to be a beacon of hope, with a guiding light, dissolving the darkness of human life to see what is and what could be, to help others discover their own internal benevolence, to make the world a brighter place, And maybe you were meant to be above and unfettered by this reality, to give the clouds their silver lining, but you were dragged down to this earth by one who did not comprehend or appreciate what you are and, injured and confused, you lost your way. So maybe from the ebb and flow of existence, which spans from the beginning to the

Something about Spring in California makes me want to quit my job start a new romance write about Spring in California So I did, so I will, so I am. Something about Spring in California makes me want to miss my exit, so I can keep driving down the freeway with the wind rushing through my open window, even though I finished my cigarette several miles ago makes me want to get a drink when the sun goes down, so I can stand outside the bar in the warm twilight and share with strangers my feelings on the weather makes me want to cut ties with the world of responsibility lose the feeling of my feet on the ground, and float until my head is in

Coffee at the bar – I mean, its not good, but it’s free and that’s a helluva lot cheaper than at the café. Free, like this pen I found on the ground outside the café, and I’m just happy to discover it works. It works, unlike me, because I quit my job to be a writer, so that’s why I like things that are free, like dive bar coffee, and forgotten pens. But back to the coffee; it tastes a bit better then you throw in a shot of whisky. The whisky isn’t free, but hey, they don’t serve Irish coffee at the café – I mean, they probably from upon it, but they know me, and if I brought

A pocket full of black, narrow, chewed-up straws with the trace residue of gin and tonic from the dive bar where they call me Caesar, where men shooting pool bet five bucks a game on a slightly slanted table, where friendships are formed over a cigarette; Half-gnawed ebony plastic tubes when I reach for my wallet symbolize the transition I knew was coming from black coffee at the cafe because it was never really about the cappuccinos, just as it's not about the cocktails, it's nothing more than consuming a beverage at a location, wearing away the novelty of an atmosphere in search of inspiration to translate into words etched in dark ink. S

Why is war a perpetual element of our coexistence? Words like gunshots, wild from behind the barricades of our ignorances; Insecurities planted like landmines awaiting an innocent misstep; Threats lobbed like bombs, causing irreparable damage. When can we put down these weapons of love? Disengage, disassemble and diffuse these articles of destruction, repopulate our minds with thoughts and feelings not deafened by the din of combat so we can hear one another - We can reach one another with these arms.