I Make People Burn Apparently And Shake Shake Down Through You? It Could Have Been You It Could Still

Always bring a knife to a gun fight, or any fight, life is a constant fight, bring it to that too

Pack for every Eventuality Fill your pockets with Golden survival Stuff knives in your socks  Fire in your hands And jerky in your briefs And pray Pray they come Or this'll all be for Naught And if they do Turn out  Offer them an Open hand But don't forget to Arm the other

Marian

That kind of look that just breathes "I know what the fuck I'm doing, And you want it, You want to know". It captures me At the basest most innocent of levels. She stands Forever still In black and white. This wolf at my door.

Questioning fate

And whether we are all trapped in it and thinking we are free to decide what we do or whether we actually are. Not that it ultimately matters, you are who you are and you do what you do. She begged With tears on her cheeks Screams in her throat And blood in her hands But I cut him still Watching him drain into the ground And her sink next to him All for what. We all knew this was the way It had to end But just because you know the end You can't stop wanting To hope That it will change How do you fight fate Wether you believe in it Or not How do you know that our actions have consequences Is it a consequence if it's preordained? How can you fool the very thing that's writing your story How do you choose, if the choice was never yours How do you live If the life was never yours to lead If you are lead by some string tied to your soul Tied to the pages we are written on Your life Ink on pages Does someone read us when we pass Or are we just stored on the shelf To impress and gather dust She begged And I cut

Let's start with something easy

Or let's not. I write because the words speak to me, when they come, I stop whatever I'm doing to record them, it's like possession, it takes over and I lose control. But saying that, I like to write, I could never keep a diary because I think it was too regimented, but I've always enjoyed writing, for me. It's only recently that I've let people see this side of me, let them read my thoughts, which is essentially what it is. I guess some of what I write is pretty deep, but that's because I like to rant to get how I feel out of me, I can understand it more if I can see it, like a tangible reflection. Conversely, I write some random things that aren't deep. Essays, poetry, conversations, it's just how my brain deals with life. Anyway, welcome to the ramblings.

Be still

There is beauty in silence

Yet you force me to speak

Your awkwardness deafening

Your inability to just

Be still

And take in the nothing.

The absence itself has form

You just need to find it.

Piece

There is a -

Space

A void

A gap

A missing piece

As if the jigsaw were whole

Once.

I mourn this piece

For I know not what it was

Only that it no longer is.

Breath

She's only happy in the sun Or in bed My bed We inhale Hold Exhale Push our souls out Through our mouths Share the light And the darkness Share the space Between our touch Feel All there is Care and care not Drifting with purpose.

Tread carefully

I'm so used to walking in the gutter that placing my feet on level ground has become Somewhat of a privilege. Ironically though, I find that my feet fumble and move around, unable to find even footing On the flat surface I now find myself on. I aim for the cracks Just to find Some resistance. Maybe I should Just stay in my place, And not seek things above my station To forever crawl in the dirt Realise And accept The struggle The comfort In the uneven surface of my life

Yup

Esquire he's my idol But now Now Lets not get Carried away Swept A-way with the tide Weigh anchor dogs This whale wants us inside But we won't go down No we won't go down Not with this ship Not on your life No not on your lives Neither on mine

Lo, does the world not shift and move,

When you release your focus,

Do the plates not slide,

When you stop,

Does it not bubble, blister and wave,

Eluding to something behind that fragile curtain,

Do you see their trails,

Is it you who holds your own reality.