A week ago, all my bad choices
Sounded fun,
That I would never fall down so hard
And wake up.

See, it was just too easy to drive,
To pick one;
Return home, store, and crack open one,
Pourin' chill.

Under the sea of desperation
I hid well.
To drown in lies and tears, choking in
agony?

Didn't care.
Couldn't care.
Wished I cared.
Now's too late.

Two nights ago, demons called collect,
Why, of course;
Asking to take me and drag me home,
Told 'em "no".

Yet it's getting late again, I see,
Time to run.
Will make the run in time, if I jet,
Step on it.

Will I see the loud lights, hear the crash?
Maybe not.

Will there be an afterlife of sorts?
I dunno.

Dear [Someone?]:

I know this is an impolite way to start and address a letter, yes,
but I’m uncertain who you will be when my words reach you.
Right now I type this after a rough voyage in an endless sea,
and let me tell you I will sail back before the moon goes dull.

I think always of you - it’s hard not to - when I gaze at the tides
of this wild ocean, whose murky waters dampen our horizon,
and I can’t help placing all my self and happiness on your hands
that I’m not sure they will exist when I can finally catch up.

My young one hates me for what I’ve become, and wonders how
did I end into what I am now; he resents my mistakes and choices
and reminds me of all that I promised and never accomplished.
Please, when and if I ever see you, guide and help us to reconcile.

Will you hold me in your arms and help me rest when we meet?
And will you still hold those letters I scribbled, born out of madness,
and remember me with glee, not loath and fear? And most importantly,
Will you still be there? I mean, would that be truly you, and there?

Forgive my paranoically anxious eagerness to meet and if you,
but spending time, on its waters, does have an odd effect on one:
Sometimes the waves are soft, and the breeze’s clear and playful;
Most times, they are angry and the fog clouds all that once shone.

The sand is making me ending this letter so soon so I can sail away,
yet even in my dreams there’s you, or what I hope it will be you.
You’re my hero and utmost hope, and I’ll understand if you aren’t
there no more. Perhaps these letters never made it to you.

Or perhaps you simply don’t exist.

Never did.


~Me, 20 years ago.

The taste of yellow and blue is kind and mellow,
as the energy of the sky's lights outshine the void;
"An eternal struggle for meaning", saw one below
their heavenly power, complete with serene joy.

Lives we lead on so fast, yet expecting quietness,
Order that promotes fairness and practices evil:
Matters little to the stars, tears of souls' madness,
Their infinite freedom inspiration for strong wills.

Feelings of being lifted to the lands beyond life,
To the places a suffering mad man once dreamed,
And leave the world's pain and despair far behind,
That's why blue and yellow are so kind and mellow:

The warmth of their brightness, loveful and generous;
The cold night that soothes the minds of the onerous.