Taking Over

The leaves fall like rain, I feel the wind blowing me away.
Spring time comes with broken hearts, it's just the start of something new.
Days go by with the blink of an eye and I sit here wondering why.

Yesterday fell, so hard on its face. Today gets up, and finds its own place.

Every day I feel like crying, I lost the will to keep on trying.
Whether it be, you or me, it's time to face our naïvety.

A lost love is everything a lost soul needs,
To complete the deepest grievance ever known.

Why here, and why now,
Who says, and who knows,

Right here, and right now,
I say, and I know it's taking over me.

It's taking, taking, it's taking over me.
Taking, taking, it's taking over me.

Be bold and take hold,
It's taking over me.

2009

This year, I got just a little bit closer to understanding love, as impossible as that may be. I finally saw a heart up close. I felt it. It was warm and soothing to feel the beats. They are such fragile things with the power of a double edged sword.

Lately I've been at a loss for words. I think this is because this year has challenged almost all my previous perceptions of love. The point is, I'm 22 and learning. I've never been married. I'm not 100 years old with wisdom of a saint. I'm a young man with the free will to love whoever I choose. I avoid heartbreak as much as possible, I kiss when kissed, I think before speaking, I forget, I remember, I mess up, I make up, I admit, I love. My heart used to sit on my sleeve. It's a little harder to do these days.

I learned that no matter how pure and honest your intentions are, the world can manipulate and misconstrue every step of the way. And all I can do is walk away. People will believe what they want to believe. Life will go on. Days will get cloudy, but the storm will pass.

Four Days

Stay up late, contemplate. It's been four days and still I ache. Check my phone, check my mail, check my mind and then exhale. No happiness. Guilt, blame, and bitter pain. It hurts. It's not the same.

Still

The truth is, I sit and write, day and night, rewrite, un-write, throw away, start over, sit, think, write, "right?", wrong, trash. I don't know how to say what I want to say. I want it perfect. I want us perfect. But this isn't a perfect world and I am only human.

The night I met you, butterflies flew, flapped their wings and I knew. It was the story behind the eyes that drew me into you. I have never been cared for so intimately. I don't argue how we met, whether fate or serendipity. I am simply grateful and thankful for you.

Unknown November

I don't know... I don't know anymore. When I start to get a grasp on what is going on, on what I'm doing here, where I'm suppose to be... things start to fall apart and everything changes. For the sake of sanity and everyone around me, I wish I knew.

I wish I knew me better. I wish I knew why I ruin what's good in my life. Is there really a problem or is it in my head? Why am I so scared to let something good happen?

My eyes are so heavy. Winter lays on top of me for now and I will try to sleep long. Time needs to pass. Spring will be here soon and I will take advantage to grow in the warm sun.

I'm just not the same... empty, disoriented, pessimistic, unmotivated, and unhappy. That's not who I am. That's never who I've been. What's happening to me? Why can't I figure out what's going on?!

Another One

I hear whispers of "wake up" but this dream has me head-locked into submission of nauseating ache and disillusionment. It's a night terror that's beginning to feel like a routine swallow of uncomfortable toleration. The scene is set. The rolls are played. I look devastation in the face. I watch the peddles fall one by one from the one I love. My heart is slowly and consummately torn. My breath fails to return to me and I stand there fading in plain sight. Numbness consumes my flesh and blood. My soul has died with my love. I weep. I weep? Pain is still prevalent? I wake.

I gasp from the pain that has stalked me to my consciousness. The twisted sheets circles my body with a halo of sweat. My heavy breathing dampens the sound of my pounding heart. I sit up and wonder when it will end.

Fear

So much fear in such a small place. The universe stretches on for life times yet all we know is the fear in our face. It's the fear we wake up to every morning. It's the fear that keeps us up at night. Hot beads of sweat suffocate our dreams. We thrust lights on, bolt doors, build barriers, and still it haunts our souls.

We fight at... nothing. Something's there, but we swing and have no satisfaction in destruction of anything, scream but can't hear the echos of anger.

Quiet Light

The curtains frame the gray sky and the window panes transform the light as I watch you sleep. You lay still under a blue lit room. Silence swallows the world and we are left alone. Tempting illumination graces your silk peach skin, your face glows with sincerity and innocence. My eyes explore your silhouette as my hand falls gently onto your side. It slides down your supple skin as I brase firmly, your lush curves. I drift in and out of sleep as time drifts with us.

Contradistinction of Adoration

Contusion, confusion, no conclusion, a freight train of pain. Love falls like rain, washing away worries, miniscule flurries, like the old stories. It feels impressed and preserved with the seal of years of Clark Gables and fairy tale fables. Til thunder strikes and pikes the spikes of divorce and diverge, of difference and distance. We run like ants, everything to fear, losing everything we hold dear.

I am insane, inane, sick of games. I want you happy, you make me sappy. I want you content, you make me resent. I am deranged, drained, and proclaimed. I am vivacious, audacious, and free. This is what you make me.

Deep Sleep

Sleep falls heavy. Eyes weak and resistance weaker. My mind drains to a declining drip. Traffic of thought and worry fade quickly. The body tingles of urgency to rest. Breathing pulses in the background before the shades close and the show begins. Quiet, dark, alone, and asleep with peace.

Anger

Thrash, smash, break, violate. I hate, I hate, I don't hesitate to throw out, throw away, total dismay. My skin boils the more I sit, I want to hit, kick, grab and stab. I'm pissed off. I'm angry. This is me, not passive, not quiet, not nice, not pleasant. I'm wrong, I'm out of place, I'm not giving a fuck. I'm tired of caring and people starring at the man with good morals. Punched the wall until my knuckles bled, scream until my hearing's dead. Take the bat to the tree and start a destruction spree. Kill the humane, choke the righteous, drown the witty, but most of all show no pity. Weak never worked, I'm always hurt and now I'm angry.

Fireworks in September

Fireworks in September change everything about the season, every previous notion. The colors fill my soul with passion. Explosions of red shimmer, light up the darkness with zeal of love and lust. Orange and yellow flares fly by like spontaneous and sporadic pleasures life often reveals when we least expect. Some are staggering but short lived while others blaze across the sky like the longest shooting star. Dark blue bulbs fire off like cannons of dull ache and longing but quickly dissolve into the heavy black canvas. But with every color, emotion, heart break or heart wake, there is a constant sign of light accompanying. The white lights flood the sky with clarity, purity, and possibility like the intensity and brilliance of ignited magnesium.

Though the lights are passing, this clarity is lasting.

Career (All Bets Off)

There was a time in my life when I thought the only jobs to choose from were firefighters, policemen, and doctors. I think this had something to do with the influence of a Fisher Price toy I was given one Christmas.

Fast-forward a few years and I am overwhelmed with such wide variety of career paths. Living in the time period that I do, I'm given so much choice. It wasn't that long ago when you simply picked up a trade and went with it because it was available. I don't think a lot of Americans realize how dramatically the Industrial Revolution changed our career opportunities, not to mention our entire way of living, but that's a topic for another time.

When I graduated high school I was about seventy percent sure which direction I wanted to head. Film interested me, I loved those pinnacle moments in movies of love, hate, rage, sadness. The deepest of emotion shown almost flawlessly is what attracted me to the medium. My next decision was whether to go to film school or do the four years of college just like everybody else. It boiled down to cost and real life implementation. A four year school would give me a golden ticket called a bachelor, redeemable at any participating job offers. Where as, film school would teach me the "know-how" and tell me to "network". Looking back, I'm still quite confident in my decision to attend a four year school. However, after three years of vigorous studying and "all-nighters", I truly question my career path.

Within one semester I had thought about changing my major to sociology, dance, photography, and even dropping out to attend culinary school. Often times I think about joining the military after college simply for the life experience and traveling. I see two alternate life paths in my mind like a scifi. I wonder how different my life would be if I joined. How different would my perspective become on life and war? The more I experience first hand, the more I am able to relate and understand others.

Whether I become a firefighter, psychologist, or unknown film-maker, I'm just happy to ride the wave of unpredictability.

Summer Weight

I remember as a kid when summer came around and nothing else mattered. Slowly as I grew up, those three carefree months became shorter. I no longer play in the sprinkler, or ride my bike down to the corner store to by Bazooka Bubble Gum and an ice cream Drum Stick. My summers now are filled with flakey jobs, high gas prices, and 100 degree temperatures.

Three days ago I laid flat on my back, looked up at the flaring dark Texas night sky and watched the International Space Station float by like a firefly. The feeling was surreal. I felt gravity holding me back as I reached off the face of the earth, as if one more step would release me, into eternity. My peripheral vision made it feel like I could see the contour of this relatively tiny planet as I looked out into space.

Today I realized that all my childhood adventures were still here. And the troubles of todays summers were present even back then, I just hadn't really focused on them. I was concentrating my attention on the wrong aspects of summer. It wasn't until I, quite literally, laid back and watched the world go-round that I saw what I was missing.

What Will Be, Soon, Will Have Been

Last night I flew the coop. I ignited a fire and furry flew. That which felt inevitable, consumed all good moral and consciousness. The lines were blurred from reality to fiction. And all I can say is... que sera sera.

Maturing or Disconnecting

Today I found myself worrying about tomorrow, concerned about what I would be doing or needed to get done approximately 12 hours from that very moment I was standing there, living and breathing. It's fascinating to me how I can becoming so disconnected to the world when, at the same time, I feel I am become more in tune with the structure of its society.

All I seem to hear these days is how much school costs, jumping from job to job, trying to graduate "on time", preparing for that internship, sticking to the plan!

The fact is... life isn't something you can plan. God didn't throw us on this earth and say, "Ok, now go get your degree. When I get back, you better have that house on the lake, 2.5 kids, and a dog that doesn't eat your slippers."

I refuse to become a slave to societies quotas! I'm beyond tired of people trying to tell me what I need to do and when I need to do it by. Without even realizing it, I've started to become "functional" in the madness we call a society. It terrifies me to think of all the imagination, inspiration, and individualism we give up as we grow up, not to mention the time we waste planning.

Fame

I wonder how easily fame corrupts the most honest of men. It
fascinates me like Pandoras Box. I feel I will never completely
understand until I see it first hand, until I've become just as naive
as all the others.

But is it possible to live balanced? Can one learn to ignore flashing
cameras and stinging tabloids day in and day out? Is it worth ones
privacy to be familiarized by so many? I am curious yet wary as the
consequences may be irreparable.

My Nightmare

Three times shot in the side without a sound. We go out the front door quickly, careful not to spill a drop of blood. The day is suspended and played slowly, viewed with a filter of remorse blue.

I want to cry. I want my tears to make you better. I want this lump in my throat to choke me completely. But I must go on and fix what I made wrong.

You hang onto me as I drag you to a motorcycle, keys in and ready. My hands are trembling to the point I cannot turn the key. I hear you breathing softer. With the weight of your lungs and lame body, I must go. I must make it right.

A quick breath of consciousness allows me to start the bike. Although this is my first time, I know how to ride, I must. First to second to third in jolts and sprints as you, pail and pained, hold fragilely. The wet trees blur down the dark black back road. I feel my heart pulsing on the throttle. The bike tires roll along the road as the world turns, taking me closer to my destination, to my desperation.

Like second nature, my hand grips the brake. We have made it to the hospital with the yellow lights. All my anxiety is bled out through a murderous scream for help. The nurses come running to take you, my young brother, away. Like fire from my eyes, and rain from the skies, tears pour out leaving me nothing to disguise. I fall on the ground, soaking in the water from a puddle, dripping from the blood of your ribs, crying out to wake up from this pain, guilt, and bloody nightmare.

The Best Man

You fall into the web of wedlock. Captured from the younger years, you drift off into the sea of bills, pacifiers, daily routines, and the occasional freedom from machines.

A day has ended with the sun setting, not sure if it went over your head or mine. If only we had more time and a crystal ball, would the day end the way we want it to? Are we able to reverse the sun and watch it sail away over the eastern sea?

Drunk and angry, the blue october past by painfully like the Titanic to the iceberg. Two months later you tell me you're gone. The ship is at the cold bottom with the scaled fish. You are in your state of content.

My Puzzle

I wonder how my puzzle will be pieced together. Glimpse's of a bigger picture scattered across the floor and when it's time to assemble the art, how many parts will be missing? How many pieces will not fit, how many will be fabricated or jammed in to fit? Will the task be taken slowly and maturely or rushed to blur any flaws?

There are pieces for miles headed West on that black top home. There are pieces down by the creek with the ole' bamboo fishing pole. They're in dorms, bottles, beds, down Lavaca, outside donut shops, behind liquor stores, and beneath the ever present stars. Some friends hold more pieces than they realize, others have thrown out what I've entrusted to them.

Unless all the pieces are found, can you see the picture clearly? Clear enough? Can the puzzle be solved even if pieces are missing? Will you ever fully see or understand? I hope.

To Be Wed In March

March comes loudly like a parade of nostalgia down Memory Lane. Festivity all around mixed in with some floats you enjoy and others you would love to avoid. It's entertaining either way.

A tragedy has its dark humor and inappropriate irony while comedy is all too obvious and predictable yet assuredly to bring a laugh.

Park Bench

Love seems to come and go more frequent and in shorter duration. People on the sidewalk pass by holding hands while I eat my string cheese and apple alone quietly on the park bench. It's a beautiful day but seems to be bogged by sadness.

As I walk to class I catch a glance of a girl walking toward me. Suddenly I feel the need to pull her aside and spill my thoughts. Playing the scene in my head, I imagine she recognizes my thoughts as if they were her own and she is so glad I jumped on the sporadic gumption.

She walks by and I, eyes to the ground, smell her perfume. Inhaling regret, staying quiet but know the pain of speaking up, reaching out, and opening. Some day... someday might never come.

Unclear which inflicts the most change, regret or the pain of loss. Or possibly the loss of pain and regret when life starts to change for the better.

Tea

As I boil water I flash back in time to the most primitive of days when our forefathers did just the same for a soothing drink. They gather the herbs from the earth and put them into the water that whispers with steam.

The herbs bleed. The water steeps into aroma, flavor, and genuine color. Two hands preserving sanctity. I sip slowly as to not provoke the tempered tea and in return it warms my soul.

Cry

My nose starts to tingle. I feel my eyes swelling hot and cheeks warm. My emotions crash onto my heavy face, broken. The water pours from my eyes like a salty faucet and yet my lids are clenched shut, mouth open, teeth exposed. Saliva strings like a web as I pant my gallon drum lungs. My body exhausts itself onto the floor as if I had tripped into a dark hole. My mind is blinded by wet blur. I seem to repeat the same phrases over and over, each time growing more passionately, raspy, and rough.

Time is only understood with a pulsing headache and worn expression. The arms and legs lay limp with short convulsions from gasping air. Yawn.

Anguish freezes involuntarily.

I exhale feeling expended, my will for contentment going out with my breath. My sleeve is lined with dark streaks where I wiped my nose like I did as a child. Skin shades of flesh and red pattern the outside of my eyes from tightly held mien. 

Once ashamed, now exposed to all the pain that was enclosed.

Neutral Becomes Noisy

For the longest time I thought I was doing myself a favor by laying low with opinions of politics, ethics, and other difficult subjects. And for the longest time I have stayed clear of most conflict, until now.

Oddly enough, the conflict doesn't come from anyone but myself. I argue with myself on almost every subject, never coming to a final conclusion. I just end up pissed off and no one to blame it on. I seem to be asking myself more questions and finding less answers. It's like a game of ping-pong that got way out of hand, I've been going back and forth for years.

I was never really asked for MY opinion, most of the time people would just say theirs and look to me, "wouldn't you agree." I'd naively nod my head and shrug my shoulders.

For some reason I don't care or have no reason enough to argue over most subjects. I never saw anything wrong with that about me, now I'm starting to wonder.

Make Believe

I make believe sometimes. I used to make believe  a lot, but not so much anymore. People look at me strange when I'm shopping in the grocery story talking to myself, 

"Affirmative, we have a bogie on aisle 10, requesting backup to take down the salsa."

More recently I try to make believe when no one is around, or even awake for that matter. I'll take late night showers with all the lights off. I pretend I am in some alley, blind and must find my way around in the darkness. I am poor and have no clothes. It begins to rain. Acid rain, it feels hot. I have nothing. I lay there for an hour waiting, waiting for the rain to flood and wash away the street dirt. I have nothing and feel content. The world is falling apart and I feel safe.

I feel safe in my imaginary place.