Pressure knocks at my doorA clock ticks and demands its dueThe lava burns from the floorBut not in a game like it used to.So little time to figure it all outSo many distractions to prevent successI’m in a dark forest with no path or routeBut this internal fire knows no rest.

Like a handprint in cementAn indelible mark has been leftMy identity has been bentAt the point where your fingers pressed.Some people leave their marksAll over your identity;Some leave beautiful artAnd others graffiti obscenities.

The stars stare back In that deep, Soul-shattering blacknessAnd from the depths of existenceComes a cruel, icy windRaising the hairs On the back of your neckAnd suddenly it feelsLike you’re walking a tightropeOver that endless abyssOn one sad, fraying, thinViolin string.

Love is the poetry of the starsThe wind is the breath of the earthTo never become who you areOr to change at all, which is worse?

This piece of inked paper stands a colossusA monument to a string of moments once dear;The only surviving testament to a timeWhen these background bridges remained unburned,Before they became so much unswept rubble.

I’ve always hated it when authors seem to find joyIn killing my favorite characters.With gleaming eyes they toyWith turmoil in every chapter.Just when they’ve got you attachedTo the character’s quirks and flawsTo their words and their demonsJust when you’ve fallen in loveWith the character’s identity—With a cruel turn of the lipThe author smirks and kills them offAnd at our gasped pleas, merely scoffs.But the author was GodAnd my favorite character was youAnd I still can’t believe You’re gone.

These colorful polaroidsAre like magical portalsLeading to places, emotions, and peopleWho had slipped into the midst of the forgotten,Into the odd ether of willful omittance.

I look up upon a sparsely starred abyssHaving wandered to this street cornerIn the middle of the nightWatching the cars and people go byWonderingIf this deep, black nothingnessIs the sum total of being human.

I wish I could see butterflies burst from cocoonsWithout tempering my amazementKnowing all beauty eventually dies.