Sometimes it comes,

Sometimes it goes,

If it will last,

You'll never know,

When morning breaks

And nights are slow,

Take in a breath, and chill. 

Seasons change, 

Air grows cold. 

Leaves are falling, 

Harsh winds blow.

Heart leaves quick,

You lose your soul. 

And you remain, still. 

Sales Pitch

Sit and talk with me awhile, 

Your words are so intriguing. 

Wring me dry through endless guile,

Make me believe; deceive me. 

Take me by the hand and pull,

Lead my thoughts astray. 

Fill my desires; make me whole,

Subtly creep away. 

Let me ponder dusk til dawn,

Leave not one clue more. 

Burn the image my head's drawn,

Eat away the core. 

Cunning with your calm demeanor, 

Selling your falsified picture of self.

Feed me your bullshit on this golden platter,

Turn me into one more notch on your shelf. 

Have you ever had those days? Those days where, no matter how great or amazing, no matter how loved you feel, no matter how much you realize that what's done is done and there's nothing that can possibly change the past, you still dwell on it? 

It doesn't escape your mind. You try and try, to no avail. Nothing can rid your head of this daunting image that seems to pour through every pore, soar through every sore. 

Nothing helps. 

But it will be okay.

Sit back. 

Take a deep breath. 

Life carries on.

It's so hard to understand sometimes, I know this. Believe me, I know. 

But life goes on. And you will make it through. 

I'm going to try to write a poem,

but I'm not sure how it will go. 

Every porous, every single gaping abyss; hope it flows. 

I'm perched atop death row. 

I hear the songs of crows. 

I want to say the words "I Love You" to everyone that I have known. 

The top will surely blow. 

The dark side; it'll show.

This earth doesn't have a fucking clue what will soon unfold. 

I can't do this alone, 

For I lack a pure soul. 

If life was sure to cease tonight, what standards would I hold? 

Sometimes I Write

Sometimes I write about things that I've seen.

Sometimes I write about places I've been.

Sometimes the words just don't quite seem to fit.

Sometimes processing thoughts can be a bitch.

Sometimes I write to escape life's cold grasp.

Sometimes I want nights to forever last.

Sometimes tomorrow is too far away.

Sometimes the nights are longer than the days. 

Sometimes I write simply because of words.

Sometimes I wish I could fly like a bird.

Sometimes I rhyme, and sometimes I don't.

Sometimes I think, and sometimes I won't.

Sometimes my words are unprepared reactions.

Sometimes I can't rid myself of distractions.

Sometimes the world seems so lovely and dear.

But most times I really just wish you were here. 

Don't be sold by pretty words,

Or caught inside another's world,

Don't be hostage to the lies,

Wasting all your precious time,

Rotting away, day after day,

Hoping for flowers to be sent your way,

As our rock of life spins, 

You need just a grin,

And not to be fooled 

When they tell you you've sinned,

Because at the last day's end, 

Or prior to when life begins,

Nobody ever seems to know

What truly exists. 

So don't seek solace in pretty words,

To me it all seems rather absurd. 

The red hot sun is like napalm on the earth today, but not here. This place of beauty, where the trees, housing the birds that sing such sweet melodies, grow tall and firm; where the smoke delicately rolls off of the inscent and through my lips. Where the grass sunbathes, in its abundance of green. This place is perfect. This place is exactly where I want to be. This place is home.