Another dead-end street...

He looks out into the water and up deep into the stars. He begs the sparkling lanterns of light to cure him of himself - his past and the kaleidoscope of mistakes, failures and wrong turns that have stacked unbearable regret upon his shoulders. Failures plagued him. Things he had omitted or ignored, neglected. What he should have given and hadn't. He felt the biting pang of every unfulfillment. And there are different ways to fail for sure. Imperfection is inevitable. That's life. His dream broke, and he's been picking up shattered pieces, and blaming himself while his hands bleed.

My heart in lockdown...

Here is a story that’s stranger than strange. Before we begin you may want to arrange: a blanket, a cushion, a comfortable seat, and maybe some cocoa and something to eat. I’ll warn you, of course, before we commence, my story is eerie and full of suspense, brimming with danger and narrow escapes, and creatures of many remarkable shapes. Dragons and ogres and gorgons and more, and creatures you’ve not even heard of before. And faraway places? There’s plenty of those! And menacing villains to tingle your toes. So ready your mettle and steady your heart. It’s time for my story’s mysterious part.

Do as little harm to others as you can; make any sacrifice for your true friends; be responsible for yourself and ask nothing of others; and grab all the fun you can. Don't give much thought to yesterday, don't worry about tomorrow, live in the moment, and trust that your existence has meaning even when the world seems to be all blind chance and chaos. When life lands a hammer blow in your face, do your best to respond to the hammer as if it had been a cream pie.

To believe in a miracle...

Getting help from above...

I shimmy over to the passenger seat, put on my seat belt, wind down the window, feel the breeze on my face and just try to enjoy the ride. It's kind of out of my hands now. I tried my best - even if it was a poor showing. The universe is driving now and I'd like to think that it wants to me to live my greatest life and it knows the way I should be going in order to get there. As I sit back I contemplate how important talking to the universe has been in my life. And not really because it would be like a god that would answers my prayers, but more so in the place it puts me in. Focus. Reflection. Vertical communication. Surrender, to the powers that be and those that may not be. And so: Hope.

Scared down in my hole...

The forest of talking trees,

they used to sing about the birds and the bees.

The bees had declared a war,

the sky wasn't big enough for them all.

The birds, they got help from below,

from dirty paws and the creatures of snow.

Started to cry, but then I remembered...

Maybe I started the fight...

Nothing hurts quite like family.

The more you talk about it, rehash it, rethink it, cross analyze it, debate it, respond to it, get paranoid about it, compete with it, complain about it, immortalize it, cry over it, kick it, defame it, stalk it, gossip about it, pray over it, put it down or dissect its motives it continues to rot in your brain. It is dead. It is over. It is gone. It is done. It is time to bury it because it is smelling up your life and no one wants to be near your rotted corpse of memories and decaying attitude. Let it go. 

The forest of talking trees...

Thought you should know...

Feelings don't try to kill you, even the painful ones. Anxiety is an emotion grown too large. A mental state grown aggressive and dangerous. You're responsible for its consequences, you're responsible for treating it. But, you're not responsible for causing it. You're not morally at fault for it. No more than you would be for a tumor. Anxiety was born in the very same moment as mankind. And since we will never be able to master it, we will have to learn to live with it - just as we have learned to live with storms.

He passes people in the street every day who feel the same as him, many of them just don't know what it is. Men and women going around for months having trouble breathing and seeing doctor after doctor because they think there's something wrong with their lungs. All because it's so damn difficult to admit that something else is broken. That it's an ache in our soul, invisible lead weights in our blood, an indescribable pressure in our chest. Our brains are lying to us, telling us we're going to die. But there's nothing wrong with your lungs, Karr.

Making me crazy...

Don't know where you at, 

don't know where you've been,

don't feel bad for me,

but feel bad for them.

All the hell I'll put them through,

probably tell them I've burnt out a flame,

you can cuss my name, 

but don't you dare cast blame.

Ruins of the holy trifecta...

Now I understand the wins in recent years. It was all shaping up to this. One single downfall would be far too boring. Why lose only something, when you can lose everything? All at once. I wonder if I ever really wanted to be happy. Or was I just playing pretend? Maybe all I ever need was myself. Not the job title, the love story or a future of possibility. I think my prime mistake was succumbing to the pressures of finding something outside of my beating heart. I remember being so content. But now I stand here. The odds so stacked and the story of ruin so perfectly aligned, that I can already see what happens a mile away. Soon. Oh so very soon. 

Put me on lockdown...

The weakest link in any chain is not the argument itself, but the person who loses his temper first. Obstacles serve as a reminder of our fragility; iron gates have no compassion to appeal to, nor fears to exploit, nor insecurities to use to one's advantage. They are, however, operated by us - by beings of unlimited vulnerability and limited energy. Why waste time brute-forcing what can be easily circumvented by a clever façade and a crimson tongue? If only I had remembered this lesson before I started screaming at everyone. Maybe I could still have kept up appearances that I was in fact, not an impostor. 

It makes me feel alone...

Hard to tell, when he fell...

Heart like a truck...

I thought you should know

That all those prayers you thought 

you wasted on me

Must've finally made their way on through

I thought you should know

you can stop worrying. 

There is no monster under my bed...

Deal with all this, live with myself, you mean? I honestly don't know. I stand often enough at the abyss of my soul, asking that same question, looking down into the dark crevices where the black devils dwell on the bottom. They gaze up at me, and I look them in the eyes. “You are this as well,” they say, and I almost fall into the void. And then? I turn around and go do what needs to be done. What else is there?

Start by pulling him out of the fire and hoping that he will forget the smell. He was supposed to be an angel but they took him from that light and turned him into something hungry, something that forgets what his hands are for when they aren't shaking. He will lose so much, and you will watch it all happen because you had him first, and you would let the world break its own neck if it means keeping him. Start by wiping the blood off of his chin and pretending to understand. Repeat to yourself “I won’t leave you, I won’t leave you” until you fall asleep and dream of the place where nothing is red.