Happiness: a SecretHappiness: A Secret.A child learns quickly, that it's faster to destroy something than to build it.But which is happiness; castles in the sky perhaps, no, for us, a castle of sand:The Idea is Happiness.A child has an idea, a goal, of a perfect sandcastle. It may not actually be perfect in every way, but it his mind its perfect. It has all the right dimensions, the correct number of turrets, a portcullis, a moat of course, maybe even a taunting Frenchman made of shells or seaweed. This idea brings him joy, thinking of what he'll use to do every bit he wants. Armed with a bending plastic trowel, a bucket, and his imagination he'll take to the next phase.Perpetration is Happiness.Gathering all of the parts for it, and finding a location, the first obstacles appear. Three spots in his view give him very different options. The first is close to the water, making his moat and construction easy. But he knows that sometimes water may come too close and eat away at hi
Miss CommunicationI count how many times, I almost wrote you backI wonder if it would ever have deflated the attackThe assault on my mind, my sanity and prideLacking ever loving notion, your vanity aside.Little ragged envelopes lay opened on my floorNever really read the words inside but always asked for moreThe letters you chose so carefully in clever combinationBut when misread by circumstance read abomination.A clever turn of phrase was never your gift dear,Words then turned to weapons were all you could ever hear.So I count how many times, I almost wrote you back.My only regret is the understanding that we lacked.
DrawWhen she says my name, its unmistakable, there is a calm surrender in my ear.A fog in the night of a blistering summer day, a beacon of hope to an all consuming fear.I am but a piece to this movie in which we've been so flawlessly cast.But the beating of my own heart, to calm it now, is all I ask.It jumps at me, unaware of my mind's attempts to calm my ever tumultuous heart.Wishing emotions were a trigger, wishing I could control some part.Screams, of joy? Memories. Of terror? Memories. Of confusion? Now.My eyes blink slowly as she shakes me. The curtain drops, my eyelids bow.My heart is not the problem, nor my soul or mind,The issue is my body, as the signs all do remind.The drugs will keep me going, for longer if they take.But if they fail one more time, it'll be my last mistake.Your touch reminds me, words keep me strong, in case I fall asleep.My mind is warped by all this pain, I'll get through this with you,Brothers, sisters, parents and friends stand by me through a
More than 10 cents a messageAll around you is the scene of the crime.Weapons are pens, pencils, and writing utensils,Paper, keys, buttons, a touchpad, maybe even a court stenographer if you're lucky enough to get one.We're all pitter pattering transcribing blips of life into a message that encapsulates a moment:"One year today!" Joy? Sadness? Recovery? Context lost between ones and zeros, the seriousnessof a serial connection cannot connect the dots for you.Fuck the line they made. No sense without senses...What did she mean we're drifting, how did she know I was lost at sea?I told her I'm tired. She hasn't been getting much sleep either.The scene of the crime, the context, without it it's a con text.