Hey, I still remember you. How could I forget?
I cherish these memories dearly.
Like I've been stripped of everything I once was.
Now naked, I hold this locket to my chest.
An unpolished faux-gold locket.
Tarnished and dented.
Meaningless trash for others, but I hold on.
How could they understand?
When I dare open it,
to revisit the past,
spinney thorns latch on to my heart.
Maybe, we can take a midnight stroll to a nearby college.
Or smoke a J in the woods, while our parents sleep blissfully unaware.
Or get our heads funny and drive. The world never seemed so small, as it revolved around us in that car.
Or skip school, just to hang out.
Or
Or
Or....
And my heart bleeds.
I know those times are gone,
and maybe I'm the only one who holds on.

I used to see through the whole glass,
not just a glass half full.
The telescopic lens was thick green, like the bottom of a vase,
that could see right through the bullshit that seems to cover everything.
Maybe,
the optimism of youth*
(*A willing ignorance to avert the eyes from the puzzle pieces that don't fit in my interpretation of what life is, was, will be.)
is to blame.
Seeing the truth that life is a non-sequitur,
an incoherent rambling,
a hodgepodge,
a complete shit show,
where words and actions can never be truly understood.
Love hurts the hardest when all you want to do is share it.
But past fears creep forth, panic sets in and the shell gets thrown up.
Sometimes you do it for yourself,
then you realize, that it may be for the benefit of others.

The cage,
made of rusty lies and iron wills,
is set.
Built to prison fierce beasts
with golden manes or royal plumage,
whose talons and claws
rapped the floors and walls
til fresh blood glistened
on dull metal.
Their being cries out to be free.
But,
the gawkers stand outside
with gaping maws,
amused by the dumb beasts.

The snow hung heavy on the trees,
muffling the ever restless forest.
An celestial calm.
Crunch.
Footstep breaks the silence.
Crunch, Crunch.
Determined boots forge through the pure surroundings.
Crack, sploosh.
Body slipped into a torrid river,
leaving a hole in the ice
and footprints.

I lay down another thread. Strung across my mind, it connects; observations with ideas, or dreams with reality. Since we were kids, we have all been building these webs. Only we know the intimate details of the sprawling chasm. Every memory tethered to an emotion. This vast net creates and manipulates our life. In the continuing search for something new, original, fresh, Real: I have become entangled. A fly trapped. These looping thoughts have me stuck.

A tried and true notion,
like a rut in the road,
keeps me from going further.
Letting go is easier said then done.
The familiar ground holds comfort,
that sedates the weary traveller.
Fear of the unknown,
love for the familiar:
these notions kill more
then DRUGS and marriage.
Combined.
Let's leave the spies and shame
to their silly game,
by accepting the wounds and tender cuts,
given to us,
each other,
and ourselves.

A thousand cheeks to turn,
against a thousand angry fists.
A thousand times to forgive,
as the eye burns,
from a thousand gallons of salty tears,
wiped away and forgotten.

A strange thing happened yesterday,
I lost control of my emotions.
A dam, that had been building for years,
was unleashed. It had been built, stone by stone. Each a notion of self repression. The waters, torrid and raging, wiped clean the built up crust and false earth. The deep parts that had been suffocated, finally were free. Free to feel the warm sun. Free to bask in the fresh air. A rejuvenation of hope.

Sixteen again in my mind.
Sixteen again but I've grown too old.
Sixteen with an ego, and a chip
on the shoulder that cracks the veil
of "pretend I'm an adult."
Sixteen and I'm not in control.
Actions speak louder then words,
so why go back to write these
words down? Hoping to cure
What actions have not?
Sixteen and I'm not in control.
And getting the feeling that everyone
is pretending its all ok,
when maybe, it would be better
for all to allow ourselves to doubt.

On the slippery slope I stood, confronted by evil. In the valley below, smoke poured up, from a village in upheaval. We stood, opposite from one another, watching the chaos. He laughed, claiming it was my loss. I smiled, "It was a toss." The laugh faded. "After, all this time..." I baded. "Still, haven't learned, we're always traded?" One man dies, another is born. The tale is older then yorn. "So take it!" I say, "The satisfaction you seek. It's hollow. It's false. It's pitty and meek."