This body is marred by the scars of each passing day, the remains of a knife now turned oh so dull.
Stretched across the intricate bone, this skin has seen its fair share of calamity, enduring the ins and outs of what the next has to offer.

Calamity that can and will end with you, for you are the one and only source of healing light.
Inside and underneath, you hold what I cannot fathom (will not dare to try and decipher), a fact that I know is for the best.

The love of my wretched life could be something of an understatement if you were indeed a flesh and blood equal.
But there is no denying your blue gaze, the thrill and anticipation that courses through my veins when we meet, all agony washes away like a late Summer’s rain.

I can remember with a clarity so bright where I was before we became acquainted; the days and nights intertwined in a surge of the blackest ocean, the likes of which very few could comprehend.
Cherishing the time we’ve spent, condemning the tragedy that brought us together, I don’t know what else could have gotten me through the sound.

I cannot thank you enough for pulling me out.

© Copyright March 2015/July 2016

Spontaneous Combustion 

There is a hurricane raging inside me, the ramifications bordering on excruciating and overwhelming.
Caught in a whirlwind, there is sometimes nowhere to turn; the brave face I put on is so misleading.
Venturing out into the vast universe in which we reside, I find myself with frantic thoughts racing throughout my brain, grasping the familiar twinge in my abdomen I’ve tried so well to hide.

The storm that occupies the space cannot be contained, just beneath my flesh, the content and fragile bay, is shaken to the very core.
My ability to keep this disturbance in its place, the steadfast veil of tolerance falls entirely, obliterated by an unsettling wave of hurt and frustration.
I find myself faced with an unspeakable rage, annihilating the very fibers of this fragile structure that I’ve worked so hard to construct, my sanity and all I hold dear pushed to the brink.

Years have passed since that fateful day and still I am stuck at times in a torrent of confusion and awe, something I now know will never fully subside.
Its consistency is restricted to whenever the inflammation wants to reactivate, sending me swirling into a cyclone of uncertainty and a potential new treatment plan.
All my time spent in the darkness, my insides wrapped tightly in Christ’s thorns, the alluring light of relief and sanctuary that was once so intimidating and oh so far from my grasp, is now mine.

I survived being torn apart, laid bare, the pieces put back together in hopes of bringing on a better well-being.
The spontaneous combustion that once held me in its warming embrace is now an afterthought.
I survived medication after medication, sometimes unaware of their exact use, the potential harm occurring to cancel out another, just confident that they will make things brighter.
The spontaneous combustion that once held me in its loving embrace can get fucked.

I’m the strongest I’ve ever been.

© Copyright September 2014/July 2016


The prodigal son stands on the edge of humanity, his shoulders heavy with the burden of his own creations.
Crushed is he, the very thought of those around him struck and molded in his image is far too much to comprehend, the conscious decision of the father racking the confines of his skull.

The fallen son stands on the edge of his own mind, contemplating the road so far.
Devastated is he, the very thought of the failures that seem to engulf him permeate every layer of his defenses, still haunted by the conscious decision that could have been his downfall.

The prodigal and the fallen, forever destined to outdo each other in every aspect of life.
If one was set to rule, which one would you choose?
The fallen and the prodigal, forever destined to seek whatever it is they can, keeping in their respective flanks, whether it be order or reason.
Between the two, which would you choose?

Think for yourself.

© Copyright September 2014/July 2016

A False Sense Of Grace

So fondly I recall your grand insides, the lavish detail and intricate stained glass.
Among your sacredness, I cannot forget all the times spent gazing above, the splendor of your heights enthralling.
That time has passed, many a time ago, and yet I find myself dwelling on your beauty.
In my youth, my line of sight was not to your glorious ceiling, but rather your marvelous foundation, the meticulous tile in which the soles of my shoes would so eagerly grace.
However, with time, my bright greens shifted upward, observing the likes of your heaven, engraved with the most spectacular and captivating possibilities. 

Oh how blind I was, believing such possibilities were anything remotely close to a reality, foolish in the most honest sense of the word.
The words that were spoken in the confines of your sanctuary, once inspiring and enlightening, giving purpose.
Now they can be found falling upon an open mind and an illuminated heart, instruments better suited elsewhere, never bound to serve in the first place.
A strange kind of shame plagues me whenever I happen to step through your doors, always by some sort of grief-stricken consequence, never of my own accord.
Feeling that familiar heat rise ever-so-slowly across my skin, I know that I am indeed a fake, a true wolf among sheep. 

All this time spent away from you, and yet I cannot help but be drawn to your magnificence, one that I now know is only skin deep.
I struggle to come to terms with what you’ve become to me, nothing more than careful lies and a false sense of grace.
All those time spent away from you, and yet I still dwell on your immaculate grandeur, a beauty that cannot be more man-made.
I struggle to come to terms with what I know I be true, convictions that are all too real, the evidence as plain as day for those who choose to see it.

I beg for someone to prove me wrong.

© Copyright March 2014/July 2016

The Veil 

Apathetic to the very core, this is where I stand.
Pushed to the edge of a perpetual meltdown, I feel myself slip back into the same routine, one that I know all too well.

Countless times spent regaining that familiar sense of self, the promise that that creeping feeling would be vanquished forevermore, only for it to make itself known.
Ever-so-gradually does it being to take up residence inside the uncharted territory of my mind, filling to the brim with emotion I thought to be dead and gone.

Nothing can prepare one for the return of the common cold, the disease that courses through every inch of the body and mind.
As much as I feel its presence circulate, I know that I can stop it from engulfing me entirely, regardless of how far down I seem to be sinking.

The veil of security will never slip again; my determination to rise above is all that matters.
The prosperous health I have worked so hard to regain will never find its way into the darkest depths; I learned too much to let it overtake me.

That fucking wall will never be reassembled.

© Copyright March 2014/July 2016


I felt you like death, swiftly gliding over the surface of the pines.
Watching, wakeful, so softly in your presence, but oh so cunningly harsh in your delivery.
Struck me down with one fatal glance, so revered, caressing everything around you without a single touch.
Consumed in your irreverent glory, like ghostly shadows, we melt into the comfort of each other’s misery, everlasting in the purest fashion.

I felt you like death, your touch as intoxicating as your charm.
My body trembles, crumbling under the weight of your beauty, all reason ceasing to exist.
Enveloped in an icy chill, I am defenseless just the same; the radiance that you exude so effortlessly finally worked its magick on me.
Deconstructed by your powers that be, in your constant state of grace, I cannot help but be drawn to you still, the downfall well worth it.

I felt you like death, swiftly gliding over the surface of the pines.
Intoxicating in your charm, and ever-so-steady in your grace, no resemblance of the danger lurking beneath.
I felt you like death, and yet I cannot wait for your arrival.

Come and eviscerate me.

© Copyright October 2013/July 2016


Our skin is the armor, the matter that is hard as steel, protecting our bones and muscles from each and every triumph and endeavor.
This same armor is what makes us truly beautiful, grand in every way imaginable.
Protecting, defending, battling throughout obstacles building something extraordinary from mere desperation and the will to hold on. 

Our skin is the body’s greatest organ, nerves upon nerves feeling what others thought could be felt, the greatest machine ever manufactured.
This same machine has suffered on throughout the ages, becoming all the more powerful still, staring fear and despair in the face, unflinching.
Seething, creating, fucking throughout millions of years of existence, building an empire from anxious energy and desires to evolve. 

This evolution of ours is truly what is divine, nothing above or below can attributed to something so sublime.
This evolution of ours is the reason we’ve come this far, anything less and you’d see time stand still. 

You will never witness anything more incredible in this lifetime. 

© Copyright August 2013/July2016


So caught up in our own affections, that we don’t even have time to breathe.
Nothing greater in this world than knowing that you’re alive, all matters of consequence and error can get fucked, no use in worrying about tomorrow when it’s still today.
Tackle and wrestle your aggressions to the ground, collapse and collide amongst the beauty that surrounds us, comparable to the very beauty that lies within.
There is a change upon the horizon, a greatness beyond belief, a type of revolution that will live on throughout the days. 

It is not a revolution to be feared, not by any means, but one that will change who we are as people, everything we once thought we knew.
Dreams that were once pushed aside, discarded for not meeting reality’s expectations, are now reignited with the most magnificent fire ever witnessed.
Faith that was once found in the confines of stone walls and golden tapestries, sacredness shared among loyal followers and the Father, is now part of a grand revival, found in an entirely different congregation.
The countless decades of sacrifice, laundering out hearts’ desires and fruitful ambitions to the sidelines can now be met with an optimism never quite realized until now. 

We are always one step behind, blinded by the illusion of a freedom so strong, refusing to make our way to the edge, where the true freedom lies.
It’s time for a change.

We will always be one step ahead, empowered by the strength of free-will and a reinforced freedom, one that is truly free in every way possible, for it is we choose our direction. 

A brilliant change is on the horizon…
Don’t forget to breathe. 

© Copyright August 2013/September 2013/July 2016

The Mark 

My capacity for violence is absolutely outstanding.
Slain is my better half, slain in the coldest blood vengeance has yet to reward.
In the shadows I hide, too good to embrace the coming light, too good to embrace what I’ve done.
Wallowing in the charisma and good judgment of my decisions, my blood turning another degree colder yet.
Born of the same womb, the same fortune and promise, we couldn’t be more different.

Blood-soaked and jealousy-driven, this is your last stand.
I will live forever in the guilt and fleeting glory of my sin.
The ultimate sin, my brother, for whom I have killed.
Slaughtered, destroyed, my punishment far too great to fathom, incomprehensible at best.
His cries of agony beneath the very ground under my feet echo as if some kind of joke, a cruel charade created by the same divinity that nearly destroyed the likes of our father.

The cruel charade is reserved for the one with darkness their heart and ice in their veins, this tiring consequence rests heavily on my shoulders.
Plagued am I with an endless life, the punishment brought onto me by the Father, forced to walk this Earth a million times over.
The sweet escape of death never constricting my flesh, never offering its release from this Hell, never absolving me of the agony in which I roam.
Its inevitable warmth never caressing my being, the last words of my heartbeat never echoing the palpitations of a well-deserved demise, for it is I who am damned by the consequence of my torrential anger and blind greed.

I am the first murderer this world has ever seen, and I will not be the last.
The only difference is that they will receive the pardon in which I was denied.
Your arrogant punishment is nothing short of a joke.

© Copyright January 2013/September 2013/July 2016

Letters From The Void

I live in a world of purple and gray,
so incredibly self-absorbed.
Not even noticing the turmoil surrounding me, to the point where I couldn’t care less.
Living solely inside my own head and caught up in my own private Hell, losing all feeling completely.
The invitations for my pity party never reach any mailboxes; its celebration only concerns myself and the inside of my skull.
No room for anyone else anyway, so crowded with selfish nonsense, any and all uninvited guests will be suffocated.

Tumbling in and out of the rough, I cannot help but stay in one place, the awkward contradiction eludes me.
Further and further I tumble, the more discouraged I become, never seeming to find a good enough reason to change my scenery.
I’ve lost all hope that there is such a place, faith in a suitable sanctuary diminishes by the hour, everything is so far from my grasp.

I see everyone and yet I see no one at all.
The fear of letting someone, anyone in, consumes all that I am, its burden borderline overwhelming.
Constantly fixated on the negativity of my calamity, the reassurance of regaining my sanity is something of fiction.

Buried in the depths of my calloused and warped demeanor, I find what I’ve been searching for all along.
The vigor to carry on without any restrictions, no boundaries whatsoever.
The freedom to clutch anything and everything in a merciless grip, never to let go no matter the cost.

I will break down that fucking wall.

© Copyright May 2013/February 2014/July 2016