clumsily disconnected,
forcibly removed,
a future within a decaying box,
ashes in the mouth of life,
let that pretty smile wash away the tears of a plastic tree,
do it again,
see it fall,
don’t fake it,
a goodbye that’ll last,
walking away in an ache,
friends made into a belief,
crimson in design,
violent in flair,
a pain unopened,
trust impaired,
the delicate shower…
The Twisted Roads To My Madness 
I find myself sometimes wondering who the boy was, that I once shared this skin with, how he would see this world and the man who has inherited his skin. Sometimes I feel him in my words, and in my actions, but it’s an illusion of a memory, for the journey we take forward is never one of choice, but of necessity.
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Brutal. Honest. Very much felt. It’s interesting, a couple years ago I had an experience that pretty much obliterated my connection to feel the pain within. I went numb and have yet to find a way to reconnect with the core of my self. When I read your poetry I get a glimpse and the taste of what I remember my deep self is or perhaps was…
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