8-15-16
3am
Death is nothing. It has no power or control over how we live our lives. What dictates us is the fear. Fear of death, for example, has us panicked over how we spend our seconds and divide our days. Fear has us in a noose. Life doesn't work itself around death, nor does it build its foundation upon the soil of it. Life is made up of fear. Death simply exists.
Afraid of the afterlife? At least you've admitted to fear itself, but don't get ahead of yourself. That's not to blame death about either. Death is the messenger, the door swinging wide open to whatever lies Beyond. Death is caught in the middle, much like we are, in this life. Caught in the middle of work and life. Friends and family. Living and death. War and love. Sleep and creativity.
I think I'm friends with death. I'm not sure how we'll meet, but I do believe we're more than acquainted. Tonight, i won't have to talk to walls that just stand still, I've got something new to write about, in very morbid ways.

The dates had me hooked
In an obsessive love.
The specifics made me feel
Safe because my mind is who I've become,
My memory has to be of importance.
Or maybe I think at least I'm good for
Something, like remembering things.

Now I find myself sifting through
The boxes, and the pages,
The lines of emotion of all kinds
Sprawled across the white.
It's a dark hour again,
I dont know why they draw me
In so magnetically.
The bodies stopped wanting me,
So the night took over.
Maybe this is another obsession,
A mind game to ease the
Pain of being alone,
Since these walls aren't
Saying much back,
And your skeleton is lifeless.

How is it that scents are so destructive?
Like sex, cigarettes, and sweat in all
The right measurements triggers me.
Or when it rains, all I can think of is you,
and those nights up listening to
Macklemore and Machine Gun Kelly.

There's pavement beneath my shoes
And it's melting like my mindset.
I keep writing about you,
Because I've got nothing new to
Discuss, and in all honesty,
I've got the power to change that.
Maybe I should write love stories
That are less personal.
Maybe I should get closer to
What's inside my head.
I used to write with a mix of fantasy
And reality. Lately I've had too much
Reality.

The faces back home are changing with
Personalities.
The arcade games we used to throw
Quarters away for are glitching,
The open signs are flickering off.
I breathe onto the window,
Looking at empty tables.
The streetlights reflect off the windows,
Headlights are passing by,
Carrying on with lives that are busy,
In all the ways mine stopped being.
- (m.m)