A)

It's gotten late, and now I want to be alone.

All of our friends were here, they all have gone home.

And here I sit on the front porch

watching the drunks stumble forth into the night.

You gave me a heart attack, I did not see you there.

I thought you had disappeared so early away from here

And this is the chance, I never got, to make a move

But we just talk about

The people we have met in the last 5 years,

And will we remember them in 10 more?

I let you bum a smoke, you quit this winter past.

I've tried twice before, but like this, it just will not last.

Make Light

And you said, it was like fire around the brim

Burning solid, burning thin the burning rim

Like stars burning holes right through the dark,

Flicking fire like saltwater into my eyes

You were one inch from the edge of this bed

I dragged you back, a sleepyhead

In Our Bedroom After the War

Like the last coin to be hurriedly scraped out of a porcelain cup, the sound of metal; of friction; irritable grimace-inducing friction, is all that's left.

That, and nothing.

Up all night, got demons to fight

On a hazy, wet dawn, one finds the cup a worthy companion.

Outside; the soft patter of the much-ignored droplets, doing their best to be noticed. Inside; no one cares enough to ease their gaze from the heavy dripping of a stout tap on a counter top.

The musk and tobacco-stench form a perfectly intimate ambience amidst the dim lights illuminating little else but indulgence, lust, and greed.

In this place there are many obvious gateways to sin - complete with their luscious lips, seductive eyes, and carnal hands. One might try to fight against the adamant pleas and requests for one to indulge, by simply turning them down. One could even possibly resist the temptation to interact with such villainous gateways, to ignore them much like the neglected rain.

Yet the villains of the night are a many, and not all of them are overtly blatant.

Taking a drink in hand, our flawed hero toasts with a swig to his heroic victory over the villainous ladies of the night.

A drink.
Two drinks.

A devious new villain lies in the hand of the unsuspecting hero. The villain assumes an outer layer of glass, complete with a sharply elegant curved handle for better grip. A dark black liquid form is assumed for its inner layer, as if it needs any more justification for the poison that lies deep within its content. Uncannily similar to the poisoned apple presented to Lady Snow White, the villain's goal is to lure, and to remain deadly silent about the true nature of itself.

There is little else the dark villain can do but be poured from the tap and into the hero's hands. Yet our villain silently awaits its chance to destruct, knowing that it is certain to gain an intoxicating victory with every ironic celebration the hero makes.

With every sip, our villain enters into the hero. Their thoughts become one, their vision becomes a blurry shade of senseless images. With every heartbeat, the villain fuses misery and pain into the freshly, victorious spirit of the hero.

Our hero overcomes blatant sin.
Our villain causes inherent sin.

Our hero celebrates victory.
Our villain celebrates the true victory.

One can fight everything tonight. One can fight with all his might and all the strength in the World and beyond. If one wishes to, one could invoke every last breath one has left in him to stir away from the obvious course of destruction.

But when the morning comes, our hero will still be at a loss.

Alas, my demons are eating me up inside.

For Emma, Forever Ago

I find that when your life is being run for you, planned and controlled every minute, you lose sense of what you truly need, what you truly want.

Every day we learn to obey and follow the light that shines from the torch of our masters. Slaves to the flicker of the line. Resistance may occasionally sprout up, denial and defiance strong in our hearts. Yet, the truth remains, at the end of the day, we are still caged.

Feeling this way is not easy.

But last night I dreamt of home. I dreamt of you.
Then I realised how I'm going to make it out alive.

And everything is going to the beat

There are two sides to every card. Its hidden demeanor, shaded by stripes, shapes, a clown, trees, a picture. The face that no one reads - The lines that cannot be broken.

There is no trick that allows one to see beyond the veiled perspective. There does not exist a single, special, maneuver that will allow you to decipher what the covered region means. It simply cannot be done.

Flip over; And it lies plain for all to see - Spade, Heart, Club, and Diamond. One, two, three, and four. It can no longer be hidden. Fending for itself, praying it deserves trump status.

In the brutal fight that is a card game, the winner is often sure of the hands he is mathematically projected to win. As if written by the sages in times gone by, the strict rules that bind such games have all but one difference: The strongest hand always wins the pot.

An astute player plays to his strong points. He gambles not in mad-faith nor does he leave his fate to chance. He believes in the strength of a reflection vulnerable in nature, while eschewing the chains of his innate desire to be protected against harm.

It boils down to that single moment on the table. The single swift movement where all is laid bare, plain, and open for the world to see. The end of the road. The truth of the cards. My truth, and our truth.

Soft Rock Star

You have been far too distant from your thoughts. Incoherence rambles on like a train in the distance, rumbling on the tracks, eating away at your precious sleep. You barely notice the abrupt changes in the thick, cool, air-conditioned air. Yet that mere whisper, that single, little, utterance of muffled sound, is enough to eschew a would-be dream.

And every night, his little whisper in your ear kills your dreams softly..

You have no idea.