Long Story, Short

I caused unintentional, unnecessary pain to myself.  Some would say it was getting old, aging. All trials and tribulations of becoming wise. I'd lay there and only think of getting up with no true intentions of moving a muscle. That warm mist was striking my skin at something that resembled the touch of an angel. And that cool touch... The closet thing to an angel's touch I'd probably ever feel.  Yea, I was hurt. Like a crackhead taking a hit. I was hurt. But I was happy.
 Laying there staring in her deep brown eyes. Death take me away. My last breath would be spent professing my undying, unchanging love for her. Breathing her air I was happyhurt or hurthappy. My large hand secretley perched on her soft brown skin. I have a tough guy persona to keep up, but in this moment of what was a blissful weakness. I swallowed a lump and air dried a tear. The sight of the opposition of or skin had torn me. Opposites were attracting. Laws of science at work. The black man in me held firm and played tough never moving my hand. But the spanish seeped out  "la cosa mas hermos que he visto".
I let that moment take over me. Become consumed her all that was her being.  With this pain I am all that I am, and without it. I am nothing.  I stared at her with a sarcastic frown and joking words. "Leave me alone" meant "I love you so damn much and if I had to go a day without you I would die". Turn me into stone, Medusa. So I dont have to blink. Just stand here and let me look at you.
 In my mind I had asked her to excuse my forwardness and I mentally undressed her. I had caused intentional, necessary pain! I was happy, and I felt good! The warm mist, that was her breath had rested itself upon may face. Blessed me with its presence. I took in a breath of her air....

@iMisterX

Paint Me

I am the man in the painting. The one that has suddenly emerged from rock solid Earth with a ra of light shining down on my newly ripped chest. Strong from tunneling free from my captivity. Chest out and head up.  Seconds away from being completely free from the dark ground that has been my opressor. But first I have to bathe in this glory of my first moment of free air.
 People always want to stand at the top of the highest peak of the highest place on Earth and scream something inspiring like "I'm free" or "Thank you". We dont know what free is. What "living". We live so that other people can envy it. All the while not living for ourselves not enjoying what we want to enjoy.  Been captive for so long that we do not know what free is and if we were to ever be free. We wouldn't know it. Tonight I am taking that idea and putting it in a decorative box on the mantle next to my different personas and self change makeovers in the lowest darkest part of my heart's basement.
 I'm not free. I don't know what it is. Am I living the "life".  I will be the person to stand  on top of that high peake and scream "I don't fucking know" or "Can I get a sign". Or if im so free why the fuck did you paint me only half out the ground. Forever rendering me stuck in this ground. Enjoying temporary. What a cruel blessing. Paint me free. Paint me on that peak.

"I hope you recognize me"

I used to to feel so strong, I was foolish enough to believe I could shape oceans.

I used to feel so light. I thought I could walk across them.

I used to feel so light that it would have been a senseless act for darkness to show it's face.

I used to feel like the funniest man alive. Fuck faces, I made your heart smile.

I used to remember the smallest thing, like your birthmark and what it is shaped like.

I used to feel invincible

I used to feel free.

I used to feel your love.

I used to feel together our love intimidated everyone.

I used to feel we were a inspiration to new love, and a sweet memory worth a smile to old.

I used to feel timeless.

I used to feel like it was okay to get lost in your eyes, and find myself in your heart.

I used to...

I used to have the opinion formed that even my best wasn't enough, so I will always be better.


I used to be a fool, foolishly in love.

I used to be hopeless hopelessly in love.

I used to know you.

I'd hope you'd remember me.


I hope you would look at the monster and see the beauty.



-LOVEsoldier

LOVEsoldier

I was lost in being found some where in between Love and Insanity. Cruising at 150mph. I love her so much like crazy, she even tortures me in my solitude. A fuzzy screen in a clear mind. But me. I am Love's Soldier and my name..... is Love Soldier. I fight until even fighting is futile.
Love is pain, pain is war, and Love is war and I am a Soldier of it. A soldier for her. I face her greatest fears daily so she won't have to. Love is a soldier and it is a superior on my team. I am Love's Soldier.
Love betrayed me though. It's hard getting back to Love when your love has been betrayed. But I am Love's Soldier.
Half way through Insanity. Love whispered in my ear. "I dare you" I violently twist my throttle back and go a lot faster. Lights turn to blurs, bugs to paint balls, and rocks to bullets. Words into knives, and actions into guns. I think "I will win" I twist a little harder thinking control is so over-rated. Chaos is where I wanted to be. Controlled Chaos inside Love's war. I am Love's Soldier.
I just wanted to be her savior. Not to be a war hero. Just save her. From anything and everyone. 10 miles from Reality I confided in the speed and put all my fear in slowing down. I guess I was running. Love is a bitch with bad intentions. But to assault it is to break my promise to me my promise to the Corps of Love. So I embrace the oncoming death of me. The death of Love's Soldier.
I am Love's Soldier, but love changed up on me, chewed me up, swallowed me, pooped me out, and threw me against a wall. I still fought. Reaching Reality bought me to a sudden stop. From 260 to 0. Reality said to me " Love Soldier, a soldier knows no quit. A death is not glorious if you plan on hiding in it. No one will remember you. Believe in the contradiction of man. Love, Peace, Anarchy. Replace that love with you Love... Soldier. Be love, free love. Demand peace. Live your Anarchy, controlled chaos.
I was Love's Soldier. I am LOVEsoldier

Modern Warfare

To lose a battle feels too much like losing the war. I once basked in that same sweet feeling of victory. I guess my feeling if you don't train hard enough or put in enough work. Doesn't mean that you can't win. Some things come naturally as natural. So what? I dig a little deeper, fight a little harder. Love a little more than I need to. Surely nothing less than a broken heart is to follow. So what I conditioned and transformed myself into the perfect opponent. You are so by default. Still doe not make you any less of an opponent. I suppose.
If Love is War and War is Pain and Pain is Love. I don't think I want to play anymore. Who am I to stand in front of a natural. I condition myself daily to do what you were born to do. I mean I have to be a natural at my own game. Right? So what my score is always higher than yours. I feel I have more entitlement to this gold then you do. I work day in and day out. If I try and block your trying then I am a villain.
When is enough. When is okay to throw the towel in. Do I keep playing as long as I have the right team mates? Then quit when they do?

1nce

Now that the doctor is standing over an individual a strong as me, and saying "You won't make it to see your next birthday." The always sarcastic side of me says "well that sucks"

I wrote a book once. I did in 6 hours what takes most people 6 months or 6 years. I wrote a story to my life. I painfully jotted down every painful event that my finger tips would dare type. All while yahoo chatting with a close friend. I saw headaches come and go, and physically felt my eyes cross from staring at the same screen for that long. Until this day there are 3 of those books in rotation, not because I was scared to publish. I just felt it was a user guide to me. I wrote a book in 6 hours, now I wont live 6 days to see my next birthday.

I mainly sit secluded and quite. Thinking, even now too proud to ask the doctor if there is anything else he can do. My mother said my pride will be the life and death of me. Even now that my own life depends on it I am too proud to ask for help.

I crashed my motorcycle once broke my collar bone, handle bar violently twisted and knocked my knee cap out, fractured my jaw, broke my shoulder, and fractured 3 ribs. The doctor said I would never walk again because screw the other injuries I had to walk bone on bone. I am minus a knee cap. That was medically impossible. I walked. But I cant make it to see my next birthday.

Why beg for mercy? I am where I am supposed to be. I am with the ones I love.

I spoke to god once. He came to me at my darkest moment of my favorite sin. The only time I was ever helpless since I was an infant. He did most of the talking. Actually he did it all. "Live your life as much as you can, while you can. Have faith in something, love someone, cause some trouble, repent, then cause some more. Be you faithfully, plant your seed and watch it grow."

I lived a life once. Lived it well, I loved, a lot, and hurt a little. I lived a life once played some instruments and enjoyed some music. I made enemies and friends. In that order. Once I lived a life and at the end of it I had no regrets nor did I think I should have done anything different.



Dedicated to Willie Johnson 1940-2011

Medusa

Maybe thrice times is the best. As I lay in the solidity of my solitude this sourceless flame burns now deeper than ever. From the tip of my big toe to the very tip of the longest hair on my head. Metaphorically of course. But so real that my actual body temperature spikes. It speaks to me in the most foul voices of all that is sweet. This flame, my Bonita Mentirosa. I can go as far as to saying it is a she, and she hurts me. She hurts me so (not to be vague) beautifully. She gives me butterflies in the deepest places that hurts, but hurts in the highest places that I have butterflies. Scares me into being fearless. The flame warms all but my finger tips and feet. One look at her warms my heart and stones my brain. Thinking of staring in to the different hues of her embers glowing makes me want to break into song: "Oh, this burn in my soul. Watch me as my embers glow.." But when she stings it's more like "Go ahead and sell me out and a I'll lay your shit bare.." My flame, the reincarnation of Medusa herself. I know well she doesn't deserve me, all my love, my devotion. She deserves more. I try and douse this flame (metaphorically of course) with this act of being more than meets the eye. And it tames her, but burns me more now than ever. So I confront it with my all. Now as this not so sourceless flame dies, and I am subtle. I begin to settle, and think. This flame didn't start its self. I am the arsonist, the pyromaniac. All it takes is my all.