All that you've left here for me are pieces of what used to be.

Cold blood never dries

The Risk of Choice

The surface of calm, midnight waters breaks and surrenders to the surrounding air. A fragmenting mass of liquid is launched into strange winds to kiss the evening breeze. Moonlight dances within the confines of rippling water. The seas give way to the skies just as hope gives way to change.

Each day we break the surface of our own waters, emerging from the depths of our own symbolic mediums, carrying with us the expectations that greet the constant change faced each time we take a step in a new direction. Every choice made is a conscious decision to gamble with the hopes we cling on to, putting our expectations on the line to be either fulfilled or denied. The paths we decide to follow are paved with either fulfillment or disappointment, and it is our uncertainty regarding the outcome of our decisions that renders every choice we make a risk. There is no escape from the every day risks faced as a result of making choices, for even those who refuse to make choices and embrace change have made conscious the decision not too. These reluctant few, however, are taking the greatest risk, for they will never know what they could be missing.

Collage- Memories

Transparent-

Why carry on when each breath you take only fuels your pain?
Why pray when you are aware that you're praying in vain?

Dawn-

I'm not sure what is darker; the night on which you left us, or the shadow that took your place. Emptiness stalks me like a vulture, getting high on my distress as it waits for me to collapse. I see less of the sun these days, though I anticipate its illuminating warmth. It is not that I see the sun less frequently, but rather with less comfort and reassurance than it once brought me; it shines a duller shade of light. All is darker where the sun dawns over sorrow. 

Shedding-

Young but aging, I waste away in my skin. With thinning hair and two black eyes, I watch the world. You can find me decomposing as I sit with my face pressed against the window pane; wondering if the grass is truly greener beyond this shield of glass. I clutch my soul in my left hand and my heart in my right. I swallow my soul and purge my pride; Sometimes, relief is worth the price you pay. I have the world at my fingertips but dreams in my mind. Forsaken by life itself, I close my eyes and build a mental empire of my own; I choose to live in a reality in which I am in control. I choose to imagine.

Giving Up-

For so long I have focused on the primary concern of bettering myself. Over and over I have attempted to improve both my state of mind and appearance to conclusively fail, resulting in detrimental effects to my self-esteem and sense of hope. Through trial and error, I have simply damaged myself; by proving that I am incapable of overcoming the intangible obstacles that I have for so long faced. I must face the reality that is my unsparing vulnerability.

I am dependent; I am weak. I find no comfort through seeking treatment for that which cannot be treated. There is no relief through the indulgence of my arsenal of medication. At best, I am numb; I am the scar tissue in which nerve cells cannot reside. At my worst, I am destructive; I skim the surface of an exposed powder keg with a lit match just to see whether or not it will blow. I suppose you could say I have a fixation towards Russian Roulette.

And so I have succumbed to my flaws and given in to my demons; I am consumed with such potent apathy as I wait for my insecurities to devour me. There is barbed wire embedded beneath my skin and the more I try to remove it, the more damage it does. It is far less painful to give in rather than to fight an undeniable enemy. And for what would I go through such trouble? To continue an internal battle that will forever burden me? No. Call it cowardly, but I refuse to fight the tide; I would much rather float. And if I happen to sink to the very bottom of the sea, may I at last be at peace.

Et Tu, Brute?

The experience that is betrayal is nearly always accompanied by confusion. Today, I pace these aching floor boards perplexed by the travesty of a friendship that has now met its end. How can it be that the very hands which once held me now drive daggers into my back? How is it that such a familiar face can become that of a stranger with the thrust of a blade? 

I look to you now and see not an admired friend, but a nameless traitor. What incentive drives you to step into the dark and greet me with your Judas kiss? A Trojan horse has slipped past my defenses but leaves me no explanation for its treason. The pain you have caused me is lesser only than the shame it brings. Seldom does a tear drop from my weary green eyes; tonight they teem with rivers.