Life on the Grid

Brought to a place in what feels like an accident,

Staring into the white lights until it hurts.

In the face of a child I find purity and honesty,

In the face of an adult I find uncertainty and pain.

What is in my face?

This question I cannot answer,

Because while there are many mirrors,

I seem to have misplaced my reflection.


It’s like a meet new person every day,

After brushing my teeth

I look up and see a different face.

Similar in it’s state or expression,

Questioning; a curiosity has taken over.

Weary from time both given and stolen,

At times frustrated from trying to control that which never belonged to them.

My words get lost in bonfire ashes,

And I fade into the night.

A new dawn,

Another moment of life gone.

Feeling like less than a human,

More than a machine.

I go onward,

Operating on reserves and not ready for much.

Even though help is what I need,

I don’t know how to receive.



The Illusion of Safety

I sit surrounded by sound,

At peace with being alone in a room..

Or at least content.

Thoughts coursing through my mind,

All in a haze of numbness.

The end of the “work day” schedule is upon me,

and I’ve entered recovery.

By the nights end,

Hopefully my senses will have awaken from their uselessness.

I’m aware of the current moment,

Yet detached from it as well.

Speechless with so much to say,

If I were to talk I feel like there would be no sound.

What I’m doing isn’t who I am,

This change is freeing.

So freeing it’s almost frustrating.

And yet, I know it’s needed.

Display who you are,

Not for glory or compliment,

But simply because what will be seen and heard is at the most raw condition

unashamedly and honestly who you are.

This is when you dissect and discover,

The Illusion of Safety.


My thoughts feel like a tattered mess,

Or at least a room that looks to have had a tornado in it.

As I’m serenaded by the varying sounds of songs after in my ears,

Black by Pearl Jam to Reason by Benea Reach,

The music brings the beginning of order to my scattered insides.

Even these words aren’t necessarily needed,

But they are here now in existence.

Casualties of circumstance.

Where am I going?

What’s next?

Why am I asking questions that don’t necessarily need to be answered?

Sometimes it’s wonder even how or why we question?

Are we seeking answers,

Or are we merely asking for information that we can’t handle?

Don’t waste your thoughts and energy on that which is too much for you,

Lay your anxieties down and move on.

Change (In the Castle of Mosquitos)

If you asked me two years ago what I thought of friends,

I would’ve told you they were fickle and useless.

Today as face a state of certain change,

My view has changed as well.

For one, and of this I am most certain,

Friends aren’t to be used.

And when the right ones are found,

They can be like the best gift received on Christmas.

Given not from a place of expectation or manipulation,

But desire and connection.

There may be differences, in interests and thinking;

But they’re no less valuable.

The thing to figure out though when making friends,

Is the difference between making a friend and making an idol.

An idol to fill your needs and desires at your demand,

Destroying who they are and molding them in your hands.

Friends are valuable because when you allow for connection to be established,

They not only encourage you the better person you’re becoming,

But they call out the beast you could be and do they’re best to fight that from becoming reality.

So who wants to be friends?



Where Light and Darkness meet; Internal Warfare

No matter how old I seem to get,

The arts with darker influence seem to catch my interest.

Not from curiosity, wonder, or even fear solely at least;

But this isn’t to say I go looking for it.

Yet when finding new inspiration or interest,

Often those artistic expression portraying a darker state of life;

‘Tis not a conflict of judgment for me to enjoy it.


Some would say that as I deepen my relationship with the Lord of light,

My interest with that of darkness and fright will grow strangely dim.

Yet I haven’t found this to be true.

Is it that I am at fault,

Or just have a certain taste/ set of interests?

When I’m wrong I hate to hesitate admitting it,

But how can I admit a wrong that is nonexistent?


Lord, give me clarity where my discernment needs to grow.

Show where I can be released of mental grief,

And annoying trips of contemplation.

Dream Verse

Whirling guitars remind me of my thought pattern throughout the week,

As the drums remind me of my changing heart beat.

Once believed to be tone deaf,

No longer am I bereft.


Listening to the sounds of a darkened dream,

So inspiring yet startling.

It somewhat reminds me of being a child gripped by fear,

Captivated with fright and excitement all at once.

Loud are the screams,

Until the calm of the storm comes.

Washing me clean,

In the tide of slowly picked strings.


The howl of a wondrous heart,

A voice meant to be heard.

Words that pierce the heart,

Not out of hostility

but in an effort to remain.


New songs are the hope,

From this startling dream that seems to be a possible reality.

Now my only question is this;

Am I truly awake or lucidly dreaming in the midst of sleep?