For some people,
Reality is too much to bear.
For some people,
The weight of the air in their lungs
Is too heavy to hold
And for some
Just living is
too much.

Call it insanity if you want
Go ahead, cast that stone
if you want

I call it a hyper-awareness.
And maybe a mind with too
logical a view of how
Illogical
It all is and how
Tragically
Ironic life is and how
Impending
Our doom is.

I know a fair few of these.
They are mostly good, kind people
Who have too good an understanding of the words
"Infinite"
And
"Nothing"
And of the point where those two words meet.

So to my friends who want to end it
Because they see too much every day
Who can't breathe because they're
Drowning in rising water-
I hope you live long enough to find
A reason to.
Because I am confident
That like with all things,
If you persist in looking

You will succeed in finding.

Don't breathe long and slow-
don't be carried downstream by the current
of the universe-
Fight!
Thrash and writhe and wriggle with all your might.
And of zen, well...

**** zen!
We are alive that we can go against
that mighty current-
for a while.
Don't waste your time in stillness!
Don't accept!
Be loud and fast, and fly in your own direction.

There will be time to be still,
there will be time to accept,
there will be time to dissolve into homogeneity,
more than enough time.

Don't squander the opportunity
to fight,
to resist,

to live.

You asked me why I would ever want to
be with you
and I said
"Really?"
and you said
"After having gotten to know me better, and learning all the problems I have,
is it really worth the time?"

Really,
I just want you to remember that
I kiss you
even when you smoke Marlboro Blacks.
And I'd kiss you if you smoked
Cloves
or even GPC's.
And if you ever decide to quit I'll be 100% behind you
(Because honestly blacks taste awful)
(And because they're terrible anyway)--
But if not,
I'll still be happy to kiss your
cigarette lips.

Because they're still your lips-
no matter how they taste.
And because they're worth it.

Interchangeability.
affixed to loss, affixed to
     loss of limb, or
             worse.
                                              She has the
                                              wildest hair.
                                      So wild it almost makes
                                            her look tame,
                                                   by
                                comparison. and she talks
                                            of magic,
                     no,
                         she talks magic.
                                      she speaks in smoke rings
                                             and with the light of god nestled
                                                            in her bounteous hair
                   those smoke rings float up to form
       halos
                    cresting her brow

                                           shining inner light out.
                                              she is lost.
or I am lost.
       either or, but not both.
we are interchangeably lost
                        and it is not that we are less lost together,
  simply that we are together,
              and that means
                     no matter
              how
                                                      ­    l
                                                           ­                                                              o
                              s
                               ­                                                     t
       ­  we become,
    we are found.

    I
          am:
Lost in liberation
                    in victory
                    in security
                    in madness
                    in
                      her.

Sometimes it doesn't come. And you'll slam your head against the typewriter or notebook begging god and satan and the powers that be to just let it, but it won't.
But other times, it does.
And when it rains out of your fingertips, believe me, it pours.
With the fury of a hurricane it will come cascading out of you, doing everything it can to be born into the world.
And on those days you'll feel like a genius and you'll hold what you made up to the light and wave it in god's face and you’ll smile.

Those are the days worth living for.

Sunrise
sun, rise
is because it was because it will be
sunset
sun,

set.

When a lack thereof
is all my inspiration
I begin to wonder what on
earth
I would write about
if I simply
had
what I want.
maybe we're just doomed
to write about sadness
and to be sad when we can't write.
maybe I should just figure a way
to be happy
when everything around me
dies.