Boxing day

We could reignite, like fireflies... Like an atom bomb.

Almost

I'm sick as fuck with Lymes disease right now, and every dollar I've made at camp has gone towards two plane tickets and medication. But still, it's a beautiful life.

July 27?

Each day is a release of the inner toil
Like moving on from a swift knee to the gut
Pull yourself up, get up off the ground
It's only myself here when I'm looking around
I took a knock to the face, and spit out three teeth
Bloodied gums and red knuckles were a sign of my defeat
My father told me that a man should never cry
But I'm doing just that
So it's moments like these that make me wonder where I'm actually at
Head buried between two knees
A black eye and a hand full of gravel
Dealing with the inner demons that appear during the darkest hours
Most of the time I wish for it to all disappear
Unrealistically, I dream of perfect scenarios playing out
But instead I know that all the plans that once were made have long since burned out
Serving as empty coffins in an unvisited cemetery
The bridges that we constructed were made of sand after all
And what I struggle with most is knowing that I still mean every word I wrote.

Boxcar

Those notes you wrote me, I've kept them all
I've given a lot of thought on how to write you back this fall
With every single letter, and every single word
There will be a hidden message about a boy that loves a girl

Do you care if I don't know what to say?
Will you sleep tonight, will you think of me
Will I shake this off, pretend its all okay
That there's someone out there who feels just like me
There Is

The greatest

Trade winds from the past gave tale to a great warrior. He was a fearless leader undaunted by any obstacle. This leader was also a man of great wisdom. Bearing his heart on his sleeve, the scars of his past were visible to all. Every line wove a story of overcoming an obstacle. And on the day of this mans death, none were there to attend his funeral.

Itasca

I'm sleeping in the back of an 87' twelve seater. Two wet towels serve as a blanket. My eyes still sting from rising embers tossed by the fire. And that's all she wrote. But boy, it is a beautiful life none the less.

Throughout my life I've given pieces of my heart to different people. And I've particular hated myself these past few weeks for this Achilles heel, but no longer. It all made perfect sense finally. Words don't mean anything at this point. Sentences could not concoct the mental brewings that I have been marinating upon. But all of those things; they no longer have meaning. It's a beautiful life, and I am excited to continue living how I'm living.

Ba'ha

Sleep my child, sleep, for your father is tired;
When you leave me, the rain will be strong,
I will look at the sea with so many sails floating,
But I already know that you will return,
That you are strong and your boat will not sink

Goddamnit

Ask me how my fucking day was.

My bestfriend died.

I still care way to much about a girl who I'm a passing memory to.

And My grandfather was taken into the hospital.

Not sure what to expect when I finally do make it back, because I've been gone for so long that it will have all changed. Fuck this day.

The things

The things lost.

Laughter of the young boy, erupting in its high pitched tone as a babbling creek moves through his toes. A radiant day with clear blue skies providing the backdrop for this moment. His seven year old self wouldn't realize it during the moment, but these would be one of the things lost.
A sinple childhood innocence. Not knowing of the cruelty existing in the world. An impending divorce between his two parents who had sworn that infidelity would not be the end of their relationship. Being able to laugh at a passing butterfly because of its mismatched colors would be another thing. A passing memory to a once wide eyes child.

A button.
It was sewn on by the boys mother. It's deep maroon color similar to her insides. Constantly churning in anticipation of what was to come. She knew that this precious time wouldn't always last. A bowl cut and hand stitched sweater brought joy to her. But this as well, would be one of the things lost.

The scent of a woman.
Tempting and strong. The inviting fragrance that entices a man like I. These are the things lost.



I miss her, but I won't tell her.

Leave a voicemail.

I've seemed to have forgotten the ring your voice gave.

Let these words be the splitting sword piercing your side. Each syllable a pointed edge aiming its jagged corner towards that one artery you destroyed of mine.

Cornerstore

It's a beautiful life. Don't think for a minute it's not.
So as one adventure draws to a close, another one is just beginning
This winding road we wander leads us to mysterious lands, but maybe these are experiences we need to embark upon to realize what makes us truly happy.
Not the facade of happiness.
A deep seated joy with the life you choose to pursue.
Each day continues to move forward, and I know that I become closer to actualizing this thought.

Blink182

"Obvious"

I saw you again

I think you used me again

Should we try this before we give up and move on

And pretend to restore what we have and hold on

At times like these

It's obvious 

i saw you again

I know you fucked him again

Can you comfort yourself with a sense of revenge

Are you leaving me here with the taste of the end

At times like these

It's obvious

At times like these

It's obvious

I saw you again and again and again

There's some room to move on, to move on, to move on

Today

Do not cry.
And do not mourn.
This is the beginning gate of a new dream born.
Where desperate day-dreaming comes to fruition
Greeted by the warmth of a girl who gently listens.
I shall not tip toe,
It is time to be bold
Hiding in the shadows was a reminder of a timid soul
I'm a twenty year old
With a brain full of hopeless ambition
And empty pockets
Making plans for the future
While bolstering false promises

AvA

Even if your hope has burned with time
Anything that's dead shall be regrown
And your vicious pain, your warning sign
You will be fine


And here we go life's waiting to begin

Notingshire

Less than a month. Each day going more quickly than the previous. So does this timeline mean the birth or death of certain aspirations?

Overkill by Colin Hay describes perfectly how I feel

July 12rh

The dirty little secret.
Swept under the rug.
Kept under wrap.
And when the word got out, it changed.
Promises were made.
Maybe I was foolish for believing these things that were said.
Accepting the truth is difficult.

Deep sea

The gentle reassurance of a child's laughter. Joy blossoming like a young boy on Christmas Eve eager with anticipation. A rain on a summer day that makes steam form on top of black concrete. So I was thinking we could share a deep sea of blankets, maybe you'd be interested...

July 9th

And most of the time, I confuse what I mean to say with what I actually say. It's always hard trying to help someone understand the vision you are proposing. Maybe they are hesitant to believe that it can work. But for the one with that thought, well, they know in their truest heart that they believe it. Words can only do so much, and maybe that's where my plan goes off the tracks. Or it could be likely that she just isn't interested anymore. And that's a pill more difficult to swallow than that one time in.ninth grade where I gave six months of my life to a coach who ultimately decided I wasn't good enough to be on the team. It stings like an angry wasp chasing after a young boy whose childish game went one stone throw to far.
If you are interested in someone, you might as well tell them. People never get the flowers while they can still smell them.
So here it is; a toast. A toast to whatever may come of this situation. Stormy weather or picturesque day, it will all work out.

Midnight

Cycling in the dark.
Two friends going on a midnight voyage.
Grown men getting paid to ride bikes under a star filled blanket.
A passing breeze being the only refreshing part of the entire day.
Time spent talking about the serial killers that probably lay hidden in these Nisswa forests.
What it will be like walking out of that airport terminal and back into our previous lives.
And at the end of the night time ride, they arrived at the destination.
Calum would go his separate way, and there she was.
Waiting.
European clothed girl under a green lantern. With a smile and a wink she called my name out.
And I swear that if I had any demons to fight, she could expel the battle.
End a war with her mere presence.
A million constellations lay up above. But they will never compare to her beauty.
Cycling in the dark.

Boxcar racer

Sometimes

I wish I was brave

I wish I was stronger

I wish I could feel no pain

I wish I was young 

I wish I was shy

I wish I was honest

I wish I was you not I

'Cause

I feel so mad

I feel so angry

I feel so callous

So lost, confused, again

I feel so cheap

So used, unfaithful

End point

Growing Bermuda beneath my feet

Tell me the tale of how we meet

Where expanding footsteps begin a journey

And growing honeysuckle is drenched after a pouring

All roads come to an eventual end

Until you find a new place from which to begin

I'll search high and low, and recoup from the past

Knowing that time is all that will last

I'll wither the storm, and emerge through the flames

Weilding the scars that remember her name

I'm not a poet, or someone who can write

Just a worn  man searching for meaning in life

....

The past is only the future with the lights on.

Chapter XIII

My best laid plans

Will build and break your heart

Her guilty hands

Tear my whole world apart

My mind keeps racing

She's softly dreaming

I'm scraped and sober

But there's no one listening