Broken

I stared down at my feet, counted my steps, and prayed that no one would see me. Evasiveness had been my nature for the past few months. Maybe it was the changing of seasons, watching the world slowly crumble as the summer leaves crinkled up and fell to the frosty grass, or perhaps my sudden departure from home had left me nostalgic. Regardless, my sense of purpose had faltered under the strains of life and left me feeling barren and distraught. My state of depression struck me in waves of overwhelming disappointment. I became critical of my person, disgusted with my figure, fixated on the fallacies of my character. My need for personal interaction grew but my drive for such interactions was oppressed by fear of dissatisfaction. What I needed was Love. It was fleeting in my life, broken from my last dance with its warm embrace. As I walked that lonely road, head down, my I-Pod blasting "boulevard of broken dreams," how perfect would it be that amidst the broken fragments of song I would meet a girl destined to change my life? Her entrance cued by the verse "Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me."

A Moths Favorite Painting

Drawn to her like a moth to the flame I scorch my wings,

A canvas posted up behind the case, nothing more than a looking glass,

Anymore and It wouldn’t last,

What words could I sing?

To make her see more than the past, her look cascading from my grasp

Share her, keep the portrait hung,

On lookers gaze, their portentous rung,

My head screams "slow" but my heart reaches fast,

I fly to her captivated, such a special thing

A canvas posted up behind the case, nothing more than a looking glass,

Anymore and It wouldn’t last,

The glass is shattering.

Early in the Morning

Today I woke up with the foulest morning breath known to man. My first exhale nearly knocked my ass back onto my mattress. My hair has gotten long... longer than I would like it. Unfortunately I'm to damn broke to go get it cut.Which leads me to the question... how did prehistoric man cut his hair? I can picture an ape like me hunched over a giant bolder, slamming a small sharpened rock into my follicles and the sawing the hair off in a jagged motion. At least back then bad hair days didn't exist.

I managed to scrounge a bit of breakfast this morning. A Poptart and a glass of Code Red Mountain Dew... true American breakfast right? More like a starter kit for diabetes, but hell food is food when your a college student. After overcoming the initial jitters of an early morning caffeine boost. I sauntered over to class and began the ritualistic boredom that is my life.

Blah Blah Blah Blah....

Sometimes it seems like the professors are intentionally trying to mock Ben Stein!

"Bueller...Bueller...Bueller"

 Lunch equaled Neb's Insult of the day:

To Katie: "you can take that sushi and shove it up your ass... it would probably make it smell better."

Things Left Unsaid

I suppose initially it didn't seem real to me. I mean she was so young and I felt I had all the time in the world to tell her how I really felt. Yet there I was, stupidly gazing at the glimmering ornament that now occupied her left ring finger. I managed to fake a fairly pathetic smile and utter congratulations as I secretly punished myself with images of what if.

I remember the first time I laid eyes on her. It was the first time my heart skipped a beat. I was only 13 at the time but 7yrs later and I still have never experienced anything quite like it. She was beautiful. Pure natural beauty, the kind make-up would only taint. Artist could only dream of such a delicate muse, her hair like silk and her eyes like gems. When she spoke my body would melt under the tranquility of her voice. Her speech penetrated my mind like a siren's song. I would have done anything to hear her speak to me. I was captivated by her presence and in every way infatuated by her nature. I was in love, hopelessly and undoubtedly in love.

How could I have known, at 13 to experience what few experience in a lifetime? I don't know how but I did, in fact, know. I could see her so clear in my mind, everywhere I went. She haunted my dreams. Before she even entered a room I could feel my blood boil with anticipation. In my mind I had already committed my heart to her. I knew with unfailing certainty that she was made for me and I for her.

Fast forward seven years and here I am, so many things left unsaid. Irony is loves cruel game, pitting our hearts against our minds. So much of me wants to press on, to discover loves warmth again. So much of me can't move on.