Day 27 November 30 2013: New shoes

Tie your shoe laces tighter, you don't want them coming off.

Who's that? Is he your new dad?
Better put on those running shoes.

There's dirt on your soul, you better wash off those kicks.

New sneakers make me feel better, they heel my sole.

Footsteps that matter are the ones that move forward.

Day 26 November 29 2013: I took a selfie today

I took a selfie today.
I shot my mouth off and closed my ears.
I turned on the tv and turned you off.
I stood in front of the mirror.
I stood in front of the world.

I took a selfie today.

I counted cars today.
I listened to them pass and hoped you would too.
Colors speeding by and disappearing from sight.
I sat there counting.
I sat there wasting time.

I counted cars today.

I counted scars today.
Wounds you thought would never heal.
A busted knee and a chipped nose.
Cracked ribs and a bruised ego.
Fingers counting higher.
Memories burning brighter.

I counted scars today.

Day 25 November 28 2013: Blood is thicker than water

Family isn't only those you share genes with.
They say blood is thicker than water,
But remember that those that would give you water sometimes aren't blood.

Family is everything. Learn, laugh, love, and loss won't break that.
Even if blood is never involved.

Day 24 November 27 2013: The world dances

Look at the grass and how it dances with the wind.

See the trees and how they sway.

Watch the clouds as they move across the sky.

The waves lap against the shore so rhythmically.

The world is dancing and you just need to learn the steps.

Day 23 November 26 2013: Memories from a sandbox

Night had fallen over the desert and the air became chilled with a hush that can only be felt in a war zone; the kind of chill you'd feel running up your spine, like an Olympic sprinter as the power from each stride flows up his legs and through his vertebra.  Nothing lights up this barren waste land except the small glint of 'cherries' from the front of a cigarette as it rests in the mouth of a tired young boy standing his post.

"How much longer do you have left?" ask the senior Corporal (Cpl), "About two years and some change, hopefully it goes fast," states the Lance Corporal (LCpl).

"Well it starts to speed up half way through, and then you start to realize how much fun you've had.  So take it slow, man, because you won't get this at a desk job," says the Cpl.

"I know, I know, but I just can't stand the bullshit we have to put up with!  Like, do I really have to get up at O-four-hundred to go running..." The LCpl continues to complain into the night as the Cpl just listens and provides advice on how to make the LCpl’s military career in the Marines just a little better.

The nights on post were where you learned the most about people.  You heard stories of home, family, friends, and mostly women that they slept with, or would like to sleep with.  The night in the desert was something that no one in the states will ever understand, when the burning heat of the sun would go away and the stars came out; it looked like a black blanket thrown across the sky with holes punched through, letting little bits of sun through.  Going from 125 degrees to under 30 in less than an hour can put a person in shock; not a Marine, mind you, but anyone else would be.

"How much longer do you have Cpl?" ask the LCpl as he slowly takes a drag of his cigarette.  

"Oh fuck man, just a little over a year; getting close man. Been thinking about re-enlisting too."

Re-enlisting was frowned upon by all lower ranks, as it was selling your soul to Satan; it was looked at with the same disgust as eating your own excrement, unless you had kids or a legit reason to stay. If you didn’t, then you were a "Mo-tard" and everyone made fun of you...until you outranked them that is.

Base was hell and we were its demons.

The gym was our refuge.  With nothing to do but eat, sleep, workout, stand post, and vigorously masturbate, we spent many hours at the gym when we weren't walking around looking at bushes and mud huts.  Base could only be described as the center ring of hell, with the top ranked individuals in charge running the demons as they see fit, with fire and smoke billowing out of the tips of their fingers as they strategically place chess pawns up and down a map strewn with blood and death at their own hands. The older, higher ranking ones had never seen war.  They were too young when the last one ended and too old when the new one started; they knew not what they did to the youth of their ranks.

The sandstorms brought nothing but anger, a hatred for the choices of a young life spent doing work for old men. 

"Why the fuck are we here again?" Perez said loudly sitting in the giant tent with the other disgruntled Marines.

"Shut the fuck up Perez!  You're here because God hates you and you couldn't get into college!" Shouts a voice from the back of the tent.

The banter between two Marines is something that no one, unless they were in the Marines, will understand or want to hear.  Many conversations could consist of questions like “How many STD's can someone get at once?” or “would you rather get kicked in the dick or see your mom naked?” The right answer was never “get kicked in the dick,” because then you immediately would get kicked.

"Why the hell do we have to keep going on patrols? I'm sure that now we are just looking for fights and I don't know about you guys..." Perez is shouting.  He gets cut off by the even louder voice of 'Tank.' 

"GODDAMNIT PEREZ! Do you ever stop bitching? We are at war and it sucks none of us like it except for fucking the Mo-tard corner over there!"  Tank points to the few Marines talking about what they will do when they become drill instructors.  Tank turns back to Perez and says calmly, "Listen turd, stop talking shit about it since you can't change it. Go knock one out and then join us for spades.  You'll feel better.  Fuckin' asshole." Perez agrees, laughs, fist pounds it, and walks out to face the storm on his way to the bathroom, hustler in hand.

Spades is a card game perfected by bored Marines, used whenever time was given.  Games could last days on end.  Spades and the name game were the best ways to pass time when one wasn't sharing stories about their own life, to include their family, the ones they loved, and the glory days of high-school football.  Everyone was a quarterback and everyone slept with the prom queen.

Patrols would eat you alive if you let them, with nothing but endless miles of walking through villages, open roads, and spastic sandstorms. Sometimes you would get lucky and were told you'd be on a mounted patrol, which meant you sat in a vehicle and just hated your life with your friends.  You would try to convince all of them that you could beat them up, you talked about your favorite foods, discussed the difference of religions, why you hated or loved your father, but mostly it was about the best piece pussy you ever got.

There was always a comedian in every group, the one guy who could take anything and make it okay to laugh at.  Some Marine would get hit by an explosion, lose a leg, and the ‘Joker’ would come up and ask him to go running once he’s better.  Thick skin is developed over time.

"Chow is canceled guys, we gotta get out on the road, so grab an MRE!" Voiced Staff Sergeant (SSgt) over the sound of Humvees, MRAPs, and 7-tons starting up. Perez was somehow surprised by this.  "You gotta be kidding me! I waited here for like three hours!  How the fuck are they gonna tell me..." Tank jumps in and whispers to Perez, "Shut the fuck up Perez."

MRE's are disgusting; pre package vomit Made Ready to Eat.

The Air Force, Army, and Navy made us regret our choice of wanting to be "The few and the proud" with all their little luxuries of clean water, working showers, good sleeping hours, hot chow, and very little time doing anything relating to work.  They also made us proud of our choice to be a Marine, because whenever we came into a base that wasn't ours, we immediately got respect even if it was out of jealousy and fear.  "Hey!  You need to fix your sleeves and shave that face, Marine," says some officer in the Air Force to Sgt Jacobs. Jacobs laughs as he slowly pulls his smoke out of his dry, chapped lips and sun-burnt face covered in layer after layer of sand and shit and says, "Sir, get the fuck away from me before you go M.I.A. and your parents don't even notice that their puke of a son is gone.  Your dad drinks because you cry."  The officer walked away without saying a word. Marines did what they wanted, when they wanted, unless the higher up Marines said not to. 

Respect is given to rank, not always to the man, but always to the rank.

There is a cycle of stupidity in the Marines. The smart ones realize that it’s fucked up and can't stay in because their staff is stupid; so they get out. The dumb ones think that if they stay in long enough they will become part of the staff, spend all day yelling at kids for no reason, and get paid to do so; they stay in. The cycle continues like a dog chasing his own tail and not knowing what to do when he catches it.

Sadness caught us off guard.

That day will forever be burned in my mind; Like fire to a memory, no matter how hard I try to destroy that image, I will never forget it, scars are forever.

It was a cold morning, with the sun just starting to blast it's hate on us. It's always the coldest at dawn, with the angry rays of the sun chasing away the calm and coldness of the night; you could feel it rush past your face, leaving you feeling sad that the day has come and the night has gone. This rush would leave a stinging feeling on your face; like after your arm falls asleep and someone punches it, sadness would resonate until your first smoke and shit of the day.

"Hey!  Get the fuck up!  We are going out early! Come on gents, I ain't got time for you to be fucking around.  Oh, and Perez, I swear to God if I hear your fucking mouth spew your shit today, I'm gonna fuck you so hard your mom is gonna need a smoke!" Yelled SSgt as he ran through the tent waking up everyone.  "Aye Aye SSgt," Says Perez sheepishly.

Perez - "SSgt is an asshole, and why would he want to fuck me?"

Tank - "You are like a woman; Maybe he think's you're cute. I know I find you cute."

Perez - "Fuck you man...not literally."

Jumping on the trucks and getting ready to roll out with our cig's in our pockets, dip in our pouches, energy drinks in the truck, and bullets in our magazines, we were ready to talk about life and make fun of hippies. That's not how our day went. After a few hours of going from place to place, with the officers getting lost and talking to the 'Terp' (interpreter) to ask the locals about someone we were looking for, while we enlisted men got bored. We dismounted at a town and set out to talk to the villagers.

POP-POP-POP! Gunshots rang out.

"GET THE FUCK DOWN!" SSgt yelled to us as we scrambled for cover.

You will never run faster then when you are under fire.

Each of us lower ranked Marines searched our memories for what we should do and consulted our training for how to survive, all while the Lieutenant crawled under a Humvee and began to piss himself.  "Where is it coming from? FUCKING SPOTTER!" was being shouted back and forth until the response came, "Third house on the left, roof, two snipers!"  We got together and provided suppressing fire, letting the planners figure out how to get us out of this one alive; they don't always plan that well.

POP......."TANKS HIT! TANKS HIT! DOC! DOC!"

That moment in my life was the saddest and most angry I've ever been.  I will never forget how slow time went, watching Tank's body turn from the force of the bullet that ran through his body.  As he hit the ground, the sand became dark brown, absorbing the precious blood he was losing. Perez ran out into the street to grab his body and pull him to safety. Maybe we could save him, maybe it wasn't that bad, maybe he can make it, maybe they just hit his kool-aid.  As he coughed up his own blood and he arms started to shake from the pain the big man was in, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter.  "You give this to my mom, Perez!  You give this to her!" he said amidst the coughing, "You'll give it to her yourself man! hold onto that shit, you're gonna be okay!" said Perez as he was trying to stop the bleeding.  All of us between cover fire, just sat there in awe.  Time has never moved so slow.  "Fuck you man. You better give it to her and tell her I loved her." Perez took the letter and simply said "Alright man, I promise." Tank coughed up some more and told us he loved us, called us queers, and then he was gone. I felt time stop for what seemed like eternity. Perez was in tears as he popped around the corner and shot his M203 grenade launcher at the house. His aim was spot on, and the shooters were dead.

Everyone carried a ‘death note’ when they went out.  No one else would read it; we prayed and hoped that no one would ever have to.

But God seems to ignore the prayers of ‘Devil Dogs.’

We lost Tank that day, and there was no reason to be in that place.

There sits a memorial for him at base to this day, nothing more than an M16 with a helmet on top, boots on the bottom, draped with his dog tags, and hand written letters covered in our tears.

The next week went by with the speed of frozen molasses.  When we got back to the states, they had his body all ready in his dress uniform laid inside of a box that the government thought was appropriate. His medals were on his chest, as were ours; his looked better than ours of course.  After the ceremony was over, they closed his face to the light of the world for the last time.  That was the last time I ever saw his face again. I'll never forget the weight of his casket on my shoulder as I carried him to his grave.  I'll never forget the sound of his mother crying.  I'll never forget the sound of the guns giving him his 21 gun salute and the pain it brought with each shot.  I'll never forget the pain of that day.  That is a day that will forever be burned into my mind; no amount of alcohol, drugs, or therapy can change that.

I don't know if I would want to forget it either.

The biggest scars are the ones that can't be seen.

Day 22 November 25 2013: She likes me for my brains

You have fallen for a dead girl, her pulse is no more,

Her lungs don't inflate and take in air. She's dead but not to you.

You like her cold skin, you enjoy her rotten flesh,

You love the way her body is falling apart. She's not alive but you like that.

She doesn't snore, well she doesn't sleep at all in fact, 

But if she did she'd dream of you. You love her dead open eyes.

Its funny how this has turned out, you like her for what she likes in you,

You like her for her brains. You love her hunger for you.

How lucky to fall in love with a zombie.

Day 21 November 24 2013: Haunted memories

We danced all night and kissed until the day,
We saw shooting stars and kept wishing for forever.
I don't wanna open my eyes because you'll go away,
It is only in my dreams that are we together.

My memories are full of ghosts.

Day 20 November 23 2013: Second chances

Second chances only happen once,

Don't let them pass you by.

Why would you stay standing,
When given the chance to fly?

Day 19 November 22 2013: I'd make a bad doctor

I'd make a bad doctor.

"Well Mr. Smith...I hope your outlook will be as positive as your test results are."

I'd make a bad teacher.

"Nice job Anna, good job David...another disappointment Robert."

I'd make a bad acting coach.

"I need you to act sad, think about your life...I'm sure that does it for your mother."

I'd make a bad gardener.

"Well if the grass was like your son it'd just cut itself."

I'd make a bad mechanic.

"Well looks like you had an accident...kinda like your parents did."

There are a lot of jobs I would be bad at because of my smart brain and dumb mouth.

Your guess is as good as mine.

Day 18 November 21 2013: Excerpt from: Diary of a dead man; the suicide note of Wesley Banner

Lost in a world of thought, none positive. Life is about living and being happy, I have lost my life, happiness eludes my mind, sadness like a sea of Zoloft and percocets and I'm drowning in it.

The more I swallow, the heavier I get, I sink further and further down in depression until I'm at the bottom.
Joy is air and I have none. My lungs are compressing and I can't breath anymore.

I am below sea level, ocean life is laughing at me, no lifeline exists to reach me at this depth.

The sun cannot find me, the waves above me send sounds of pain that vibrate my body, like a sinking capsized ocean liner filled with hollow hopes and dead dreams.

This is how my life was ended, a burial at sea, lost amongst salt and sand, forgotten by all and remembered by none.

- Wesley Banner

Day 17 November 20 2013: P.s. I love you

This will be my last letter to you and I'm sad you'll never read it. You remember when we first met? You remember where it was? I know I'll never forget.
I kept fumbling over my words at dinner because I wanted to impress you so bad and you were so sweet about it, I couldn't formulate a sentence worth any value and you kept saying the right things.

It rained that night and we got stuck under the awning of that terrible Mexican restaurant and spent the storm just talking and getting to know each other, that was when I fell in love with you. We were just kids back then.

You remember when Whitney was born and when we brought her home we didn't know what we were doing? That first diaper rash and the first flu, that first broken bone and her first broken heart, I didn't know how to help her and you knew just how to tell her what she needed, you always were better at those things than me.

You remember when she graduated high school and how proud we were? Watching our baby walk across the stage in her gown, you cried and I was right there by your side, catching and drying the tears of a proud mother.

Whitney has grown so much in these last few years, she looks so much like you its almost unbearable. She has met a nice man, you'd like Tom, he's really good to our baby and he treats her perfect and he is able to provide for her. You should see the way her eyes light up, like yours did when you looked in mine, that's how I know they are gonna last babe. I'll always remember the beauty that your eyes held when they looked into mine.

You remember when you got sick? You remember how I was so scared because I couldn't help you and you helped me learn to be strong? I remember watching your body wither away but that spirit that I've always loved about you just grew brighter and when you lost the weight and you lost your hair, you kept fighting and you didn't break. You never looked more beautiful to me. I stayed up at night wondering what I could do and you let know that everything would be okay.

I remember when I lost you, it was the coldest summer day I have ever known, I should've been at the hospital, I should've taken the day off work, I should've just been there. I remember how mad I got at you, I was so hurt that you had to go, I cursed God for doing this to us. I've learned that it was better this way, to have you with me for what little precious time I did was a blessing. You are my shooting star and I'm just glad I got to see you if only but for a moment. I would have rather lost you than to have never known you at all.

I've dragged this on a little too long and I know it's just for me, but I miss you everyday and I wish I could let you know that, the way you kept me solid when I was so confused and you helped keep me sane when I was ready to give up, I'll never forget you dear and you'll always be the other half of my heart.

You will forever be my one and only.

P.s. I love you from here to eternity.

Love never dies if two people share it.

Day 16 November 19 2013: This old home

This creaky old house has heard some tales and seen some scenes, its heard some lies and hidden some truths, this old house, belongs to me and belongs to you.

A broken latch and a broken broke, a stinky restroom and a clogged up sink, this is what holds our stories, and remembers our secrets.

Through all the war and the pain, while driving you insane, we grew stronger and remained, in this old home.

With all the love we could share, what a beautiful pair, with hearts to share, in this old home.

Yeah our old home.

Day 15 November 18 2013: Philip Chancy

Oh Philip Chancy wanted to feel fancy so he went and got new hair. What to do with his new doo, maybe go dancing but do he dare?

Before the dance he'll call himself Philip Chance, because it has a better air. Before he can prance he needs to find his pants, because he's standing in his underwear.

He gets to the dance with new pants and his new hair. He ask the ladies for a chance to dance with Philip Chance but they just stop and stare.

Philip Chancy didn't feel so fancy, and he thought it all unfair. He went to the dance and even wore pants, guess no one wants to dance with a bear.

Day 14 November 17 2013: Sleepless nights

Between each snow flake that falls down and gently blankets the ground,
I've spent a lifetime without you.

With each leaf that breaks away from its branch and goes to die,
I've spent an eternity missing you.

As the fog rolls in and the ships set sail to the ocean,
I'll stand on the dock wishing you'd just remember me.

Your tracks will lead away and I can't follow,
I'll wait for you if I have to wait forever.

Please take these sleepless nights away.

Day 13 November 16 2013: I hope you enjoyed the trip Or Slow suicide.

When was the last time you did something for you and you followed it through? You act tough but we both know that isn't true. You wild out, scream shout, and pop pills like that's what life is all about, but when it don't work out, you sit in your sorrow and publicly pout, what you trying to prove? That you got nothing to lose, trying to impress your crew, shooting your mouth off and saying it's true, you'll never grown up and be an adult you'll always be youth, and wonder why no one wants to listen to you?

You wanna know why you can't find a man, well you need to understand, the demand for a girl like you is none. You're only there for boys to have fun, maybe bone a couple times and then leave with a son.
But when two nights out of the week you put on make up and a fake a necklace to act reckless, you're setting yourself up for heart breaking with your tits hanging out and your ass shaking, and you wonder why all these boys be faking, you get sad and think that your life is worth taking.

You keep tripping on X and confused on why your ex won't shoot you a text, it messes with your head, you'll end up dead and then you will wish you would've listened to what I said.

You sit quite and try to remain silent, you pound beer to cope with fear and won't let anyone near, and you say you don't mind it but inside you restrain violence, and I tell you what I meant, when I told you were messed up and you fessed up to the needles well guess what, you're stuck because you got stuck, and I wish you the best of luck, but I know you don't give a fuck.

I can't get peace of mind until I give you a piece of mine, you date dicks who you say are "thirsty", and you want a real man but you're not worthy, you get turned up and turned out faster than a newspaper "roofie her bro and then we'll take turns to rape her."

And these are the lowlifes who you call "men", but you're gonna wind up lonely and broke in the end, and the one person who loved you, you pushed off as a friend, and I've seen it happen time and again.

No one will be sad when you die, they'll forget you after month and not even cry, you know why? Because this fake life you're living is a lie. I wish you could see that it's apparent, I also wish that you had stricter parents. But you pass along the needle and gladly share it, keep repeating that you're okay like a fucking parrot.

Societal norms are destroying society and you can only be real when it's just you and me, when you're gone it won't get better, people will ask "how could you forget her?" "I can't forget her but I wish I would have never met her."

You're not exploring your brain, you're destroying your mind, and they'll be nothing to find, but the corpse and the drugs that you leave behind.

Molly, coke, and meth aren't your friends and they never was, they're a parasite you put inside your body like eating a bug, while you get banged out by thugs, and you really only needed some hugs, you're gonna die soon, but I hope you enjoyed the drugs.

Day 12 November 15 2013: Stop dancing like that Or Take out the trash.

You can bring a smile to a toothless bears face, oh how I love a gummy bear.

You drink a lot, but you wanna be a good liver not have one.

You wanna take the president out to dinner, have fun on your Man-Date.

You are writing a stage performance about puns, how nice it will be to see a play on words.

You need to stop hanging up unwashed clothing, thats not how you air out your dirty laundry.

You put your pants on just like everybody else, why are other people wearing my pants?

You need to stop leaving your utensils in the street, no one likes a fork in the road.

If I opened a restaurant in Harlem all I would serve is shakes.

Stop dancing like that, hold my legs while I twerk.

What perfect treasures, now take out the trash...Remember she likes chinese food.

How I get down in the club.

Day 11 November 14 2013: You have value.

You have value, so why do you degrade yourself?

"I'm a bad bitch!" Is that how you show your wealth?

Thinking a man wants a girl that acts wild isn't true, no man wants to date a child.

That's why no man will date you.

You know the difference between being a man and a boy? It's in how you respect a woman and don't treat her like a toy.
She may look like a Barbie but she's meant for more than play.
Mistreat her, beat her, and defeat her and I promise you she won't stay.

Ladies sex won't make him love you and a baby won't make him stay,

Acting like a trollope instead of a lady will only get you played.
Men aren't looking for a wife in a bar, they're looking for a quickie,

That they can nail in their car.

Hey fellas try to find someone with something upstairs,

Yeah she might have a nice stairway,

But why make the climb if it leads nowhere?

Pretty much I'm saying stop playing and start paying people what they're due,

Remember how good it felt when it was done for you?

Don't lie, don't cheat, don't steal.
Just love, just care, and for fucks sake, just be real.

Remember you're worth something, even if people treat you like shit.
Some people don't know true beauty, until they have destroyed it.

Day 10 November 13 2013: Keep my feet planted.

I hate the force you have on me,
I've tried to escape but your hold is to tight.
Few have broken your chains,
And I'm most envious at night.

You are a cruel bitch and you'll never let me go,
I need a rocket to escape the pull you have on me.
To finally leave it all behind,
You are my nemesis, gravity.

Day 9 November 12 2013: The American way

War is just the six o'clock news, it's really nothing more

American victory is measured with the loss of blood on a foreign shore.

"Why fix what ain't broke?" isn't that how it goes

You can't see past your closed eyelids let alone your nose.
But it's alright, yeah it's okay
Because it's the American way.

Sending numbers to die so you lie about being free
"Oh don't you worry George, their not sending you or me."
Playing chess with young lives it's only a game
Their faceless social security numbers who don't even have a name.
But it's alright, yeah it's okay
Because that's the American way.

Taking away rights for the myth of security

The elite stay secure from you and me.

Finding a target in a market

There's violence in their silence.

But it's alright, yeah it's okay
Because it's the American way.

Sending drones to break the peace of a wedding

Burning babies and crying mothers is the setting.
A private bank owns the public's currency

They lie and put a face on their own insurgency.
But it's alright, yeah it's okay
Because that's the American way.

America gets looked down on by other lands

A place that's run by private corporations and public brands.
A place who's motto is "in God we trust."

But it's more of a place of lust, rust, distrust, and disgust.
But it's alright, yeah it's okay
Because that's the American way.

You put hacks on tv to numb young minds

"I'm famous for my sex tape." and this is what blinds.

Celebrities do drugs and they say "I promise I won't do it again."

But a home boy smokes a plant he grew and he's facing five to ten?

You've lost your mind
No fuck that, you gave it away.
If you look you'll find
You traded it for a MacBook and a latte.

Remember when you're striking families and taking kids lives

You better do it while wearing, your Nobel Peace Prize.

Turn up your Teen Mom 3 so you won't hear

Fuck it right? You're not the one living in fear.

But that's alright

Yeah it's okay
Because that's the American way.
Yeah, that's the American way.

War is not a game and a child is not a toy.

Day 8 November 11 2013: Three words.

Remember when I told you "I love you!" and you told me you loved me too?
Well now I see how much those words meant to me, and how little they meant to you.

Three little words that could make my heart skip beats, you threw them away and let me that day, now I'm left with love stained sheets.

Three words for you is what I can spare , I hope they show you your wealth, three words will make you walk on air…

Go hang yourself.

Day 7 November 10 2013: The measure of a man Or Footprints of shadows.

It wasn't when I got in my first fight
It wasn't when I got my first broken bone
It wasn't when I started puberty
It wasn't when I first fell in love
It wasn't when I got my first broken heart
It wasn't when I first had sex
It wasn't when I got my first beer
It wasn't when I had my first smoke
It wasn't when I shaved my first beard
It wasn't when I got my first diploma

It started after I stood on those yellow footprints where few have stood before me, and after those trials and tribulations I was given my first Eagle, Globe, and anchor

It was when I lost my first friend, to be willing to allow your life to end so someone else's life could go on.
It was after all of that, when I learned and understood what it meant to be a friend, a brother, a hero, a fighter, a father, a son, and a Marine

That was when I became a man.

Day 6 November 9th: Liar behind a pulpit.

Too many times I find that if I remind my mind that mankind ain't kind, hate tears apart families and this disease, you spread gets fed into young minds, and they find out how to discriminate and hate and berate those that look different.
I know it's a sin to begin to disclaim him, but if there's a God up above with his unfailing love, why is there so much pain? Why do people kill?
Because there's no thrill in taking a life, it's nothing but strife and painful memories that burn behind hurt eyes and lies of a religious war for hearts and minds, where it's really bombs and mines.
This disdain that remains tears at my nationalism and there's a cataclysm, of fire where I try to inspire the youth to seek truth, but they just wanna be thugs and do drugs.
I can't understand people who seek truth from a steeple and a liar behind a pulpit, much like a puppet, who speak lies and demonize and ostracize with open mouths and closed minds, they turn a blind eye to see what they wanna see in their prophecy. The more you know, the less you believe.

It's not that I'm saying your wrong even though to me, you are, you feel included to be deluded by delusions of a teacher who calls himself a preacher, there's alot of diction in their fiction.

Religious leaders are just magicians and God is their greatest illusion, they are selling tickets to the big show and every seat is VIP, unless you're in the wrong theater.

Religion has been poisoned by greed and wealth, I realized I'm my own God because when I pray I'm just talking to myself. I'm not trying to offend I'm not trying to hate, I'm just saying they are all the same and God really isn't that great.

Forgotten.

My heart yearns for someone I haven't met yet.

Or maybe it's just someone who has forgotten me.

Come back.

I remember when I was yours and you were mine.
When I felt scared you made it fine.
Come back to me.
Come back to me.

Day 5 November 8th 2013: Parnassian Petrichor

Rain falls on shingles like soundboards,
with lucid songs vibrating every rafter in the house.
Rushing to shut my open window,
that sound is something I can not take tonight.

Day 4 November 7th 2013: Representing Rascality

I can't begin to lie well enough to myself to convince my own broken mind that I'm okay, I'm the only one that can hear this infernal internal dialogue, so that's probably why.

The web I've spun has entangled wretched souls lost to lies and tall tales that are far fetched glory of a hollow chest with a cavity where my heart should be.

I've done more evil than generations of families could create, the eyes of the souls I've hurt are burned forever in my mind, I am damned by this but it's only deserving for me.

I've learned you never make a friend, everyone you love will go away in the end, and no one is gonna hold your hand on the day that you die.

For my ability to make Orson Wells turn in his grave with my undertones and hushed mumblings of double speak is a gift or curse, depending on your view.

I make promises I can't and never intended to keep, I stand in a room of liars much like myself but some far better than me, if only by a margin of sin.

There can not be a God because if there is then there must be a hell and I am aware that if it exists, I am destined to end there.

I am a warmonger and I am a representative of the United States.

I need your vote.

A mind of paper.

I have notebooks, diaries, and journals filled with fumbled fragmented fallacies, delusional disheveled doodles, misspelled manic messages, scattered and scrambled scribbles, pathetic prophetic poetic paragraphs, longing lonely love lyrics, and mostly bumbling brash brain babbling from a bard doing nothing more than filling pages upon pages, books upon books.

If I ever go crazy there will be a long paper trail leading to an apathetic author, a withered writer, a ruined rhymer, and a vanquished versifier who didn't lose his mind, he just left it on the paper.

Day 3 November 6th 2013: The sporting life.

Morning coffee, boring glances, obtuse conversation, warm cereal and cold hearts, this is how we start our morning.

The radio fills the car with sound though no-one is listening, careless goodbye dripping with disdain, windshield wipers that brush away emotions, this is how we go to work.

Stacks of paper, business casual hiding cutthroat policy, staplers for closed minds with open mouths, elevators that lift everything but spirits, this is how we conduct our career.

A silent dinner, a loud television, a lonely shower, a king sized bed that feels like a single, saying goodnight to someone you hardly know, this is how we end our day.

This is the sporting life and I refuse to play the game.

Day 2 November 5th 2013: I am a lighthouse

I am a lighthouse who's light has burned out, I have become dark and my brightness no longer shines over the lapping waves, I am beaten, barren, and barraged from the ocean air, my foundation is chipped my paint is stripped and I am broken.

I used to shine bright but the light has faded, it has vanished along with the hope I had to save those I care for, who no longer care for me, and as the ships sail in they are tattered on the rocks, as the wood splinters and the sailors are thrown to their death, and as they churn among the waves and foam, I remain silent and broken.

Their screams are slowly muffled into quite moans of pain, as the salt water fills their lungs and their tears melt into Poseidon's hand, his grip tightens around their throats and their breath escapes them, his laugh overtakes them in the depths of the sea, their voices begins to fade, until it is the whisper of the dead on the cold wind as it beats against my damaged body, and still is the night and I am broken.

I am a lighthouse with no keeper to tend to me, I remain a statuesque figure of a golden time, so bright, so vibrant, so full of joy, but now I decay on the shore overlooking the sea that I loved but that now has only brought me death, and I am the cause of this pain, the souls I have damned haunt my every memory and yet I stand tall, the hollow shell of what I used to be, the savior of men, the rescuer from the shore, a beacon of hope, a light in the darkness...but now there is only darkness and here I stand in it, chipped, stripped, hollow, damaged, and mostly broken.

Day 1 November 4th 2013: To be an artist.

I aspire to someday be an artist.

Not a painter of portraits, a sculptor of clay, a musician with an instrument, an actor on a stage.

Words will be my paint, articulate diction and fragmented run on sentences will be my strokes, and your imagination will be my canvas.
                           
I want to place a masterpiece in your ears, I want to play a symphony for your soul, I want to dance with your emotions, and I want to leave an imprint on your heart.

For I aspire to someday be an artist.

Daily writing.

I plan to write once a day and this will probably be where I will do it.

After one year I want to put them in a collection and let people read them, if you would like to read them as I go along, this is where you can find them.