You were the one who left me neglected...

Bad sex -- is better than love gone bad. When he dropped me, left me waiting for someone to pick up the pieces, I lost it. Not just love, but my ability to trust. I grabbed what I could of the pieces and locked them away; they are probably still sitting by the dock on that sweet southern lake. I turned away from those pieces and sought out connections without attachment.

I took my 19-year-old self down to the book store and hung out in the gay section -- I was trying to find solace and comfort in the words of others. And then I noticed him, many hims, they would walk by and look, no, leer. At first, nervous, I would sneak out of the store and drive home. Finally, one day, I tucked my pieces away, and followed one of them into the loo. He was a mid-20s, army boy with red hair, green eyes and huge muscles in his green t-shirt. I walked into the rest room and he was already turned in wait for me. Pure want was in his eyes -- want that I craved from H.I.M., but was willing to accept from soldier-boy. Soldier boy pulled me to him and pulled out the hugest piece of equipment I'd seen, and then pulled me out of my clothes. From there, it's a blur; I cannot even remember the smell of his skin, but I know I walked out changed. I had my power back. Little by little, I gained control by losing it with a stranger. Whether it be that guy, Gunter -- the masters student, John -- the creepy guy who made me discover the smell of poppers on another's breath. And many, many more.

So this has become an unending loop of self-destructive behavior. With each turn of the trick (no, I never took money), I lost more and more of my ability to say no. Now, I can't even hold on to what I've got. I'd rather turn out a stranger than tell a lover how I truly feel and what I'm thinking of; the last time I did that, I got burnt. I will not burn again.

Nevermind, I'll Find Someone Like You...

Too many drinks and I'm sitting here in the dark, a furry little monster by my side while playing some music.

Another few monsters are gone and, though I'd like to say that it gets better, I don't know that I can say that it does. It hasn't gotten better -- only different. It's not better, it's not worse, it's just different.

Sure I can accept that we're going nowhere, but one last time lets go there...

Whenever I think of you, I think of how I felt around you. It's selfish, I know, but you made me feel deserving. Just one touch and look from you makes my barriers fall away and suddenly I'm a soft center with no shell to hold me up. I'd give up everything that I've built (including my mask) and go into the poor-house for you. We may not have had much, but we had each other.

Remember that frozen moment, sitting on the bumper of some stranger's car, I told you that I wanted you even though I'd never wanted another man that way before. You stood there with the streetlight behind you and the snow falling down around your shoulders. I felt warmer than a mid-summer's day in Nogales.

I have all the money and stuff that I need, but I don't want it if it means I cannot feel that way again.

Tonight I cry for the love that I've lost...

You and your scruffy chin and smile that starts in your eyes and works its way down to that beautiful mouth of yours. You're tall and lanky and your smile just kept catching my eye. It warmed me to the heart. You probably shine those twinkling eyes to everyone else you are waiting on, either way, it worked. You got your tip and you got my heart fluttering.

My life has taken strange twists and turns, but every once in a while I round the bend and you are there. The face is different, but the eyes...something behind the eyes tells me it's you. It is always you.

You ask me to enter, but then you make me crawl...

Sometimes I wonder what the point really is. Don't you? It's as if it doesn't really exist. This is all made up inside someone else's head...maybe even mine.

If I wake up and can put my socks and shoes on in the morning, I've accomplished something. Yet, I feel like I'm lost in the woods, walking, climbing, and still passing the same tree...that same rock in the shape of a whale...that same patch of ivy. Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

It's a quarter after 1, I'm all alone and I need you now...

I saw you on the bus again this week. This time, you kept looking back; your smile an evil grin. Oh how you tempt me with your beautiful copper eyes. We were crammed into that bus so hard that, had there not been a stranger between us, we could have made love and never even moved from our spots.

Waiting, watching the clock, it's four o'clock, it's got to stop...

Why do I tolerate this? Is it that I can't get out? Or is it that I don't want to. Maybe happiness is too much to ask.

So, I work for others and put myself on a back-burner. I can't do it much longer. I just can't. Things have got to change.

On nights like this, when the world's a bit amiss...

I stepped out into the yard and was shocked by the weather. The sky was filled with clouds, orange and purple, lit from the city lights. There is a serenity in the breeze that gently lifted hair around my ears; warm and tender like a lover's gentle kiss.

I was tempted to lay out in the grass and succumb to the earth via the night crawlers, slugs, and critters. Feel them pulling me in while the air plays Brahms through the limbs of the assorted maples -- they rock me gently, you know.

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you...

We met again for lunch today...completely platonic. However, I feel like I can read you. The subtle raise of one brow, the smile, the nervous laugh -- they are all signs. You said that you felt we were very much alike in one area of our personality...you were right. What I'd like to know is if I am right about you. We both have other commitments, but I'm still intrigued by you. I just want to know what it would be like to hold you, kiss you, feel you. More than just a couple of hand shakes and an accidental brush.

When we talk, you get this glimmer in your eyes. Is it excitement? Or is it just really engaging conversation. I'm confused here. Maybe I'm making something out of nothing at all. If I'm not, please let me know. I know you're shy, but god, I wish you would make the first move.

Maybe next time we chat over drinks... and then we can use the words we want to say.

I hope my arms can bind you...

Sometimes I look at take a look at my blog counter and see where folks are coming from to get here. I wonder, what brings them to this site, so I can see the various entry points. Most of you pop in from random searches, though I'm sure they aren't random to you, like walking through Shadyside and seeing something in a shop window that catches your eye. You see this object, it's not what you were looking for, but you think, "hey, that's neat!" and stop to visit for a moment. Others are distracted by the site and as soon as they realize what's here, turn their heads in disgust, click back, and slink on back out of my shop. Then there are others.

Those that seem to come by frequently, as if I'm that ex that works in the place beside their favorite coffee shop. They sneak in with their coffee, take a look around but try to avoid eye contact with me. As if I'm going to ask, "How can I help you today?" This gives me mixed emotions. On one hand, I'm flattered that someone would want to pop in. On the other hand, I feel exposed.

I'm that voice without a face or a name, so therefore I feel free to let all of my dirty laundry air (at least, as much as I let you see). I can expose myself to the world, without being shamed. Maybe you are intrigued, maybe you live vicariously through my rantings (as much as I do), or maybe you are disgusted but can't stop watching. But maybe, just maybe you are looking for inspiration, a friendly voice, someone worse off than you, an anonymous place to dwell. Maybe you too are looking for a friend and a hug.

How can I help you today?

Where fact and fiction meet...

and now work comes crashing down. So much to think about. My approach at detaching emotion from the office has missed a couple of times. I have misdirected and funneled my missing passion in my love life into a passion for work and it has combined into an inferno. Now it holds a force that cannot be bottled up.

Who have I become?

I'm that guy on the bus next to you, nervously looking around at the other passengers, trying to get a look into everyone's eyes to ensure that I'm not missing out on something behind one pair of them. I look down at my smartphone and read my email, play a game, and check out the missed connections online -- maybe someone's missing me. I sling my bag over my shoulder, adjust my iPod to something a bit more more driving, and then turn my way off of the bus and walk over to my building.

Just another day.

I've this crazy old notion that calls me sometimes...

These posts, each one part of the soundtrack of my life. As I post, I place each one into a special mix on my iPod as they each become anthems and odes to certain points in my life.

Just today, I thought of this haunting melody as I rode around through someone else's town. I looked out the window on 16th street and saw you. I managed a half-hearted smile. You smiled back and winked.

I turned to look back, but the driver had moved on. I keep saying that you'll come for me. You'll see me in a car or on a bus, or walking across the street and you will know me. The soundtrack pumping electronically through my ears will mix with yours like some subconscious soul mash-up.

Can't you see that when I find you, I'll find me

I'm too old for excuses. What you did to both me and Derek was inconsiderate and inexcusable. It took me a while to convince myself that I'd not wasted the better part of a decade, and on nights like this, I realize that I'm still working on it.

Between my full-time white-collar job and full-time evening grad school, I try to drown my thoughts in the incessant drone of work and school. I keep thinking that when I'm done, I will emerge from the other end like the fairy-tale monster emerging a prince. Dream on, baby-doll.

Seems like it always midnight...

So Friday afternoon, and I'm steadily edging ahead of the last of rush hour traffic. Passing some shirtless midget with a mullet in a primer-red pick-up.

I think to no one but the wiper blades: "What the fuck am I doing?" as I return to the right lane.

Just running away from an empty home and an even emptier life? Heading to the folks' for sympathy and home cooking. Sugarcoated memories.

Have I really forgotten what made me leave in the first place? Or Am I hoping to live it right this time?

It isn't really about them, is it? It's about me. It's about my mistakes, my life, and my memories that haunt me and taunt me like the rain against the windshield. I really wanted to wash my car today...

I see the exit approaching; 2 miles. Should I just keep going. It's a few hundred more miles from where I've always thought I should be. Has that been sugarcoated too?

Was it always this cold on this interstate? When I was 19 I used to sneak back this way at 3a.m. after doing things that would make my mother wonder what she'd done wrong.

Perhaps it was what she'd done right that made her never question where I was or what I'd done. I was taught, indirectly, to hold on to what you can in life, because very little is truly constant.

What is constant for me these days?

The emptiness I feel on nights like this when the rain is coming down and there's nothing to hold on to except a feather pillow and a memory.

The "what-ifs," the "I could-have’s," and the siren outside at any given hour.

Is it a sad song on the radio and the scratch in my throat while I sing every word as if I had written them?

Or is it the midget in the pick-up, which I always seem to be passing, but just can't seem to lose.

You don't have to say you love me...

So tell me, why am I doing this? I don't even seem to know.

There was a picture online that reminded me of him. Not "he" him, but some ideal state of him for me. You know, "him," that guy that I used to see when I was in my teens. Whenever I'd close my eyes, he'd be there and I would feel this warm glow radiating from my chest to my toes.

He was always just a shadowed figure passing in front of a spotlight. But I could fill in the image with my own collage of all that is right with man. Broad shoulders and a strong, masculine chest that I could bury my insecurities in. Brown or silver curly hair, I really couldn't tell. Eyes, green or hazel... maybe even blue. A hint of stubble around soft yet strong lips.

I would rebuild the image each time he'd come to me, but none were as perfect the real life that I'd not even seen yet.

I wish I could just make you turn around...

So tired of going through the motions. I keep trying to better myself; partly to get ahead; partly to make you see, but you're not watching. So maybe if I pour myself into work and school, I'll forget that I have to breathe every day without whomever you are. I feel like a failure in the one area of my life that is most important to me.

How long has it been since I took the cop-out and settled into this farce? How much longer can I keep it up? or will I just educate myself to some unreachable place and replace love with career success? or will I just always be mediocre?

I guess I will keep my eyes open. Every smile holds opportunity and every warm handshake hope.

Here You Come Again...

....just when I'd begun to get my life together.

When we were together, even just as friends at first, I felt so safe with you. I loved your outlook on life. You just wanted to try everything, do everything, go everywhere. I would have gone anywhere with you.

It's been years since you and I were together. After you broke it off to explore, I did so many things to try to get you back. I begged, I plotted, I attempted to make you jealous. In your typical manner, you just shrugged it off.

So, I went out and made something of myself. I got a better job, finished school, and tried to forget about you. In the back of my mind, I kept hoping that you would just come back and tell me that you couldn't make it without me.

Now you show up again, just to be friends, but I know that's not enough for me. It's all or nothing, baby.

I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd...

I froze. Surrounded by a spectrum of hair gel, polyester, tanning lotion, and pretense; it all seemed to disappear around me. A single light, produced in my imagination, tore through the streets and pulled my focus. Bodies, lithe slithered around me, but there was only one body in my sights.

He stood confident, beautiful and singing to everyone and only me at the same time. His eyes sparkled at me and only me; I was entranced.

Once the set was over, he made his way to his table selling cds and I intercepted him. Awkward words were shared, and then he ripped through the snaps on my shirt and kissed me long, hard...powerful. He put me on the tour bus and ravaged me through to Tulsa...

...or maybe not. We shared a friendly word, I got an autograph, and stood baffled and perplexed by his presence. What the hell.

Somethin' in my mind's not makin' sense...

I know that I won't find you on here, but for some reason, I keep posting; blindly hoping that you will prove me wrong. I've tried every other thing. really, I have.

The last guy was just a fluke, but he did make me forget the first, if just for a little while. He made me realize that I could fall easily and without merit for absolutely nothing. Another wimp of a "knight in shining armor." If only I could meet a man that would fill that armored suit and then let me in. Who could knock me over with the twitch of his eye and reduce me to tears with just a smile.

Only then will I let someone in.

I give you my insanity and the few neurons I have left...

He's gone for days and tells me he is busy, but just weeks earlier he said that if we were together, I would be his world. Something doesn't compute. In a world where most of our contact is via the electronic device clipped firmly to your hip, it just doesn't compute.

I deserve better, and yet, I still hope that what you are saying is true. That you have been busy... Now tell me that your fingers are broken, your electricity has been turned off, and that some band of gypsies has stolen you away; I might be stupid enough to believe you.

"...If one day you were to decide
To leave again from here
I'd close every door
So that you could never leave..."

It's been the longest winter without you

I wish I could start over. Rewind the clock; 6 years to the day that I decided not to love again. Was there one single day? I doubt it.

So instead of loving, I took a safe bet -- never do that. Trust me. A safe bet might keep you from hurting in the short run, but it will all fall apart.

Love can't be held at bay. It will fight its way back into your life when you least want it. It will show up in a pocket-sized package with a dark sense of humor that challenges the mind, heart, and soul. It will make you forget all about first love; the one that scarred the deepest; and then you will hurt again... that sweet pain of exhilaration.

I can't do it alone. I thought I could -- for so many years -- I thought I could do it all alone. Hole myself up in a little box and go into protection mode. Now I need your help. I feel much better about myself. My confidence is coming back, but I need someone to help me with the box from the outside. I'm suffocating in here.

I know you know how to get here, but I doubt you check in. That will be the true test; that you care enough to check in on me. If you do; know that I do have feelings for you, but can't do this alone this time. I need your help. Please.

When will love be through with me

You try telling me that I deserve more, and infer that you would be something more. However, when it all comes down to it, you're just like the rest of them. No guts, no glory.

I do deserve more. I deserve someone who's willing to follow through with their promises. Someone who will hold me when I'm upset, call me on my shit, go along with me for the ride and yet have your own ideas on where we could go off to. I deserve a guy who will cop a feel in public just for the hell of it and kiss me under a streetlight light on a snowy winter evening.

You talk a big game, but I doubt you'd ever follow through with it.

Line me up in single file with all your grievances...

We've only been talking for weeks, but I feel like I've known you forever. There are mountains and miles between us, but I feel like you are right here with me.

You told me you've been broken before, and know how it feels. Even though I've picked up the pieces and started to glue them back together, your smile would fill in the cracks.

I wish that I could reach out and pull you through the computer and into my open arms. We are both in different places mentally, physically, and probably emotionally but, God, I would love to fold time and space and bring you here with me.

I can imagine us lying together on the couch in only our shorts, wasting the day in each others' presence. I would listen to your heart beating through your chest while running my fingers through your hair. We'd crack a few jokes and make plans to open that bar in Key West where we can spend our days in shorts and flip-flops while entertaining each other and our guests with our warmth.

We're making memories, but we're not even together. If you came to get me, and our chemistry is what I think it will be, we'd never be alone. :sigh: A boy can dream.

You do something to me that I cant explain...

"He doesn't look well," I think. But it's not unwell in a mental way that you claim. Something else is going on that he dare not speak of. I started the evening wanting an apology, but soon realized it wasn't coming and nor was it important. Now I feel sadness and, dare I say it, pity.

Regardless, it's been a sad day from before it started. I awoke with a dream of someone I'd wronged. In the dream, he forgave me, but in life he's gone. We slipped through each others lives as silently as my seed through your fingers.

I'd wanted him from the moment we met in high school, and he the same, but we just never knew until it was too late. By the time we'd acted upon it, our paths were already diverging; mine into the thick and yours off into a valley of sunshine and rainbows. Did he ever find that pot of gold? I really hope so...he deserves it.

My mind is in a fog from mixing my drinks as momma warned me not to. Now I look for traces of them on the net, but I realize that this Orpheus has turned around too late.

I'm the winner of cards I can't play...

"Fuckin' A," I said as I threw away the last of my little. yellow. indifferent.

13 (Lucky) years ago, I vowed that I was done. The simultaneous chipping away of my mask; my mind. They were only partially-responsible for my heart trouble. A good scape-goat nonetheless. I swore the pills off. And when sanity returned all else came crashing down like a Paris Opera House chandelier.

Had my prescription-altered mood drove the sun away? Or was it sucked away by an ill-timed blow job from his home-town friend?

That pain cannot be matched by hours under knives, needles, lasers, drills, and various forms of torture as they constructed my new mask. Still, sometimes as I look into the mirror for some resemblance of my old self, underneath -- I can`t help by feel ugly.

Dont call me a faggot, not unless you are a friend...

Stepping out of the cold, I'm caught by his glance. Knowledge and experience take me to the place he fears to tread. He sees the signs behind my steel blues that tell him what he already knows.

And though he may furrow his brow, his eyes are a contradiction, and the ring on his finger merely a token of his hypocrisy.

"I have been there before," I glare back. "I have tasted your sticky sweet as it slid off of your belly, quickly cooling in the evening chill."

He can look away, pretend he doesn`t know, but does he fool? Not I, nor he, and certainly not the rest of the family.

As I bathe in his disgust, I am overcome with pity -- I know what he refuses to.

You're impossible to find...

The other day, I'm trying to be good and just listen to my music while heading to work. I stop in my usual spot just to get my fix for the morning. Fix of what? Coffee, You, Pastry? Who can say.

Anyway, I order my goods and then, while I've been trying to not think about you, you handed me my card and touched my hand. Warmth. Human touch.

I obsessed over that graze of the finger for some of the morning before sinking back into my tunes and my work. Even now, I imagine the warmth from your touch on my finger spreading up my arm. It reaches around and pulls me in as it envelops me. I feel your arms around me, pulling me close; separated by only skin.

There is no pain, you are receding...

To Me:

Yes, I have finally listened to your advice and I'll let you know how it goes.

My yesterdays are all boxed up and neatly put away...

Sometimes it only takes a date, a smell, a word, a building, or a car to bring me back.  Something as simple as Thanksgiving causes me to flash back to my first year without my family.  

Ten years ago, the matriarch of the family was lying in a hospital bed dying slowly.  She was my constant, my support system, and I couldn't reach out to her. Many of my friends had all but ditched me.  I had always been the clown, the joker, the rock for them to lean on, but when needed help after a bad breakup with an abusive asshole and a hit with a serious family illness, they didn't like the sad clown -- I brought them down and they could have none of that.  

I started dating this guy, nothing serious yet, but a balanced version of me as I saw it; mature, calm, cool, confident, yet distant.  I wasn't comfortable in my own skin, but somehow he was fine with that.  He would just hold me. I didn't talk about what was going on in my life at home, but he somehow knew what to do without being asked.  No family to turn to, he created a family of friends for me to spend the holidays with. It was beautiful and warm...and when the day was done, he took me home and just held me.  I couldn't tell him what was going on, but his arms were open.  In the morning, he'd leave, and a few months later, he'd not come back.

I'm beginning to think that some people were meant to serve as a walk-on cameo in the story of our lives.  

You say go slow I fall behind...

Just a thought: You with the silver rimmed glasses, dark hair, and shy smile. Thanks for making my day this weekend. I noticed you noticing and it made me remember what it felt like to be that young, giddy child again.

On occasion, I think back to me in my late teens and wish I could be that bright-eyed and optimistic again. Time after time

You always find my faults faster than you find your own...

I wish I knew what the hell it was that I'm doing here. Just when I think I have control over myself, I have a slip.

It's this strong sense of independence and control that has left me unable to tell people with whom I am close what I'm feeling and only a small fraction of what I'm thinking.

I just can't let anyone as close as I have in the past. Hell, I won't even let myself that close. I guess I'm waiting for my own spring awakening. A time to thaw.

Unfortunately, it's that time of year when things just get colder.

Peace out.

I'll keep you locked in my head...

That filthy bastard did it again.   He tried to discount everything he said to delusions.

Feeling a bit High and Mighty? Well, yes, I`m calling it -- Bull Shit. You. god. damned. Fuckwit.

Some have asked what the story was. Well, here's the gist of it: Fell in love, was promised the world, changed the path of my life to meet his, then when I was hooked -- he cheated, I was stupid and forgave, then he did it again and again, I forgave, then he dumped me, I cried, then a couple of years later he came back around to tell me he'd grown and he strung me along for a couple of years long-distance, then he backed off when I finally agreed to take things seriously again.  

Almost 10 years of cat and mouse and I was fucking exhausted.  Now I'm stuck in a rut that I can't get out of, because I can't seem to make myself feel the euphoria of the first time we met.  I've been desperately seeking that feeling, that confidence in myself, and I just can't seem to grab on to it. 

I'd like to put things on rewind and start back 14 years ago, but now I just feel like a fool. That's it. A fucking fool.

I have a smile stretched from ear to ear...

Today he introduced himself; Joe. Well, Joe, I think he knew that I've been admiring him for the past few months, because today he took that first step and asked my name. The smile...oh my god, the smile...it disarmed me.

It was a smile that I wish would say, "I don't care what's happened. I don't care what mistakes you have made. I don't care that you've hurt, been hurt, and stayed in bad situations for way too long. I just want to grab you and take you with me on this trip."

Instead it said, "hi" and that was enough to keep me going all day.

This is the land of a thousand words, but it seems so few are worth the breath to say...

It was late in the summer before I turned twenty and I remember him fondly -- Golden crew-cut and mischievous blue eyes. He was my little southern peach; fuzzy and sweet in all the right places.

I would drive 75 miles in the dark just to curl up in his arms and try to forget. He knew I wasn't available yet, but still he hoped and kept patient.

The boy didn't deserve what happened, I was just too broken then to be with someone else; I was still thinking of you. Why did I let you do that to me?

It's wonderful that he and I can now look back and laugh and it seems he's right where I left him. Time can heal all wounds, that is, if you treat them.

I never made promises lightly and there have been some that I've broken...

October hits the hardest -- Unraveling trees in brisk nights. I am reminded of the coldest night that started it all.

Reminded is an understatement; I'm brought right back to that evening as if time has folded in on itself. Walking, dazed down Main Street -- alone and barely clothed in torn jeans and a t-shirt. I was only 17, and I was invincible. I kept looking back at traffic, hoping someone would stop and give me a ride the rest of the way home.

Someone did.

I can see my breath in sputtering bursts as childhood escaped me. No one warned me that autumn could unravel a young man too.

I'm sorry for blaming you...

At 17, I fell in love with love and it has been one hell of a ride since.

It used to be that a voice on the wire could sustain me longer than bread and water. This was evident from my emaciated frame and constant look of hope.

By all written accounts, mostly contained in green denim, I was a scared child clinging to dreams made real by Julia Roberts and Meg Ryan. I believed the fairytale and lost my sense of self.

That strangers didn`t slap the stars from my eyes amazes me still -- Momma tried. Her stars had fallen years prior and she knew their burn. I ignored Momma and ran. Only my stars were stolen.

Too young to enter into contract, but playground promises are binding. Love is the only true indian-giver and ours was no exception. Now no one can own me and I remember everything but your voice.

Hold me close and hold me fast...

I saw you this morning on the bus. You had short hair, silvery-gray glasses, and a big smile that caught my attention. You stood in front of, and slightly over, me -- close enough that I could smell the soap you used.

Your blue-striped button-down was wrinkled, and though you wore pleated pants, the disheveled look was most endearing. Though you kept looking down, I did notice you watching me.

Your hand was clutching the bar right above mine, strong and manly. God, I wish you would have held mine. Just when I got the nerve to say something, the bus pulled up to the stop, and we all spilled out...and then you were gone and I was left with my music and the chill in the air. It's a great day for a warm embrace.

You cut me open and I...

I can still remember the look on his face. "This is not the end," he said holding a gothic cross and tissue in one hand and my hand in the other. Those words comfort nothing these days.

"You`re going to leave," I insisted, "it is in my cards."

The deck was stacked for naught; it was only a dream...it was only a dream --née a hallucination.

Dreams, exactly where I left them cloud judgment at every passing. We used to speak in dreams.

My point of balance was askew...

I saw you the other day; not the old you, but a new you. Dark hair, specked with silver prematurely, and kind eyes. You were casually holding your coffee as you strolled through looking at the same items that I was. I kept looking further and further along the shelf to get a better look at you. I said, "excuse me" shyly and you let out a timid, "pardon."

The future passed before me so realistic it was as if I'd just missed it. Courting, a short engagement, marriage, arguments over money, children, and retirement. Too fast!

Scared, I stepped away for a few, but when I came back you were gone. You'd disappeared completely. It doesn't seem like much, but I'd like to thank you, whoever you are. You made me forget any other for a few hours.

I am as constant as the northern star...

Today was just another day; I rode the bus to work, went to my office, forced myself to look at some work, and then surfed the Internet for the rest of the day. I've never been so disengaged from work. It's as if all that I've worked so hard for doesn't matter any more; it has all become a bore.

Eat, Sleep, Work, and do it again. This weekend I heard a friend say, "oh, the life of a baby. Eat. Sleep. Poop. Repeat." Somehow, I don't think they really understood that. I think there's a good reason we can't remember that part of our life, it's got to be horrifyingly cold and alone.

My first memory is of me sitting on the kitchen counter, a circus peanut in my hand, and my mother zipping up my windbreaker so we could go for a walk. There was something exciting about the textures of that orange, foamy candy, but beyond that everything was foreign. I was an alien in my own world.

Which brings me to now -- Déjà Vu.

Honey why you callin me so late...

I guess you can say that I've branched out, started a franchise. Looking to revisit what I'd lost or, at the very least, find closure.

There once was a time that I had wanderlust. I traveled and moved every couple of years, but never more than 4 years was spent in one place. I've been here a while. It reminds me of a movie I just rewatched recently,

"you know what they say when you get lost in the woods? If you stay put, stay in one place and don't wander, they'll find you. And I was just hoping you'd let yourself be found this time. I was hoping you'd let us find you. But you keep wandering and we can't. "

Well, I haven't been wandering. I've been right here, a mere miles from where I got lost, and yet no one ever came looking for me. I am here -- Where are you?

Is there some sign?

The number on the matchbook is old and faded...

I don't know why I bother to think about those who left. They left for some reason.. namely me.

For years I was too available. I fell for the man who could make me feel different. Different from what it was that I'd felt in the past. I fell for some bozos. I'll just put them out there (minus the first): Don, Tripp, Tom, Jeff, Tim, Seth, Steve, Tom, Matt, Mick, Dan, Chris, Todd, Jeff, Eric, Mathias, Scott, Ryan, Jon, Stephen... Oh, It's not even worth mentioning.

To be fair, some of them were left by me, and most of them were hardly a fall, they were more of a stumble or knock on the shin...but they all hurt in various levels of pain. None so bad as the first, but they still hurt. Well, except for a couple of those momentary lapses in judgment. That seems to happen a lot.

I loved his secret places but I can't go anymore...

Sometimes a lyric gets stuck in my head that I can't seem to shake. It's been months since I cried and tonight as I drove around town, one song reduced me to tears.

Have you ever had a song that resonated so much that you thought it was written by your evil twin in an attempt to crush you? That's the way this one hit me tonight. I came home and hopped in the shower; no matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn't shake the feeling of being unclean, impure.

It's that one night all over again, but this time without the strong hand on my back, scotch-infused breathe on my ear, and northern wind on my back. Yes, it does get "so fucking cold."

No we're never gonna survive, unless...

I don't know why people feel that I'm crazy. I know what I do, and I know why. It's not something that can be modified with therapy or pills. Words and Lyrics are my therapy.

I know also what I need to do with my life. I just don't have the courage to go through with it. I've grown quite fond of my complacency.

I also realize that each sentence here has started with I.

Have you any dreams you'd like to sell...

I heard a voice last night. It made me wonder: Who am I? The gravity of a dream (Nightmare?) returned with a voice that I`d heard at least a thousand times before. Yet it somehow sounds new and still familiar.

How can one frequency and tone turn this soured prince sweet. If even just for one night? That simple set of words that, unaffected, can reduce me to a sullen, spoiled, lump.

This is where the first meets the present and the sleep lost is mine alone.

Some people hear voices in their dreams, I just hear one; and he was calmly telling me something that I forgot the moment my eyes opened.

Closest to heaven that I'll ever be...

"Battle-scarred is no way to live your life." Isn't that what you told me as I cried that first weekend together, or am I mixing you up with a song. No, I think you said, "don't mourn for what you haven't lost." Maybe it was some premonition, but I cried a river for the loss of you. I was only a child; not even 18 yet and you seemed so much wiser. I tried to trust you.

"Believe me, I will never leave you," you said. I tried to bring myself to, but you bruised what delicate faith I had. A story of a rabbit dancing past answering your call for an answer, the cheap cross on a satin cord, and the blustery lake-effect wind; they paint a rosy picture. I had every right to be scared and you took that from me along with my innocence -- Aren't you ashamed of yourself?

It was that faith that has me brainwashed; It's been over 10 years since we last touched and yet I can still feel your hand on my cheek and can still see my sadness reflected in those beautiful hazel eyes. You used to be able to tell my mood just from the color of my irises. I could not lie to you, but since then I've developed a poker face and quite the imagination.

Ruined. I can't even want those that love me, because I know they don't see the real me; only what I allow them to reach. But I feel that I can be open to the rest of the world through this digital venue; a complex matrix of 1s and 0s. When you bring it down to black and white, I feel much safer in my gambling.

I loved you with the fire red...

It just doesn't make sense. No matter who I am with, or what I'm doing, it all comes back to you. I woke up this morning, safe in my bed, and the first thing I saw was your face. Why do you haunt me?

You left me and dare see someone with my name -- cruel and unusual punishment. Does he know about me? About your multiple pledges of undying love? Here's a thought for you: I hope, somewhere deep in his heart, he knows that when you call out that name...it's me you're really thinking of.

Must be exhausting to lose your own game...

You popped in unannounced and unwanted. I told you before that I can't take your immaturity; so I ignored you. How's it feel to have the immaturity returned to you? Fucker. Then you try to tell people it's me with the problem.

I'm only returning the gift you gave. Bitter pill to swallow, isn't it? Or just another cliche.

I am just a friend; that's all I've ever been...

You think you know me, but I don't know you.

I'm afraid of the way I leave you...

On a crisp morning a few months back, I returned to the battlefield; except the battlefield was gone. Huddled in the safety of the car as I turned from main street in search of 81 campus drive.

Within those walls, I had been forced into maturity by my own carelessness. It was also there that I met the boy...no...man whose hands could reduce me to single syllables. The yard stick that every other has been measured against.

So I returned, expecting to say fuck you and so long but it had already left; the building is gone. What was once a crime scene now replaced with new homes of brick and mortar.