A Thought on People and Reasons

I have always wondered if we are just little specks floating around in an infinite space. Is it then by chance that we are blown off our accidental path and crash randomly into other specks? Does that mean we don’t meet people for reasons, are they just thrown haphazardly in front of us as we move lazily along? It could be that I wonder just too deeply at times, but the idea that everything is just by a good stroke of luck or by unplanned chance seems to evade me. There are times where I feel that people are put there for a reason that you meet them for a reason. I doubt anyone can say for sure, but sometimes doesn’t it feel like you would be nowhere in life without someone…guess we all should get that feeling at least once in our life time.
Enough with the somber speech and on to something better (or so I say):

Some of My Most Recent Brain Children:


Advil Never Cured Her Headache

Mellow, though you tremble,
You knew you bit so deep your lip was crimson,
And flushed with pierced scar tissue,
You stand too quickly,
Wavering as patchwork cells flow too fast,
Wanting to be the ever stronger of the pair,
A glimpse of sweet russet iris,
Tells a fluent notion of diverse story,

As you prostitute a sanity shaven of hope, to the next victim.


Brunette Expressions

She conversed on the verge,
Hands gripping lucid to the vat,
Carnivorous smile hunting you down,
Ready as ever to hold her breath.

She bowed over,
Swearing for one pastel kiss,
Still spent,
Drawing up to be swathed in chocolate.

There was a luster so optimistic no one remarked,
Standing posed forlorn in a crowd,
Her voice did cry exposed,
So she abounded unsatisfied.


Just a Name Akin to Me

Blistering muted to the touches that kiss from the palms of your hands,
My elbows keep me steady as half frozen lips part the verses,
I stain to make out pleasant reminders against my smudged pastel lids,
Who would have thought vivid metaphors would sway a sallow stranger,
For all my desperate intentions know, you could be smiling,
But I bite back, like a sickly syrup morsel, pretending to taste bitter acid,
And revisit your words again, for but a moment of sudden paced alliance,
Could it really be, identical to this thirsty craving,
A desire to have the same, and still be of little substance to the other.

Starving

Under most circumstances I wonder if all artists are technically ‘starving’ and the answer to that question for me is...yes. Now I wouldn’t call myself an artist per-say, I don’t paint, but I do draw a mean stick-figure from time to time. No, what I am is a writer and trust me I am always as one might say starving. I’ve done worse sure, but you don’t realize how hard it is when you’re ‘art’ must be read instead of observed. Right there I am truly at a disadvantage.
I’m not a great writer by far. Won a few writing contests so on and so forth but nothing really special. Anyways here's some creativity that is somewhat starving:

Just a Hint of Jessie

Jessie’s breath was sickly sweet
Like caddied columbine
Oh, how I immersed within it
Enveloped myself between its folds
Lingering on long after his day was useless
Inhale, like I was ravenous in fervor for it
Throb my fingers to the table
Eager as I relinquished deliberation
Jessie, letting his breath trace, pale as sugar