Inches closer

Missing you         

I was inches closer to forgetting how much I missed you.

Well, letting go of the thought of missing you, at the very least.

Its been days since your last fingerprints faded off my skin.

Yet, your footsteps keep leaving a mark

as the story of our last goodbye is retold in my mind,

over and over.

I’ve always been a fein,

always craved your touch.

I thought,

that maybe i could built up a tolerance,

and get used to the distance the further it got.

But your presence subdues any high.

And being my deepest inhale, I cant bear to simply exhale you out.

And i’ve tried,

But it doesn’t work when you keep leaving me astray of your presence,

and commend me to continue craving more at every break of dawn.

Besides, your kisses only last so long,

when they’re far gone every morning.

I was inches closer to to blurring the constant notice of your absence,

Inches closer to being detached from your withdrawal

and inches closer to numbing the thought of missing you.

Except,

I’m thousands of miles away and consequently, inches subside into centimeters

And to be honest, in the end,

being centimeters closer to letting go

might even be to soon

and my bodies not ready

to stop missing you.

Monday blues

Its been a while that i’ve written something.

Let me rephrase that,

Something meaningful,

aside from my frequent array of short excerpts and silly blogs.

Lately, it seems as if i’ve been hiding in all the wrong places

Engaging in the wrong activities.

I’ve recently found myself pondering on the idea

Of change

Not the good type of change, if there is such

But the type where you cant simply click an undo button

or rewind back to where you came from.

A loss of touch with my identity perhaps,

Where its come down to the ultimate question of who am I becoming

To where i want to go.

Its been a while since i’ve last felt this way

It could be the excessive quantity of alcohol

I’ve ingested the past couple of days,

Or the loss of brain cells due to the

amount of times I’ve been out past 3 am getting high.

I’ve been running,

But which direction?

It depends on who you’d ask.

My mother and father would simply answer south

My dealers, north

Way up high

My friends, North West, maybe East South

Whichever way our drunk minds will allow us to.

Sorry, didn’t mean to drive your brain in circles solving riddles.

The point is, someone knows

And soon, I will to

Wether i find the answer in the bottom of my next spirit over the rocks

Or inbetween the ashes of my rolled up spliff.

If I’m lucky, hopefully in my dreams

when i finally get some sleep.

Lost 

The fisherman who searched to be lostlived adrift in the greatest massiveness of Earth’s offers

He replaced his every worry with the flick of a pole,

Allowing the empty sea to feed off his sorrows

In the dark dismal emptiness

Completely unaware of the reality

of the eternal deepness

underlying his very own inconsequential presence

But he wasn’t alone

The company of an occasional whistle of a boat,

and the lighthouse blaze

Were his solemn reminders

of the beauty in the often unacknowledged

The ocean breathed his perpetual sublime

And the bracing wind craving his deliberation

At the verge of its every touch

Revived the fishermen’s most vivacious sensations

Reminding him of what it meant to feel alive

The salty aroma, his drug

And the invigorating breeze, his savior

The lone fisherman searched to be lost

And in that,

He was lost

And found himself

In his own presence