Devil By the Deed.

Our pens ran dry, my love.
eyes locked across the trenches,
the battlefield, the bedroom,
the stars a little less bright these days.
Or maybe it's just my eyes.
"Hey Bright Eyes...."
Hell, maybe it's your eyes.

Ink ran off the pages, onto our skin.
Into our veins.
Indelible fingerprints all over my life.

Our pens ran dry. My love?
Hand in hand and hand on throat.
We plunged our pens into each others hearts.
Painting pictures with each others blood.
Peaceful and passionate.
Dramatic and morbid.

Blood pulsing. Pulses racing.
Whole new worlds all at our fingertips.
And we finger painted, tearing at each other.
Smearing what we found.
Congealed and clotted is the picture.
All that remains.

Killin' Time.

I'm in a holding pattern. Now that I've made a decision about whether or not get out, times seems to be be sprinting and crawling at the same time. Wrangling with a civilian at the college to get what I need to get out of here on time. Then, school and prep work for a business. I can fall back on teaching if need be, but truth be told... the thought of working with my family is a million times more exciting. Beyond hoping everything works out, we are preparing. I'm pretty confident in being able to get this thing up and running.

Other things in my life are a little less clear. I continuously tell myself I don't have time for distractions. My ennui and apathy are at all time highs. Outside of work, I haven't even been going outside. I just don't.... feel the need to. I've been sleeping during the day, and lately staying up way too late. It's a vicious cycle. I'm kinda just living vicariously through my brothers. Baby Jaelyn is magical and I'm her favorite. Which is wonderful with a sad aftertaste.

And so, I trudge on like I do. I'm my age. Some days I feel twice that. Most days, I feel like I'm in my twenties but have lived a little too much and seen more than I should have. Meh. What can you do? I'm looking forward to buying my land, building my house and maybe getting a dog or two for companionship in between the boys visits. It's not a life for everyone, but for the hermit lifestyle I've ended up in, I guess it'll work. Still looking at adoption a little further down the road. Who knows what will happen? The best laid plans and all.

Alt .End

Every now and then, I find myself waking up.
Eyes open to scars and souvenirs.
I find myself stretching and yawning.
Sleep walking through my life.
There are times when I rub my eyes and look around.
I look at my life up until now.
I stare into the distance and think about what still waits.

Most nights I am content with being one.
Other nights, I am tempted to open my chest and offer myself to those I would be willing to do so with.
But that Fear always walks with me.
Closing my mouth, shutting me down.
Bouncing between feeling nothing and everything.

Mornings are always mornings.
The coffee's always black.
And there's always miles to go before I sleep.
Always.
Always a Long, Cold, Dark just up the road.
The only thing that isn't a constant is whether or not I choose to travel it alone.