Home of the Brave

some feel the power and some feel the awe, most feel the coat tails of riding too long. weary and sore, desperate and tired, but alone no more. hope and hands grasp their bodies like a warm towel on a cold nights swim but only til the night breeze blows. we realize through mediums of music, lyrics and lights our heart can take our souls tears but only just and no more. a collaboration of mediums to personify a mood, then responded to it physically and emotionally. i find time heals the deepest wounds only to those brave enough to open them relentlessly. an understanding and acceptance of pain mixed with relentlessness to a souls innocence. cures aren't quick. the swallow burns the throat, patronizing the disease. time though, through the unvarying of pain, understands the value of freedom. once quelled, only then wields power, and relinquishes awe upon their coat-tailed woeful.

Bite the Dust

We all spend a night empty handed and empty hearted. Tuck your happy illusioned friends away and lay alone wondering why not you. Rooms and parties full of solo cups of confidence; songs requiring dates to dance to, and neither were offered to you. Your wit and charm lay on deaf ears and false judgments or predetermined opinions. Your glow went unnoticed amidst the candle lit windows of old New York at bed time. Every detail specifically selected the hours leading up to the nights endeavor and all thrown off in unison at a hollowing nights end. What blurs initializations promising sparkle? When does a singles nights loneliness become a repetitive sadness to a yearning soul for companionship? When does the random night alone become a trend of self uncertainty and sure doubt in self worth and sure conspiracy? Repetitive loss does not validate quality of choice, rather diminishes hope in the quality of the minds vision to treat the sentence of solitary confinement to its weary heart. Settling for less will not cure the souls melting boundaries. Shimmers of hope mend the dripping emotional goo like freshly made creepy crawlers to a boy lost in his closet of wonder and time. Wonder and time. Those used to cure the soul of the youth for hours on end until exhaustion from the unrelenting battle of both was ceased by a third party. The subconscious yearning for a break the heart would never give up on and the mind never dulled to explore. A souls subconscious at odds with the bodies for its hopes, dreams and realities seemingly always regulated by another. You can't make me wonder about you, dream about you or realistically be with you; but if i wonder about you, dream about you and realistically find you, my mind heart and soul will never let go of you.

Peter Pans Getaway

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oQAXpo_wiXQ

Fields of evergreen clovers cling to our naked ankles by dawns wet dew as we near the hidden spring sparkled by fragments of morning light through the thick canopy of oak as if cascading into our wild cove. Our clothes draped across the grandest of rocks; the cold grips our flesh as our heartbeats rise while staring into each others wild green eyes through our smokey exhales. Turned on by the heat escaping the other we enter the spring hand in hand as the ripples return in the smallest of waves creeping up the back as the bodies spectrum of temperatures is fused into a symphony of adrenaline at the verge of anticipation for the initial gravitation towards her soft sweet lips as she hides her smirk and falls in love.

Be Vewy Vewy Qwuiet

I can't tell her about the nights I lay out to gaze at stars and wish i was looking into her eyes.
I can't tell her how I'd turn down Mozart and lean against the bathroom door just to listen to her sing.
I cant tell her that I'd rather put a box of puppies dressed as sailors down and hold her hand just a little bit longer.
I can't tell her about the mind control she acquires while I'm captivated by her scent every time she moves past me.
I can't tell her how I lose my appetite by the simple taste of her sweet soft lips.

I can't tell her that I begin every day hoping for a beautiful end to it with her because it is only her that I wish to see, hear, feel, smell and taste day after day, time after time, in a seemingly continuous plateau of sensory satisfaction that my mind cannot break down and my heart may never completely grasp.

She can't know how to defeat me. She can't know to defeat my relentless passion she merely has to distinguish the essence of her that embodies every aspect of beauty I yearn to make memories with.

gone baby gone

love is tricky. here's the problem: there's a hierarchical time line. past, present and future. the past reflects an established order of thought altering the present either reluctantly fearful or aggressively optimistic for the future, naive in its essence epitomizing high risk high reward; the epitome of a gamblers disease or the self destruction of the beauty that held the flicker of light in the first place. you think you know a person until they're tested. a scramble to re-order their priorities leaves you confused and unrelenting. a last ditch effort to regain the line that held your souls counterpart. you hold the rope as the speed in which it departs burns every bit that you hold tight. it's past the point that you want to pull a person back from abrupt abyss. you just want to run to someone that wants to run with you. tip being: don't chase the ones that are never real with their friends. cut her down or cut her loose

Joey

this kid man.. this kid. So, we're playing basketball at his girlfriends court like a weekly summer tradition. He never wins, not because he isn't good, just because one on one is my game. He has this one move though where he'll drive down the lane lean in to me a hit a fade away layup off the glass. you can't defend it and its ridiculous how easy that move is for him. anyway he's been getting progressively better and i wont let him beat me. until that fateful day. he did his move about two or three times and i caught on and started to shut him down. he miraculously managed to dribble the ball through my legs, lose it behind him while yelling "ohhhh what you got white boy?!" and i chase him down as he picks it up fading away shooting over my swatting hand falling out of bounds behind the three point line landing into surrounding bushes as leaves fall from the canopied tree he shot the ball through before it swishes through the net. as if i'm not embarrassed enough to let anyone do that to me, it had to be him. he's jumping and yelling "What white boy?! where you at white boy?! white boy!" sigh. i check the ball with him, he runs over to the same spot and drains another three pointer to win the game. i hate him. he will always have that in his arsenal to use against me, and believe me, he will. joeys my best friend and he uses it against me. ily all day brosef.

summation of a sunrisen text

i pull you in as i hold you close, your cold yearns for the warmth of my arms. you lay, tired from a draining day; i examine you. a radiant fair skin tone with flashes of hue shines amongst dark cold sheets as a closer view reveals the passionate kisses left by the adulterating sun. the faintest of freckles are the imperfections that only act as tantalizing realizations of the reality of you. pinch myself. your legs are tone, smooth and long as they extend past my horizon upon motionless heels warn out by mysteries yet explained at a fire-lit rainy night in. i gaze. my vision blurs between the serenity and wonder of how a complex creature of stunning beauty can correlate the phenomenon of your existence with the excitement of my future. sleep. dream. awake to an empty, unfulfilled silent clean room; seek me out, find me to fit into the niche of your tiniest of nooks, cozy as it may be; for an insurmountable brief moment perfection is personified in my life through the addition of you. wiggle, hum and sing softly of well written ideas coldplay pressed upon you through the magic of piano melodies, as mixed uncertainties of my fluctuating membrane tear across the brightest of hopes like an exploding star through a dim night sky. worries and doubt cloud you but yield to your lazy joy. close your eyes. sleep for another tomorrow. awake to a hustling morning full of minute accidents and aggravation injected by coffee flavored adrenaline as you shower dress and move through traffic tying your bun, eye lash brush between your coated lips swerving between three lanes as the last moves further ahead. tension builds until you're fidgeting may have cost you five minutes. arrival. greeting familiar faces thinking of obstacles ahead preparing yourself for things to come as the Chanel purse buzzes. you sit down, open every relative tab and read the leftover emails of frustration from nagging hoarders seeking your demise pressing down on you. sigh. turn to read the messages and unlock the phone to cease the blinking red light. you reluctantly read: breath. go through the motions that will lead you back to me. cycle through the weary tasks that drain the youthful ambitions of your soul. be strong. the idea of seeing you after flickers a light inside me that i will endlessly chase and never tell you about. so keep it a secret, i've been missing you since you woke.
-matthew