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Sometimes I find myself walking this tangled path of life, lost and alone in the dark. Sometimes I find myself not wanting to take another step. Sometimes I even fall. Covered in dirt, drowning in blood, choking on ashes with my sky burning above, I wonder why I keep fighting. Sometimes I just want to stop and let go, let myself just die, so all of my pain and lonliness and despair will finally just stop. And somewhere out there, i always hear a voice, sometimes a whisper sometimes a shout. But another voice. So i pick myself up, body wracked by pain, spirit shattered by life, and i take one more step, then another, and another. Until i find that voice, until i find that light in the darkness, the cool water against the inferno. And for a little while, if only for a minute, I'm ok. For a little bit, it's ok for me to cry, it's ok for me to be weak. It's ok for me to be scared. And it's ok for me to feel happiness...if only for a moment. The light in the darkness is my salvation. That salvation is you. And you are the light that keeps me from letting go, and keeps me taking one more step, and another.

We are the unwanted, the unloved, the ignored, and the alone. We are the dust that the world grinds beneath their boots. We are the voiceless, we are the poets without ink, the story tellers with no audience, and musicians with no songs. We are the shadows on the wall, the strangers nobody cares about. We are statistical anomalies. Freaks, outcasts, rejects...them. we are the broken and dispirited souls who never see the sun, we are the eyes that only see darkness, we are the echoes of laughter never heard. We are every tear, every torment, every anguish. We are the alone. Fate has brought us into the world as strangers, but we have made ourselves siblings. We are all of us united by our differences, we are all alone... together...

As autumn leaves are swept aside in the wind, whispering of colder, darker times...so too are my dreams...
To dance amongst hallowed stones and flowers of old, to feel the cold embrace of love now lost, to hear his sweet voice only in my mind...
To feel the rain of petals and ashes, the burden of sorrow, the agony of being alone...
Such is my curse, such is my gift, for it is here amongst the ashes and echoes of what was and what could have been, that I build my palace of broken promises and sleepless nights. It is here, alone with the gravestones of what will never be, that am destined to haunt for my bleak eternity. That I refuse to believe this lie, knowing there is nothing else inside, when darkness is all I see, this is my sweet blasphemy..

Matty, I look back at who u were, just a few years ago, all of the tears, the anguish, the pain and the loneliness. I remember seeing the scars for the first time, and I was shocked, I was afraid. You were the shadow amongst us, the shadow against the wall, but u were so dark, it was terrifying. I remember the first time I watched u cry. And in that moment, I saw beyond the armor of ice, that cold mask of winters you wear to keep the world away. I saw that terrified, tiny, innocent little kid that did nothing wrong and knew nothing but torment and pain. And in that moment I had to know u.
You are a rose, the most beautiful of flowers, and covered in thorns. To touch you, is to know danger and to know caution. And the most amazing of rewards. You see, I've gotten to know u and watch u grow up, from a broken, dispirited, shattered boy, into something so rare, so incredible, I cannot describe it. You have become a candle in the dark for so many people, and you dont even realize it. You are so scared of stumbling, u never look to see the rest of us right there with u.
When u smile, the whole world lights up. When u cry, we all feel the pain. When u laugh, there is nothing but love. You have been broken. You have so many scars that I cry just thinking about them. My god, what have they done to u? But look at what uve done, where uve gone, who uve become. You have the most horrible of nightmares, and the most beautiful dreams. You move worlds with words alone. And uve become something amazing. Your scars highlight the beauty u have. They are the darkness to light, the flaw to beauty. They make u even more beautiful than u already were. There's a reason u get hit on so often.
The point is, you have a story to tell. And tears will fall because of it. But maybe the world needs to cry. I believe u have the whisper that will be heard around the world. You are an amazing, gorgeous person. You have survived when nobody else could. Tell ur story. Dont be afraid to share yourself with the world, dont be afraid to laugh or cry or get angry. And dont be afraid to love. And remember, we're not going anywhere, we're right here with u...

I look in the mirror and see the scars, like a road map across my skin, and catch my eyes, that have seen to much...and then I remember. I remember never being told that I'm ok or that anything I did was ever good enough. I remember being forgotten, abandoned, unwanted, unloved, and unimportant. I remember the screaming and yelling and all the broken glass. I remember curling up into a ball, alone on the bare floor, hiding my head trying not to hear the hatred and anguish. I remember the crying alone at night, and nobody ever came to comfort me. I remember the whistling sound of the wire cord my father used to beat me. And the lightning bolt explosion of pain. I remember the blood running off my body and onto the floor, while being beaten and screamed at because I was bleeding.
I remember the screaming sting across my face from the rings my mom wore when she would hit me. I remember the curses and condemnations of the two people who brought me into the world, and yet they said it was my fault. I remember the ache and desperation of hunger and lonliness. I remember putting the gun against my own head, thinking this will be my salvation. I remember being ignored. I remember screaming in the night, and nobody would come. I remember the bitter cold, the darkest nights, and deepest despair. I remember being alone amongst the multitudes. I remember the crunching of broken glass beneath my boots. And I remember the anger and sorrow.
I remember walking the lonely halls of an empty home, the hallowed walls of a place I've never known. I remember the feel of paint and plush of the carpet. The hollow echoes of a place now empty save for countless memories.
No more did pictures adorn the walls, no more did trophies command the mantles. So too were gone the couches, chairs, and tables, all gone was the art and eternal voices of television's. All was bare and barren, and nothing remained save i.
I had become the ghost of my own past, the haunted memory of tragedy, the wretched unwanted scion of an empire of lies. I was all that remained.
And so too, as the specter I'd become, so had my time... and I walked away, this last memory...

I reach inside of me and find all amiss. I need to find the answers to all my sins. But what was found, I lost again, just when I needed it most. Take it all away, take it all away, take it all away so I dont have to feel again.

I am breaking, falling apart, I cannot do this all myself. Can you hear me screaming out here all alone, or am I too far gone? Circling the drain inside my soul, I've found peace at the end of a gun. Take it all away, take it all away, take it all away and just let me go so I cannot cry again.

Please let me break and fall all to pieces lost and alone. I dont want to find the answers anymore, I just want to die and go. So please, just take it all away, take it all away...

X

I found myself sitting in a chair, elbows resting on my legs, my head hanging and eyes cast down. My whole world consisted of my view of my shoes, the black fabric of my pants, the grey carpet and my hair hanging before my eye. And the endless litany of words directed at me...

It's not often that I'm afraid of anything or moved by other people's words. But I was.

I came into a room, the same room I enter every saturday at the same time, and was met by the same people I always meet, and three other men. The first stranger, shorter, thin, in his 50s I guess, was very flamboyantly gay and in good shape. He spoke quickly and gestured wildly with his hands and dressed sort of trashy chic. The second, tall, very muscled with brown hair sprinkled with grey with a sort of permanent 5 o'clock shadow,  dressed casually and comfortably while sipping coffee and speaking with a powerful voice, not loud... just powerful. And the third was a man with a shaved head, perhaps in his 30s, slightly heavy set, with many piercings and many tattoos.

I was greeted warmly by all, even the three strangers who greeted my by name. I grabbed my normal cup of tea and was asked to sit in a particular spot, which is unusual, for I sit where I choose. The place indicated was directly in front of the three strangers. I was immediately worried and somewhat apprehensive.

The first to speak was the tall, muscled guy named Jason, saying "Wow, I've waited a long time to finally meet you..."

The three of them spent the next 90 minutes talking about me... despite my best attempts to be no more than a shadow on the wall, it was quickly apparent that I had failed in that. I was told that I have a very large reputation in the gay community here. I was told that I was seen as inspirational, as a symbol of hope and a person of perseverance. I was a gay guy who, despite my looks, was not interested in casual hookups or bar hopping or abusing drugs. I was told that I was admired, and yet I cast my eyes down...

Why is that people I've never met and a community I deal little with admire me and say wonderful things about me? I've done nothing note worthy.

Why is it that I'm the only one that doesnt believe it?

I am eternally, and devastatingly romantic, and I thought people could see it.

Romantic doesn't mean sugary and sweet. It's dark and tormented, it is the fury of passion and the despair of knowing an ideal that I can never reach...

Standing on the edge, looking down upon that black abyss threaded through by rivers of light from the traffic so far below. The wind whips my hair into my face, tickles my cheek and lips. Caressing my abdomen with it's cold embrace, the night air pokes and prods with tiny flakes of ice, as my too loose shirt ripples and parts, the black buttons unable to hold the garment together. Would anybody ever see the single tear roll down my cheek? Would anybody ever notice the twinkle of light upon my earring? Upon the gloss of my lips? Would anybody ever care?Ten-thousand images flicker through my mind, the ghosts of memories, the echoes of shattered dreams. And yet another tear would fall, a sparkling diamond above the city, swiped aside by the night's wind. There are no stars here, no matter how high I climb, now matter how long I look, no matter my reach. The only light I know is forged by man. Just one step... just one step out into that abyss, and that sweet eternity. To close my eyes, is to swim amongst the tempestuous storms of memories, both good and bad, but I am unable to resist. There was so much screaming and crying, so much terrible lonliness and fear. Why? Why would people do this each other? Why am I the last testament to their agony? Why am I the surviving son to an empire of lies? And amongst all that rage and sorrow is one lone smile. And I remember him.I remember his touch, his whisper in my ear, the tickle of his breath upon my neck, the trace of his fingers across my body. I remember the depths of love and kindness and compassion that was once mine. And for one moment I can smile, for one moment my heart is still. And I hear that soft, gentle voice one last time... come to me...

And so I take one last step...

For once the tumult of my own demons inside me are quiet, for once I sit alone, and in peace. Propped up on the ledge of my bay window, knees pulled up to my chest, leaning back against the the wall with my head resting on the glass, I look out to the snowy scene below. Large, fluffy, flakes drift lazily down, only a couple here and there, pausing in their fall only briefly to dance and twirl in the light morning breeze.The world is utterly still, nothing stirs, nothing sounds. No cars drive past, no neighbors treading by out to do their various tasks. The sky above is a blank, featureless ceiling of grey. Tips of tree branches and the crowns of shrubs are frosted delicately with white. It's quiet, its peaceful, it's starkly beautiful.Wan grey light floods the room only weakly, casting all in feeble light and deep shadows. I have chosen not to turn on any lamp nor light a single candle to drive away the tenebrous gloom. Rather than fight the pale light, I choose to embrace it for what it is, nothing to be feared or shunned, but to be enjoyed and experienced in the moments I can. This pleases me in a profound way.It is strange to me, seeing my own muted reflection in the glass, for surely I am caste in half shadow and half grey light. I can see my pink hair, a riot of unruly waves from evening's sleep, yet still clinging to the last shreds of order from the previous day. Seeing my own face, I am startled, if only just; there is no eyeliner or shadow, no gloss upon my lips, no sparkle of earrings nor eyebrow piercing. Despite the hair, I look... normal, peaceful, content.I wear socks that only just cover my feet and ankles and nothing more, they are white, almost silver in this morning light. Long, black polyester jogging shorts look as liquid ebony, stretched tight against my knees but as crashing waves against my thighs. A skin tight, black tank top hugs my almost too slender body, hiding the muscle, bone and sinew beneath. The garment moves in silent tandem with my every breath, the dark cotton absorbing the light that falls upon it as if for sustenance. Only a single item adorns my throat, a hemp choker threaded through with rainbow beads.There are no chains about my waist, nor studded belt that loops about. There are no spikes, nor skulls, nor metal rings around my wrists or fingers. It is so unlike me, and yet very much me. It is strange that in this weakest of lights, that I am seen with no facade... and I am at peace.

I remember walking as fast as I could to leave that place, but I was afraid to run because of all the attention that would be drawn to me. My eyes were red and burning, my throat was sore and it was hard to breathe. Tears streamed down my face, pain, agony, profound suffering were my companions. Where my heart had been, now felt as though a gaping maw had been torn. I was scared. I was hurt. I was alone and adrift. How had it come to this? Minute earlier I had been holding my father's hand in his final moments of life, watching him gasping and struggle for air, lost in that morphine coma that blunted all the pain raging through his body. That same coma that had caused his slow decline into drowsiness and final peace. His fight was over, and I bore sole and silent witness to the very end. This man, my father, tyrant, abuser, the towering pillar of rage and retribution throughout my life, was gone... forever.Ten-thousand wretched and horrible memories clashed inside my head, all of the hatred and rage and frustration I felt had been thrown aside in defiance and strangely, for love. All of his abuses, all of the beatings I received at his hand, all of the curses and condemnations, all of the fear I had of him, all of it was met not in kind by more of the same, but with compassion and dignity and love. When nobody else was by my father's side in his final moments of life, which he faced scared, broken, and in remorse of his past, I stood vigil with him, so he would not be alone.Here this giant of a man, the monolith of terror in my world, was gone, and I felt totally lost, and alone without him. Beyond his excessive abuse and need to be in control, his actions taught me humility and love and kindness. Because he showed none. He taught me to be strong, taught me to fight, taught me to never back down. He taught me that I could look after myself. He battle hardened me in a way that I was unable to see until that moment.Ironically without him, I felt so broken and alone. Yet barely a man, still just a boy to some, I stood guard and kept him company for what little time we had. I had been released from prison on January sixth, he passed on the nineteenth. Thirteen days I stood watch over him. For thirteen days I sat with him and talked and laughed and joked and listened to all the wisdom he had. A lifetime of memories and knowledge I tried to absorb in thirteen days, with endless questions and curiosity. And for thirteen days, I honored his one last request; dont let me die alone. For thirteen days, he was not only my father, but also my mentor, and for thirteen days, I had a dad.He told me has was proud of me. He told me he was proud that he had a gay son. I remember him looking at me and asking what I looked like for real. So, I took out all my piercings, wiped off the lip gloss, removed the eyeliner and shadow and pulled my hair aside and looked at him, blue eyes met blue eyes. He said, "wow, you're cute!" I remember actually blushing like a teenager would, and he said, "don't worry, Lucas, I'm your father, I'm allowed to embarrass you in public." And we both laughed. We were quiet for a while then. And then he told me that our family had a curse. Our curse was to die alone, like it was written in the stars that our bloodline would always die utterly alone.Nobody would come to see him, not his friends, not my mother, not my brother... nobody. So I stayed. I even slept on the couch in the room. Thirteen days. And I remember holding his hand after he had fallen silent for the last time and seeing how tiny my hand was in his, like a little kid holding hands with his daddy. My skin, soft and unblemished by decades of working with machinery and repairing it, his was rough and scarred and almost permanently stained black by oil. And in an instant that long, steady beep of the machines and the long, thin, flat green line on the screen as his heart stopped...The nurses and doctors came in, and I held his hand still as the first tears began to fall. They checked his pulse in hushed tones. And I remember looking up, as if I knew his soul was rising, and I felt my heart being torn apart. And I was alone. I walked out into the corridor of the hospital and I fell to my knees. I just collapsed. It was hard to breathe, I couldn't think, my soul was in agony. A nurse came and knelt down beside me and held me tight, and I cried. She told me it was a noble and brave thing that I had done... two things I do not think I am.And so I walked down those endless corridors of the hospital, my eyes red and stinging, my throat sore and my chest feeling as though a great gaping maw had been torn into it. With tears running down my face, I felt like every person I passed saw the pain and fear and agony that was mine. I went home, where so many abuses occurred and lay on the hardwood floor of my room where I had lay as a child, cold and without a blanket. There I lay again, with my knees pulled into my chest, staring into nothingness, tears pooling onto the floor as that tsunami of grief crashed into me with great wracking sobs. No more would I be beaten or starved or cursed or ridiculed or yelled at. But no more would I know that dad that I had known for a measly thirteen days. Never again would I hear that strong voice, those words of wisdom and encouragement. All of the pain and fear and frustration I had felt toward that man was forgiven. The suffering was over. For thirteen days I stood guard. For thirteen days I defied the stars. So tell me, please, somebody tell me, did I end this curse?

I stood there, leaning against the light pole, late at night smoking a cigarette idly and listening to the world around me; traffic, distant police sirens, the clack-clack of the light rail a few blocks away. Somewhere, a dog was barking. The air was heavy in the predawn hours, the scent of coming rain. I took another drag from the remnants of the cigarette before flicking it away into the street. My skateboard leaned against my leg and I looked out to the distant city skyline. Towers of glass and steel with twinkling man made stars.  "You're out awful late." A women's voice said behind me.

I turned to look, a woman of middle years walked slowly toward me, her hands on her hips, her eyes locked on me. She wasn't at all threatening, more like curious. She was pretty, maybe not super model gorgeous, but beautiful in a hard working sort of way, with dirty blonde hair pulled neatly and simply into a ponytail with a few stray whisps of hair here and there. I straightened and turned toward her, keeping the skateboard balanced with my hand. "I like these hours of the night, lonely and peaceful, ya know?"

She smiled, "Yeah. I dont often get to experience alot of peace these days. But tonight... tonight I wasn't able to sleep. I've got too much on my mind, so I thought I'd come out for some fresh air. As far as fresh, urban air gets, I suppose."

We both chuckled. "Penny for your thoughts?" I asked.

"Long story."

"I've got nothing going on."

She smiled and walked up next to me. "Tell you what, spare a cigarette and we'll talk."

I flipped a cigarette out from my pocket and let her take it from the crumpled up pack, then produced lighter, which she accepted, used, then returned. She pulled a long drag from the cigarette and let out a slow stream of smoke. "What a shit show."

I noticed her clothes were simple, functional. Jean's, work boots and a regular tshirt. A small silver cross hung from a thin chain around her neck. I gestured for her to continue. "I fulfilled my end of the bargain, miss...?"

She looked at me, "Nicole. My name is Nicole. You are?"

"Lucas."

"Cute kid."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." She took another drag. "Life is so... goddamn fucked up right now. Pardon my French."

"I've heard worse."

"I suppose. Its just... sometimes I dont know why I keep fighting. My husband is a drunk, my daughter is a pain in the ass. She keeps skipping school, I know shes using drugs, and her boyfriend is a scumbag. And I know it's hard on all of us, but sometimes... I just lose it."

"How so?"

Nicole crossed her arms and looked out at the skyline for a moment. "I lose my temper. I say things I dont mean. I called my daughter a methed out whore."

"Ouch."

"Yeah ouch. I mean, I'm supposed to be better than that. I love her more than my own life. I'd do anything for her... but it seems like she's drifting away. Further and further."

I leaned back against the light pole again. "My father would tell me that sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you fail. No matter how much you fight, you lose. We just have to pick up the pieces and move on."

"Your dad's a smart guy."

"Not my real father, more like a mentor." I gestured to the cross she wore. "Do you you believe?"

Nicole grabbed the cross, as if just noticing it. "I used to. I honestly used to. But now, I dunno."

"My dad would tell you to never give up hope. No matter how daunting the path ahead, never give up." I picked up my skateboard and started walking away. "Even God's angels fall. Even his favorites."

As I walked away, she said "Your dad have a name? I'd like to meet him."

I looked over my shoulder as I disappeared into shadow, "Satan..."

HARUMPH!!!

Lying here late at night, staring up at my ceiling, staring at the ever changing string lights, wishing they were star light, thinking of you. I cannot sleep, no matter how heavy the pull. My mind is a mess, my thoughts are all scattered and wild, and in the center of that maelstrom is you. I think of your every touch and whisper, remember every smile and laugh and revel in the thought of every kiss. To turn my head and look beside me would be to look upon lonliness, because you are not there. Even now, at this late hour, when the whole world seems to be asleep, I am unable to close my eyes. My legs hang over the edge of my bed, my shoes still on, I still wear the chains and studded belt and the black, fitted tank top with the little asian design you bought me for my birthday. My hoody lay next to me. My soul screams out for you. It is a siren's call that I cannot ignore, as I rise to my feet and grab my keys. I glimpse for a brief moment my features in the mirror, a haunted visage of a yearning heart, a youthful face shadowed by blue light, now purple, now green, now red... the string lights are always changing, but the face is always the same. I walk out the door, out into the wan orange glow of city nights, the reflecting light from vinyl siding seemingly too bright, and yet casting the deepest shadows. Down the stairs and to the street, I pull my hood up and tuck my hands into my pockets. There is a surreal silence of cities by night, a facade. There are cars and distant sirens always, a loud radio or a barking dog. But the night changes it all, makes it it's own. It is an alien, strange and haunting landscape, a mockery of what's real in the day, as life without you. My heart is throbbing and my throat is sore, my eyes are stinging and my hands are shaking. I feel like I'm suffocating without your touch, without your voice. I begin to jog and then run, anything to get to you in time. Before I'm gone, and am no more. I am fading away and I am scared. I would go to war for you. I would give it all away for you. And so I run, to find you, to feel your arms around me once more. I would do anything, just for you...