This is an apology for all my love and energy wasted.
I have no name i hold value in no spaces.
All the walls that i built up are plastered with shaming.

I was the prequel and the sequel with a middle as empty as my bleak soul.
Nobody told me that my paid penance was also owed to love’s reaper.
Social media will steal your worth and send another troubled soul to be your hardest lesson’s teacher.
Maybe healing’s within reach?

no more resuscitation for spirit shredding relations.
leaving dead things in time’s wake.   

Time is money , and I’m living in debt.
counting the missteps and unclosed tabs.
Moments slip right through my fingers that I never could grasp.
Is the reaper forgiving or do I have to pay him in taxes?
I wish I could trade my regrets in and get some feedback.
My soul’s run through like polyurethane 
I need to frame my progress.
Disposable’s the epithet.
Regaining sanity’s an Epic quest.
I would give til there’s nothing left.

this is a no sleep/ freestyle/ free-write session.
I’m sure we’d like blessings in place of lessons.

The rain washed away the embers.
The fire in my fight is snuffed out.
Life’s feeling tough now.
Maybe we’ll be alright if we score a touchdown
Or any win along this journey.
The tears i hold back are burning.
Want me like a bird wants to fly.
Guide me past the darker night. 
I was disposable long before I developed my might.
Disposable and me go together like depression and winter weather
Maybe spring is a call for better.

You were the one star that happened to illuminate my darkened night sky.
I caught a glimpse of you and knew that I had to follow.
You were a piece of Heaven’s puzzle that I needed to borrow.
I put my fears in your hands and hope they wash away.
I wish to give you all my tomorrows.
And love my one star for eternity.

My only enemy is the rampant thoughts plaguing the inner me.
The questioning of everything. 
My better half is probably better off flying under other wings.
I’m a spec of dust to her galaxy.
Dirty Thirty trying to keep my hands clean. 
Making it through by any means
but by the thinnest string.
all this weight on me is sitting heavily. 

When i think back on the past decade and the connections that wove through my 20s there is one that stands alone. I guess in a sense Jawonday and I shared many similarities…. Which reminds me the first time I heard his name in high school.
“Hey! I met someone that looks and acts just like you…”
Someone as … Out there as I? Impossible…
But then I met him. And instantly I was able to count in another brother. I soon came to realize that maybe we truly were two peas in a podcast? I mean some of the ways we were similar were scary at times.
I remember the jokes that didn’t land and the laughter that pained my stomach. I remember camping both for Raleigh and just because. I remember late nights by a fire and early mornings culling casuarinas. I remember arguments both ignorant and passionate. I hope the ways in which our spirits mirrored each other live on through me. Maybe one day we truly will Get It Green?
Jawonday was a friend I jumped with in spontaneity and sat with in silence. He challenged me and I hope at times I did the same.

He always asked the questions of me that I forgot to ask myself.
Thus, I have a question to pose for all hearing this.
How many hours are in a day? …
And we were always told to get at least 8 hours of sleep growing up.
Then what I will say next is divinely designed. What will we do with the 16 hours we’re awake to honour Jawonday’s memory? Each day… how can we turn 16 hours into a tangibly better Bermuda? How can we utilize 16 hours to challenge our own beliefs and step into becoming people our community needs.
To carry Jawonday’s legacy let’s dedicate 16 to #16. Everyday. Love you like life dear broski and I will carry you with me as I carry on.
Love to everyone grieving this loss and strength to all celebrating a unique soul.

This is my shrine.
The words I write to worship her godlike.
An exercise in losing cursed energy.
This use to be biting the low hanging that was dangling right in front of me.
While watching the serpent slithering through the vines that got to strangling.
Or having to do it my own way like Banyan Trees.
This is sacrifice and abandoning. 
This is my scripture only it’s filled with sin and darker scenes. 
I pray her moon shines light on me.

Am I a demon?
Clearly transparency isn’t needed.
No one seems to see through to the cuts I bleed from. 
Praying I could … like Sue Storm.

I need an Angelic message.
But maybe even their wings couldn’t lift me outta the patterns I stand it.
This life thing’s too demanding. 
Every sleepless night another question of my manhood.