sjsprWriting

Do not open doors for those who wish to find essences of cynical reminders

and bitter tastes upon your lips.

Those are long gone.

Do not try to pry open a shell of a mind, a crack upon a heart, a whistle in the truth.

Those are not your problems.

Those are not your worlds.

Do not dive into rivers deep enough to get lost in,

you will drown, you will not resurface.

Instead find your path beneath the fallen birds and the spines on the backs of leaves.

Go into rooms knowing that what awaits is nothing but a baby blue,

one that does not fill skies, one that instead fills cups of coffee.

If the bees begin to sting remind yourself that you are not bleeding.

Remind yourself that the rain has fallen harder upon your scratched skin.

Remember that you are not the resurrection of hope,

you owe no one the decency of complacency

you owe no one the stains upon your bed sheets.

Red is the prettiest color but so is black.

The best way to find yourself is to lose your way in beneath the belly of a forest,

shades and cracks of sunlight will never taste as sweet.

Spells of mundane routine only fill the days of those who have determined their destiny.

Never determine yours.

Forget what the scars on the back of your hands told you when the sun went down,

they were lying, you are not them.

If a shadow speaks to you in unmasked forms of relentless cravings

discover that by coming into contact with the sun

its words will scorch the very virgin earth that you have walked upon all these years.

Your life is no metaphor and neither is your skin, so speak to the devil if an angel ever seeks your soul.