Alexander

Alexander is a friend of mine, but not by any choice of ours.
We the two on stools, elblows on the bar, hands cuddling with glasses.

Alexander roams as I roam, no where to go no where in mind.
We the two strangers to the places we have been time and time over

Alexander does not exist, well at least in the sense of someone I know
We the dreamers who think about each other but do not know the other is real.

The road of lesser things is a softly padded road, one of comfort and ease, but one of discontent and unfulfilled joy.

Just when you think you've gotten into gear, life hits the brakes and sends you through the windshield. And when you're laying on ground amidst the shards of glass and twisted metal, you realize that you were traveling in the wrong direction anyways.

I am proud! A pride filled bastard even, not in so many open ways,
but it still leaks through the cracks of my humble shield.

There are many folks I meet who make me wish I was not squimish around blood.
for I would murder them .
perhaps it is a good thing that I am as such.

Our hearts are little machines. Tiny magnificent machines. Contrary to what you might have read, what you might have heard, or even what you think you might have felt, these machines do not break. Operator failure is the only reason these machines might malfunction. but they never do break, well actually they do break, but that only happens when you are dead. Did you know that we will all die one day? Well regardless of what you may or may not have heard it's true, we will all die, and when we our little machines will then break and not a moment before then. Our hearts are little machines. Tiny magnificent machines. These machines do not break.