they're quick to assume , they'll never ask to know for sure.

two hundred-twenty one.

the escape.

trucking right beside him,

he feels the presence of a ghost

sifting through the thickness of the night

shadowing him, following him.

and he attempts to lose it but

its ghostly ways are omniscient, so

it stays 3 steps ahead of his game

and keeps peddling right beside him.

right beside him, its vapor quietly lingers

and squeezes his throat, leaving him to squeal

and wail and cry out nothing but dust from beneath

the crux of his tonsils.

eyes roll back - sight blackened like the night

that they are both buried in and his soul lifts up

inside of the ghost to carry it away,

just to get a grip on another traveling soul.

two hundred-twenty.

there's more to it.

writing is not just a

release.

writing is not just an

escape.

writing is not just a

hobby.

writing is all of that +

art

expression

liberation

adventure

therapy

medicine

music

and much more,

of what my words are too short

to claim.

"the dead emcee scrolls."

i'm convinced . i might be a little crazy .

walls.

expect them to crack. expect them to tumble. expect them to fall.

and when they do, don't be surprised.

they weren't meant to be up in the first place.

injected with the life of Love.

"Love lives inside of her" ... does she understand the depth of this Love? can you feel the Love that lives, that breathes, that speaks and moves through you? tell me, can you feel it?

He lives.

"the Revolution will not be televised."

for the rest of my life, i want to go across the four corners of this nation (of this globe) and share the Gospel of Jesus Christ. i want to share the Good News that is not reported on television because the news is so blemished and blotted out by bad news. i am a journalist. a servant of our Lord Jesus Christ under the grace of God, and by the power of the Holy Spirit, i will do this. i will go far. and i won't look back. i won't ever look back. i will travel without regret or hesitation. i will move. i won't look back. i won't ever look back.

:)

night crawls.

i can see the night crawling. weighing in. sinking through. shaking men. moving you. voices carrying into the privacy of my room. vibrations creeping through the thickness of my walls. i can hear it all when the night decides to crawl. and even being secluded from the rest of the world. it finds its way back in. invades my room and wakes me out of my sleep - my dream. this dream. with my eyes open, i can see, think and feel creativity when the night crawls. and i remember it all when the sun decides to rise into the sky, peeking through my blinds, i remember it all. everything that happened when the night came to crawl into the crevices of my private space. and i begin to fall. drift away. back into the cavity of the place my sleep is usually placed. fast asleep while standing firm in the footsteps of the nights creative crawl.

i'm trying to get out of here.

soon.

lead us back.

and when it all falls in place, things begin to fall apart. i witnessed individual raindrops collectively build puddles of reflection in choice position - in the middle of a sidewalk, beneath the tire of a car, in a field full of soil and grass - wherever they chose to join and become one, they did. no matter how far apart they were, they met. they went from individual drops to one puddle, building on solid ground. it was an amazing view. i witnessed amazing love. drops combining, although they were different, they combined. they came together. and it was a reflection of what humans desire. a human desire. one we all have not acquired, until the time is due.

soon, the Sun rose and smiled upon those puddles. in those puddles, the Sun was reflected and beamed so brightly, bringing them into a light they had not been aware of. one they had not experienced as one because prior to the Sun rising, the clouds surfaced the sky and covered the atmosphere in a dank and gloomy blanket. these puddles were illuminated and humans made sure they did not step into or on them - they were precious, they were important. it was beautiful.

days have been long, and filled with jubilant energy. days have met my face with glee and uplifting melodies. days have caused me to think and pray over my thoughts more than i have ever done before. confusion surfaces at times, it tries to occupy this place that's already been filled - i acknowledge confusion, but i choose not to let you live. life has been too beautiful and overwhelmingly rewarding and i cannot choose anything opposite to this.

green is peace, and green is serenity. i'm going to go green. not because of me, but because of this Spirit that lives within me. His Holy Spirit. that serenades me to sleep on nights like these. my eyes carry you at the sight of the breeze that no one else can see. i'm learning to live day by day with this freedom i have in Christ. memories don't have to live, no, they don't need life. and i'm free. i'm free. i am free.

• love lightly, discretely and kindly.
• forget the time, let it pass by.
• express what is left behind.
• release what is left inside.
• let the words LIVE.
• let the words LIVE.
• let your words live.

express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express. express.

two hundred-nineteen.

open your eyes, open your heart.

he wanted to take

what someone else saw as trash

and turn it into a gem

because he found beauty

in her.

but she didn't

and in return,

she threw him away

out of her mind and heart,

for so long.

after coming to her senses,

she went searching, a long distance

for the treasure she confused

with trash ...

by that time, it was too late.

two hundred-eighteen.

txt.

the product

of our

"love"

was sin

and is

sin.

Love knows no sin.

we didn't know Love.

but we played like we did.

and look where

we've ended up.

however, i'm thankful for it.