writer | écrivain | ékwiven
I am a plethora of contradictions,
wild, free yet well-kept,
flawless prose in simple diction,
wide awake and hardly slept.
True warriors never share their stories,
but bury me in my armor,
forever doused in gold and glory,
the misanthropic little charmer.
We were just kids, with too many emotions and a lack of coping skills.
No parenting magazine could have prepared mom and dad for this.
Nothing is enough, when all you want is everything.
Eating sky and ocean in a ravenous binge.
Falling into n o t h i n g n e s s, drowning in our sins.
We were just kids.
Words flow like rain drops,
Soft call of birds waking in the distance,
Worries lulled to bed,
Soul unburdened.
A long hard winter ‘til this tale came to its end –
Up from the muck, bare knuckles bloodied,
Clawing toward the surface.
Out from the darkness, heels worn thin,
Wandering, conquering.
Ageless impediment, a second-guess,
Alter ego unassuming, unaware, unsure?
Circle back,
Soft crimson of the inside of your eyelids,
Soft call of birds waking.
Now that you’re living in the epilogue,
Tell me again how it all happened.
Out too early, in too late,
Scars that run for miles.
Much too much to mend,
Hidden behind pressed shirts/sunglasses.
Yesterday’s sins buried in the grass,
The city gleams, pristine,
As if nothing’s ever happened.
– In memory of Kyle Dubin
Run to this ryhythm,
Everything is free form,
Everything is water, light, and air,
We never really touch the ground,
Don’t let the rest of it bring you down.
Hayden Winston 
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