TL;DW Welcome, it’s been a minute. There’s no “writing plan” for this blog. I pray you become inspired and find your own healing. Peace to you.

I must hold onto hope, as it happens upon my branches, lest I wither and become dead.

Corpses form misty illusions, as it happens upon my trunk, fed from the despair of small families.

Reach high and higher never touching crimson skies, as it happens upon my leaves, I hope to leave the world one last breath.

Below the touching light through deep darkness and dead things alike, as it happens upon my roots, I consume beyond my beliefs all living beauty and ugliness.

I exist as I am, but I am more than what I think I am, oh tender wanderer! Consume me, burn, and cut me down. For we all taketh, taketh away from each other. For we all giveth, giveth another a reason to endure.

A string is connected in each and every moment. Pliable but indestructible. Moving it’s way as the snake moves from fruit to fruit upon my gnarled branches. Eat me. For I feel the loneliness has taken ahold of my strings.

Take heed gluttonous fiend, for you too will be consumed, consumed by me.

-Rylo

Why do the words 'I love you' linger by my lips, too close for comfort with someone I do not know - am I that desperate to say it? I’ve poured so much of my energy into myself, so tell me, why do I want to take that all back with words, words I can’t mean because it’s too soon… It’s too soon.... When I look back at old pages that are half torn to shreds, I wonder how you could have left me the way you did. Why were those words so easy for you to speak, with someone new resting in your elbows - how were you able to say anything at all? I can feel the words stinging my lips, begging to be free from their cage, but I won’t make a sound. I find no sense in lying to someone in order to lie to myself, telling fake truths in order to cover up my lack of love... I have love in me, I used to use it all up for you… now, it belongs to no one but me.…

Love will be mine before it’s ever anyone else’s again, (coloringtheworldwithwords)

Sitting on the stairs in the concrete dark// we'd a case of beer that I didn't want to drink and I was being shoved into a conversation that I didn't want to have. I felt uncomfortable. I don't know how to process that. Knowing that something is there but where, I cannot see it or hear it. Only in the sensitivities does it show, the quick backlash, I'll get out of your hair. And I'm such an asshole. So judgmental though I promise I do try to be gentle with my voice (do you want some water?) but we've always been so eye ball y with each other that it's really just hard not to stare. She is beautiful and both I love. And I was so embarrassed when they were knocking into walls and strangers, but anarchy or just out of control? I was really furious. My jaw clenching. Ticking. Standing in alleys with strangers somewhere in Compton. I've felt the thrill too, but it was empty. And cold. And it never stayed the next morning. Washing pills down, disappearing for months. We found a pinball arcade one night and she talked about the speed fiends in Spain, the 5 am visits, the silhouettes. Always trying to spell out sadness with words, but never enough for them. Just another mirror. I wrote her a letter the other day. I remember traipsing along/ the creaky floor/ to your empty room. The window cracked in January. But it will stay in my notebook. She won't answer my phone calls. I don't have an address. I was always there, waiting in the walls. I heard her stories one thousand times. I watched her haunt the roads. Where is their impulse control? What are they searching for? What do they think they will find? What do they hide from? What sort of walls are there to break down and who is getting in and who is being pushed back out? I lose them at the bridge. It's a jump I won't take. That bridge would kill me. I hide from my demons in different ways, and when their fingers touch my spine, I shiver and cheer, it means I am alive. What happened in the dark, in the back of their closets, down by the lake? What do they drown for. And so those who know, those they confess to in bars, or in the strip malls, or in the airport lounge, the handsome martinis, the flamingo smiles. The rich inner lives. The wild and the brave.