For better or (most Likely) for worse

There is a kid upsidown and backwards. The boy's body is made from street salt.. Hands cracked open he licks his sores every night before sleeping. He's got a bad case of "The Junes", a terrible disease where everything seems so right but he gets into bed at night and he realizes things.

I'm just the ordinary arms and legs of ordinary world living in the shadow of ordinary's arm hair.

All my limbs have an Achilles heel and I'm speaking but the only thing that comes out is ink and ball point pens. His eyes were his scope and his smile was his gun.

"It'll come to ya."

There's not lots I know. I just know that we are all scared.... Of something rational or irrational. Also, I know something else.

we exist. i exist. we exist, whether it be by Cowardice, Or courage, we'll all walk back to our own crime scene with feral claws dripping with revenge and lilacs. Always lilacs.

Love always, or never: Zack

Tell 'em how it is.

Song: Sleeping at last - 500 Miles

I'm headed to Berlin, please don't follow me, please don't try to contact me, please don't come to Berlin either.
Now that that's out of the way I can ask a favor.
Send a message back for me.
Tell them I was always on time, but I was also always late. The whole mind and body in the same place theory is completely wrong.
Tell them I'm always wondering and I don't stick to anything.
Tell them about the orange I left in the drawer downstairs, I'm sure it's rock solid by know, which of course was my goal. (Enjoy)
Tell them about the secret in the journals, and the broken light bulb pile under my dresser.
Tell them I took my boots but the sneakers are right where they left them.

Tell Mr. Nelson I'll still be writing.
Tell my mother it was never her fault, and not to worry.

Tell them I hated them all. Tell them I needed help but it was never given to me.

Tell dad to be there for the next son.
Tell them to be there for their sons.

Tell the teenagers that it's alright. Everyone's got something wrong with them. There will always be stereotypes and mispronunciations, but deep down everyone is fighting a battle.

All teenagers are messed up. In all honesty. Don't worry kiddo. You'll be fine.

 We are the Nostalgic Generation. We grew up in a transition age. We went from hand-written letters to electronic mails, and from film to digital. We really really really liked new things, neglecting the way we spend our afternoons. Cupcakes and tea. Play-Doh and Polly Pockets. Young to naive. Technology changed the way we waited and really destroyed our patience and we grew up too fast. The simple things in life seems more meaningful now that it's fading. We grew up in the age of transition and have become the generation of nostalgia.

Love Zack

When I was little, and when I would cry in my bed at night because I was scared, or had a bad dream, or was nervous, or actually contemplated life, which, is actually something I did as a 6 year old, and I would get nervous about the future; my mom would be there in seconds. My mother, would come up to my bed and tuck in my sheets tight, even around my feet(which I loved) and she would whisper something in my ear. I don't remember all the time what they were, but I know she said them, and that it was real, and how forshadowing it would be for my life later on.

Last night I was crying in my room. Hard. I guess I just take on the whole world all at once, and I always think I'm ready, but I never am. I get small and go to the scary place in my brain. The place the Zoloft doesn't reach, the place the prozac or the lithium won't fix. The place where everything always seems far away.

It was late, and I was crying. My mom came in, tucked my 18 year old legs in, wrapped the sheet around my feet, which I still loved, and whispered:

"Don't worry Little fighter, soon everything will be Brighter."



I'm O.K. now.

z.t. 1:50 a.m.