Lunch Money

I remember his madness in all things

And the way he kind of smirked while he casually acknowledged the intertwining truths and lies that stood in the midst of accomplishment and failure, which were apart of Our Journey, or rather just the fault of mankind

I guess it was sort of beautiful, sort of fucked

But the truth is sad, don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.

Truth is naked, Truth is vulnerable.

Yet it is better than living in between the comfort of lies

    coming to terms with the madness that lies under the surface appeals lonesome, but is then a structure able to hold its own

     in the way it is said to be so beautiful when we fall in love with someone else’s flaws

becoming beautiful on what you shed disgust over

Hey, that’s beautiful.

Do I acknowledge the truth, or let the facts fall away with my Sunday church dresses

Do I swim out to sea, or stay in the comfort of the sunrays that have risen and fallen everyday I have.

Do I stop using my allowance on school lunch because I know a cigarette does you well while you mute out your mother’s screams over the misplacement of her alcohol even though her humility was lost ages ago and never attempted to be found.

But I guess we supply the Lost- and-Found is these types of given situations

I listen to your dark heart because my eyes would not be equipped to enhance my ability to come to understanding the pain you truly feel

We feel more in the dark than we can ever see in the light

I am his home

I am his stability

I guess I am his Lost- and – Found

And I keep looking back

Looking front

And every time I look, I seem to be more lost than found.

- C.C.

Scattered

I don't know where my things now lie
Maybe somewhere in between my forsaken cry

I keep returning to pick the pieces back up
but every time I go back, I end up more stuck

I know each person has problems that hover
I wish mine were over a heart break from a distant lover

I know the phrase, once a plate is broken it cannot be repaired
But all these pieces are gone that I once loved, that I shared

I guess thats why its become so hard to lend
People like to treat emotions like the money they spend

Greedy and selfish, like the cold, restless night
but once it's gone, its forever out of site

Except the thing with emotions is we forever carry that fright.

-C.C. 

Unrecognized Reflections

He was never the type of guy to higher the volume of the radio because you were previously humming the lyrics under your voice. 

I guess her unrecognized smile had become his greatest possession 

He was never the kind to order dessert even after you said not to

I guess he held the key to the golden gate that my father told me would always guard my heart

Why was weakness so friendly

Why did I let her lure me in with her ever so unrecognized, cunning smile 

Why are those the only types of smiles I now found myself surrounded by 

He was never the type to stop in between the beautiful instances that Hemingway and Frost left for us to discover in a part of their scattered literature that seemed to cover my bedroom floor. 

Yet all that beauty that seemed to light my path, was nothing but worthless gravel he stepped right over.

He was never the type to say he missed your smell over 2 a.m. phone calls

I guess there was a frolicking echo that appeared somewhere in between his confusion and knowledge 

But he had already ignited the silence between my ever so distant body and soul 

-C.C.

Echoes

It kind of comes on slowly.

I try to recall the times before I could hear the creak of my pounding heart

  so clearly

Why can I not recall the taste of innocence, nor love, nor the way my mother use to cradle me

Why were these so jagged now..

Rougher than the surface we tried to scratch, which only wounded me in return

As my pace increases, the thump of my heart becomes the soundtrack of my life

Ironic how my anthem enjoys the songs of pain

He likes you at your weakest.

He likes your company.

Why do I run?

Why do we run?

Why do we attempt in escaping the inevitable

What is confrontation? What is understanding.

All this generation knows is running.

My heart sewn into my arties, veins, mind, and soul.

She takes care of me, yet I have brought her the greatest, aching pain.

She beats so beautifully, in the only tone she has ever known

Execution.

She executes her job, what she knows she has to do.

Why do I run?

Why am I so intelligent yet so foolish

The day she stops executing what she has always done and her mind is at rest, mine will be up in the clouds wondering why I fed the creak ever so constantly.

- C.C.