World's Apart.

And I've never met him.
I don't know how tall he is.
Or if the sound of his voice has a deep echo
that bounces off the bottom of your ribs.

But the things he writes makes me feel like I could
sit and talk with him for the rest of my life.
One with a haunting soul and lonely heart full of ache and mystery.

The ones I'm immediately drawn to.
The ones who break me to pieces all the time.

I've been reading his work for the past hour and am
mesmerized by his thoughts.


I remember one time I went to this show.
It was downtown in a building that, from the outside, looked abandoned.
The drummer sang along while his friends strummed on their guitars beside him.
As if they were there for support rather then complementing melodies.
He screamed and yelled words that were dark and light.
The setting was very heavy.
I could see right thru him.
He fought demons darker then he knew.
His music spoke of deeper struggles that I believe he didn't even know he had.
But he thought he was deep. He spoke as if he was free.
His eyes, his body language was of a broken kid.
Trying to grow up.


The more I read these mans words I am feeling the same.
The dark heart of a aching wanderer.
His words are priceless.
Ones I love.

But his life I cannot seem to grasp.
drugs, alcohol became the death of him.

I think that when writers search too deep into themselves, they become lost.
We don't find the answers.
We don't find the meanings.
And sadly we can't find the words.

so instead of going deeper in our own issues which brings more pain.
We cover the pain with other substances.
Other people.
Other thoughts.
Other cities.


Writing is sometimes dangerous.
It brings things to surface.
You might not want to face.
Because these thoughts are precious and want to be heard.
But they probably aren't getting read.
It doesn't matter.

They are being heard.
clearly.

I have so many questions for him.
How do you feel, truly?
What are you thinking?
Do the drugs really help, or do you still feel cloudy?
do you think you should be rescued?
Do you want to be?
Where is your hope?
Do you have hope?


Your close friends.. do you really feel true fellowship?
Or do they love you because of the things you write?
Because of the things you do or simply because of who you are?


The fact is he is dead.
I cannot meet him or get to know him truly.
Only his words he left behind.
This saddens me.
Because there was hope for healing.
And reason that Truth could be found.
And he missed it.
I don't know, maybe he didn't and one day I'll find out.
I cannot judge but my heart is sad.

what am I doing with my life????
that I won't end up like him.

I have hope.
I want to be rescued.
I see the beauty.
I write with love.

I wish he did too.

..