Friday, May 22, 2015

The Real W.J. Marz

After being sentenced to two full terms of tourism, the real W.J. Marz will speak.

Some say it's better late than never.

William J. Marz
Nathan Finlayson

I Remember

I remember us. 

I don't know if I want to remember us, but unfortunately I don't have the choice.


I'm leaving.

And I don't plan on coming back.

I'm going to the place where they told me only existed in dreams.  Where the running water summons you to the call. Where the sun beats down on your skin and replaces blood with belief.  I'm going to the place where man is afraid of, and poets dream of.  Where they write, and write, and write, but never truly feel.  I'm going, because I can feel my heart slowly losing life as I walk down halls filled with disbelievers and hypocrites.  I feel my smile fade as I look out the window and only imagine.

I don't want to imagine what could have been.

I want to live.

Let's be human again.

And maybe under that big sun, we can smile together. Maybe. #realtalk

Tall trees and burning wood.  Some things we know by heart.

To tell you the truth I never knew who I was gonna be when they asked me where I'm heading. We all have the ability to deceive.  Call it a gift from the devil.  Something to send us on our way.

Sticks and stones break bones, and words hurt.  But your eyes give me stab wounds to the chest. In case you were wondering, I'm jealous of your strength.

Do you ever think "why me"when bad things happen?  I'm sure the truth sounds good at least two times a day, like a broken clock.  And If not, fake it to show the world you're trying.

Sometimes I wonder if God meant to give us such curious minds.

We all need a happy ending. And a new beginning, but if birds are smart enough to fly south, can't we look up for inspiration? And down for motivation?  Even we need to feel important.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

I go back to a time
in between dreams
dark and cold and light and warm
the soft pitterpatter of summernight rain 
keeping rhythm to our 
minds racing.


i don't want to write about love

                            i just want to feel it

Beaten Hearts

       When you look at the shape of my heart, It doesn't look the same as it did when I got it.

       It's no longer making the classic *thump thump, thump thump* rather a sort of *thu thump, thum thup*

       It carries with it a large collection of battle-wounds, scars, bruises, and cuts that have come from one heartbreak after another. Some worse than others.

       Only she... Her heart gave mine a Grand Canyon.

      So forgive me if my heart moves real slow, it's just that it's trying to recover from a natural disaster.

      I don't know what you think, you may think it's trash, just a broken and tattered machine. But to me, it's perfect. Even with the many band-aids and stitches it has, It's mine and that's all that matters. And forever will it be mine, beauty-scars and all.