Memorabilia.

you slip through my fingers;

a fleeting ghosts of memories--

time breathing last moments

broken by tears and screams

of pleas of pain and happiness

i loved

but now you stay in abyss

a fickering existence

frozen in the second hand

of the broken clock.

White Noise.

The sharp white screeches

blind me and I choke on acrid smoke

i can't seem to keep up

and everything is a blur

" can't hold on "

a tear rolls into the ocean

and i watch my reflection

fade with the setting sun.

RIP Mr. Riddell

They taught me how to hold a pen,

but you taught me how to write.

And the skies never sounded so beautiful,

except in between your decorated words.

I almost drowned into the ink-blotched pages,

but you pulled me out and told me to dive instead.

Your voice may be lost amongst the ocean breeze,

but your words will sear into the fleshy heart

f o r e v e r