Justin Wetch Quotes

I've always hated it when authors seem to find joy
In killing my favorite characters.
With gleaming eyes they toy
With turmoil in every chapter.

Just when they've got you attached
To the character's quirks and flaws
To their words and their demons
Just when you've fallen in love
With the character's identity -
With a cruel turn of the lip
The author smirks and kills them off
And at our gasped pleas, merely scoffs.

But the author was God
And my favorite character was you
And I still can't believe
You're gone.

You are my drug of choice
I know you're no good for me
And though I swear my lips
Will never touch you again
Here we are, here we are.

Love starts as a feeling,
But to continue is a choice;
And I find myself choosing you
More and more every day.

I often wonder and imagine
What lies just beyond the fringe
Of the human experience;
What is it that we do not see?

Let us love like the spark
Between flint and stone
In reckless abandonment,
Promising no eternities,
But promising only to seek out
Upon each day's sunrise
Something to choose to love
In each other.

I came up with a new reason
To write your name today
I plagiarized each letter
From a love note you wrote me.
The scent of ink was sacred to me
In that relapsed moment…
For a minute I could pretend
The paper reminded me of your skin;
I could pretend the glimmering ink
Was the moonlit lake
Of our summer night.
But the pretending crumpled with paper
And I threw us into the trash can
For the bridge between us is long burned
And it's time I accepted that.

Are we like two stars in a constellation
Seeming so close
And making so much sense
Yet in reality
We are separated by lightyears
And shall never meet?
Except, perhaps
In that sacred space
Between dreams and reality
Called hope.

Love is the poetry of the stars
The wind is the breath of the earth
To never become who you are
Or to change at all, which is worse?

I found a night's sky full of stars
In your cinematic eyes
And heard a symphony
In your laughter.

There are seven billion faces smiling in as many ways
But if I don't see yours, I consider it a wasted day.

I look up upon a sparsely starred abyss
Having wandered to this street corner
In the middle of the night
Watching the cars and people go by
Wondering
If this deep, black nothingness
Is the sum total of being human.

At least I find solace in searching.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't want you
I'd be lying if I said I didn't wish you were mine
The truth is, you stole my heart from afar
The truth is, you still have it.

Real life is just another stage.
Just another stage where I have to look and act
Like I have everything put together;
everything neat, perfect, and in order,
when in reality I'm slowly dying,
Slowly decaying, screaming and clawing,
at this little box I've been put into,
Trying desperately to escape.

Time is the cruelest of physicians, healing
All wounds, but always slowly, looping
A surgical needle through the mind's flesh, experiencing
Torment again over again, repeating
Until anesthetics bring an end to feeling.

There is no change within a society that does not begin within an individual.

We are a handful of dust in God's image
Before we return again to dusty grave
Life isn't a war, it's a scrimmage
A hyphen between two dates.

I wish I could see butterflies burst from cocoons
Without tempering my amazement
Knowing all beauty eventually dies.

In vain I try to jump into the photo
To create again a time so simple
That a piece of paper might encapsulate it
From the erosive winds and waves of time
Which bring even the greatest of loves to a grave of dust.

Love is just two people
Plastering perfect masks
On each others' faces;
And it only lasts
Until the masks crack
And the fantasy ends.

You see flaws in every face
If you look long enough.

That's why I'm so afraid
Of the word 'forever'.

Forever is long enough
For sunrises to become stale
For fire to become tame
For a favorite song
To become like nails
On a chalkboard;

Forever is long enough
For passion to waste away
Like grapes into raisins
Under the beating sun
Of countless days.

Call me obsessed, color me consumed
I've always been the type to notice
The smell of a rose in bloom,
But let me confess, this is new
You've stopped my heart, let it resume
And I, to finish, must tell it true
I'm high on your perfume.

That's what comes of overthinking things. On a more pragmatic level, we do things simply because we do them. I wrote this book because I couldn't not write it. To stop myself from creating art would be as absurd as changing my personality and mannerisms entirely to become a wholly different person.

Sleepless nights
Spent looking at the ceiling
Searching in those etched patterns
For some sort of adhesive
To glue together the broken pieces
Of a soul crushed
By the weight of the fact that
Life is profoundly sad.

We talk so much yet we have nothing to say.

Love gives the best of highs
But also the worst of hangovers.

Welcome to America, a Wall Street Corporation
Where the stockholders are rich and own this nation
Where cubicle preparation masquerades as education
And people of color are guilty by association.