For the first time in a long
I refused to awaken from my sleep.
I stayed withing the realm of dreams.
Walking down a broken street.

The cobblestone was over turned.
The streetlamps were all dark.
All the buildings were abandoned
The greenery overran the parks.

Because I won't open my eyes,
The world began to crumble.
The imaginary people in the town.
Began to turn and run and stumble.

And every time they hit the ground.
They all turned to smoke.
Because of me they were all running.
Like a cruel, unneeded joke.

And even though I was asleep.
The tears spilled from my eyes.
I realized I was their death.
So I rose with the smoke ascending the skies.

And now I sit here wide awake.
Wishing I were not.
Next time when I'm waking up,
I'll give darkness one more shot.

I can't stop writing.
I can't stop feeling sad.
I can't stop being nervous.
I can't stop losing what I had.

I'm depressed and under-loved.
At least that's how I feel.
I can't stop eating my words.
I have them for every meal.

I gorge my self on pity.
I eat all my regrets.
I can't stop shoving it down.
All my problems are like pets.

I groom, I feed, I love them.
But always, in the end.
They hurt me oh so badly.
My heart gets bruised and bent.

My only wish is to stop.
I can't stop ever wishing.
But the only constant in my life.
Is that all the good is always missing.

A tortured soul? I wouldn't say.
I don't like to complain.
But I can't stop complaining.
I like to feel the pain.

Longer then the others.
The list goes on and on.
And I can't stop writing because
Sadness is my song.

I like to laugh, just like you.
It's what makes me happy.
But when I see your inner shrew
It hits me where it hurts.

A comedy is meant for laughter.
Tragedy is for the sad.
But what happens when they switch places?
Do things get better or stay bad?

I read a book that made me laugh.
The ending was one of romance.
I want to cry because it's fact.
To have that ending, I have no chance.

And so laughter cures us all.
But when comedy makes you feel sad,
It's best to try to shrug it off.
Because thinking only makes you mad.

When it's been three years, after a real bad break up.
You think you would be over it, to empty out the hate cup.
You truly do believe that you can just forget it all.
That you can move on and never fall.

But then three years later to your surprise.
There's another man between her thighs.
And despite what you say.
It still hurts in that same way.

So I sit here and write it out.
I will not cry, nor scream, nor shout.
I'll just laugh at it all.
It's my seconds after all.

So lets drink all day and fight all night.
Don't worry it'll be alright.
I got the bandages and cleaning stuff.
You gatta prove that you are tough.

You need to drink until you're blind.
Only then can you find,
That you are just like us in what we do.
Bad decisions through and through.

So lets get together and throw down.
I got a fist you, got a crown.
You have a floor, I have a face.
There is no need to make the space.

A bad decision here and there.
You can make them anywhere.
Weather it's with friend or foe.
Just make a choice and go, go, GO!

I have no bills for *****. My teenage dreams are shattered.
My presence in this thin veil of life depends on if I'm hammered.
But I have no dollars, no coins or even checks.
I can't buy any blue moon, ***** or any becks.

My addiction to acceptance leaves hanging dry.
I need to drink anything, wheat, potato or rye.
The grain doesn't matter, the proof is nothing real.
I'll make it up in quantity, I might even steal.

My friends are all awaiting. My reputation still on hold.
I need some money for my *****, oh wait, no I don't.
I'm not that insecure, and I have not an addiction.
But **** it man, I want to drink, and money is an affliction.

A magazine for an M16.
An ACOG scope to sight the hope.
A 12" barrel to guide death.
The body falls just like *******.

The blood is pouring, engines roaring.
The car is steering, turning, veering.
Down the road of no return.
Around the corner, Dreams are peering.

Escape is done, there is no gun.
Thrown away like yesterday.
Shooting dreams is his profession.
And in the alley, they rot away.