I always said,
"What a man has in his pockets,
says a lot abut him."
I still believe that.
A man carries what he thinks he needs,
or what he thinks will get him what he wants.
As I've grown I can say,
I like how my pockets speak of me.
Some whiskey, some ****, a couple smokes
always a journal and a pen,
or two.
An empty wallet,
and at least two lighters;
that's very important.
With a little intuition,
someone can put those pieces together,
and know me.

Do her eyes still change,
to slate grey in anger?
Do they still turn to blue when it rains,
and when she cries?
I always tried to tell her,
those demons would hang her.
"You're just bound and determined,
to decline til you die."

Sometimes,
I wish I could quit.
The drinking,
the smoking,
the maybe-too-frequent drug use.
I know I'm just chasing the high I got,
from you.
But you're gone and not coming back.
"A man's gotta do,
What a man's gotta do."
At least that's what they tell me.

I rise before the sun,
to start my days.
An old night owl ready
to ***** the early bird,
for the worm.
Too much left to be done,
to risk slipping into the grip,
of slumber.
I'll catch up on rest when I'm dead.

It never was that I loved a cigarette,
more than you.
Just that I knew every morning,
when I rolled over,
my smokes would still be on the nightstand.
But your keys would be gone.

Her laughter floated,
like smoke on the wind.
All grace and beauty as it danced in the sun.
Short lived and,
short tasted before it dissipates.
Yet,
for all the music held within her voice,
the melody held delicate notes,
of heartache,
of sorrow.
I could always hear between the lines.
She made me cry while I smiled.

I told him,
"I know a thing or two,
about a thing or two."
He loved the essence of the phrase.
Than he told me a story,
I'll surmise it with,
"Then the cop said,
there'll be no *******  subs tonight!"
Maybe it's too cryptic to understand,
but it was an even exchange.

I write my lines in a corner of this dimly lit bar,
unnoticed.
People float around me like fireflies,
little sparks in the darkness
unaware of their own illumination.
I take every ember
and stoke a fire that holds me over,
for the night.
I don't need permission,
to perpetuate my own existence.
I trade what little I know freely.
Only hoping for inspiration,
one more poem,
one more line,
just one more word.
If you drop it I'll pick it up,
no need to feel indebted.
For every word I leave I know,
the world is better than when I met it.

All my attempts
to grasp upon inspiration
that will linger for more than
just a moment,
end in flames and utter disaster.
Yea,
the fire lends me light
but it's a momentary
high before I drop from the pinnacle
and return to earth
with a crash.
I'll never stop the campaign
but I'm growing afraid
that if I continue this path
I'll wind up broken and cracked.

I've always been a sucker for the deceitful,
the dissolute.
In knowing such, it's become hard to trust my instinct;
it always seems to lead me astray.
I despise wasting effort,
I grow bitter and disillusioned with ease.
Perhaps for a loss,
perhaps for the better,
this realization has forced me,
into reservation.
I expect nothing,
I assume nothing,
I extend myself,
for nothing.
I'm waiting for the universe to align things,
to tell me I'm safe to dive in.
I'm willing,
but waiting.
Show me something.
Tell me something.
Do something!
Like gasoline waiting for a spark,
I've got the potential to start a serious fire;
I just need a little motivation.

The wait here is breaking my bones,
I'm always searching for love or I'm searching for home.
No matter how hard that I seem to try,
I wind up just standing in line.
This whiskey will **** me no doubt,
but it's better than tasting your name in my mouth.
I can run, I can hide, I can waste all my time,
but you always wind up on my mind.
The good ones keep walking away,
while the worst ones come through and keep trying to stay.
I'm always asking the world to send me a sign,
but it seems all my hopes are declined.
I've learned on my own I can stand,
that won't ever stop me from grasping for hands.
At the end of the day I'll seek and I'll strive
for a woman who's strong, true and kind.

We are everything.
Every man, woman, child,
every living thing that ever put forth energy on this earth.
You are the culmination of millions of years of energy,
being recycled.
I like to believe this is why some of us feel we know things,
or people,
that we have no logical reason to.
The energies converged,
at least once.
And though dispersed and reformed,
into something new,
the resonance remains.
This is why I do not believe we ever go forward alone,
into the dark.
Energy will always flow onward,
companionship is therefore not only inside you,
but beside you.
Tangible or not you are followed,
and filled with,
the energy of a million lives that have been,
and will be.
Keep doing.
Keep being.
Keep flowing.

I'll sit and smoke a cigarette with death,
before we step.
We'll share a couple shots of bourbon,
then we'll down whatever's left.
I could argue on our love,
and all the memories we've kept.
But a part of me is bound,
just to stand and accept.
I don't enjoy a wasted word,
it'll leave me bereft.
So I'll just look him in the eye,
take a drag and save breath.

No matter how hard I try to deny it,
people are beautiful.
I used to focus only on our misgivings,
our malice.
No longer;
for I have seen the balance.
We as human beings,
are capable of all extremes.
One or another of us will reach them.
But we will always equilibrate.
Fear not my dear friends,
you will find your way out of despair.
Do justice onto whom you replace.
You will find hope again; spread it on/.

Timing's a funny thing.
It seems I always stroll into a persons' life,
exactly when I'm most useful.
Just a stranger who pops in,
straightens up the place a bit,
then leaves.
Rarely though,
is my timing ever to my own benefit.
Too late, too early,
doesn't matter.
I can only hope that perhaps one day,
I'll find myself somewhere I'm meant to stay.

Stop desperately grasping,
for a life of pure happiness.
Is that all you really want?
Just joy and rainbows?
Sunshine everyday?
Because if so,
I've gotta break it to you,
that is not life, brother.
Life is loving and fighting.
Life is old men who cry alone,
And
Life is drinking whiskey with your feet up,
in the woods.
Happiness will come!
But so will the rest.
So sit down,
stop ******* whining,
and embrace all of it.
You might just come out the other side contented.
You will though definitely,
have lived.

My words are stuck again;
my tongues gone almost stiff.
Guess I got hung up again.
Got caught up in the mix.

And there's no one to blame,
the tales always the same.
I'll always think of sunshine when someone says your name.

We both knew it had to end,
we both could see the rust.
I'm only sorry that I left,
before I lost your trust.

And there's no one to blame,
the tales always the same.
I will always see your smile at the end of my hard days.

When I get drunk alone,
I think of how you laughed.
Then I look down at my phone,
and I let the moment pass.

I swear there's no one to blame,
this tales always been the same.
I still hear your voice amid the murmur or the rain.

When I get up at night,
and I'm looking for a light,
thoughts of you start spinning in my head.
I look up at the stars,
and I wonder where you are
but I know it doesn't matter in the end.

You left so long ago,
I think of where you've roamed.
I know it's for the better that you're on this earth.
Do you ever speak of me,
with the people that you meet?
Does a single one of them know what you're worth?

I hope that when you're cold,
and when you feel alone,
you remember when I promised you my heart.
Maybe you will view the sky,
and ponder just like I,
how long our paths are meant to stay apart.

Hello my dear, how are you?
It's been too long since we last spoke.
I'm running short on happiness,
I'm running out of hope.
I won't ask you where you've been, where you've gone or what you've done.
I just need your company,
some luck, and a little love.
Ask me how I'm doing
and I'll never find the words.
Every day without your touch,
is just another day that hurts.
I can live without you, I'll move on and I'll be fine.
But every where I go just know you're always on my mind.

Last night I dreamt.
for the first time in a long time,
I dreamed of you.
It was a good dream.
We sat close,
in some surreal plane,
intensely illuminated by the moon,
and the stars.
I embraced you from behind
you grabbed my arms tight.
And then,
inches away from my face,
you held my gaze.
You turned away.
It would appear,
not even in my dreams will we ever embrace again.
I awoke missing your lips,
but knowing I had to let them go.

I like to think I've seen,
my fair share of life.
A city man,
sculpted of concrete and steel.
My years on this earth may be yet,
short.
That life however,
opened my eyes to much.
I know about the lows of man,
about how far some of us will stoop.
About what it means to survive.
But,
You dragged me,
drunk and complaining,
out into the hills.
You sat me in the back of your truck,
and you showed me the stars.
I don't know if it was the urban lighting,
that burns eternally,
or just that I'd never looked.
But you showed me the stars that night,
in all their luminescent glory.
I will never forget that.

I'm trying to fill a cavernous gap within my heart.
I think it's leaking from the bottom; I was finished from the start.
Liquor and cigarettes just slip out between the gaps.
I keep on trying but the effort's insufficient in comparison to what I lack.

I'll carry onward I'm a man and I know my roll,
but I'm running out of fire, I'm alone and it's getting cold.
I'll keep on drinking and smoking, pathetic attempt to fill the space;
But I'm not going anywhere, feels like I'm running in place.

Maybe the whiskey kills me, I think that'd be just fine.
Either way the cigarettes will kick in after time.
I know I could use a little help in filling up the holes,
but everybody dies alone; at least that's what I'm told.

Man, we are an ugly,
broken,
people, aren't we?
We formed a society that abhors following ones' own desires.
A society that demands participation!
Or expiration...
We turn ourselves,
into necrotic sacks of flesh.
Motion after motion,
waiting on death.
**** it,
*******,
**** me.
**** everything man.
Our demise is inevitable.
The clocks been ticking for a millennia,
no one's watching.
Tick-tock,
tick-tock.
The world stops turning,
and we burn.

At least without you, I can be my ******* self.

Oh, I've been low brother,
lower than you know.
I think I've sold my soul.
I will apologize,
for all the evil I commit.
But in the end it won't mean ****.

Times are hard brother,
we share the same despair.
Just know I'm always there.
When the moment comes,
I'll show you all that I have learned.
Try not to be concerned.

When I'm gone brother,
I hope my memory will be kept.
It's all that I have left.
You'll carry on brother,
I promise you can take the pain.
You know it's all the same.

Just wasted days
and wasted pay.
All you've said was wasted praise.
Wasted time,
and wasted dreams.
Most of life's a waste,
it seems.
I'll waste away,
just smoking haze,
with every second I'll waste my brain.

Love is often lost
and more than often it's mishandled.
For me I think I've finally seen
the entire plan dismantled.
I've given it a go and man,
it always ends in shambles.
Too much emotion both get broken
what I've taken's more than ample.
I've given up at least for now,
I just can't afford to take the gamble.

I know I'm just a stranger,
shouting blindly to the dark.
But I will see this message sent,
it comes straight from the heart.
If suicide's consumed your mind,
the "only" option left to you.
Drop me just a couple lines,
what more have you to lose?
I've seen some malice in this world,
I've felt ridiculed and shunned.
I know how attractive it can be,
hell, I've even picked the gun.
So lend me just a moment,
in the least you'll know you're heard.
Maybe with a little luck,
I'll lend some clarity through word.

The colors of the sun run,
like damaged tapestries.
Painting the sky surrealistic
and I wonder what it means to me.
Light reflected from waters surface
glitters for a moment then refracts,
A million different directions
leaving more questions than it subtracts.
How many lives have sparked and died,
within the never ending depths?
The waves receive the query
and to the bottom it gets swept.

Two boats float on the horizon,
as I watch the setting sun.
They put the picture in perspective,
how deep and far the water runs.
It makes my concerns seem awfully small now.
The vastness hits me like a bomb.
The burden of my ghosts lifts from my shoulders
and I think "Alayhim as-salaam"

So much death.
Twenty-two years of life
and I have experienced,
so
much
death.
My heroes all died,
as they will,
when youthful ignorance
turns to a bitter understanding on the reality of men.
We are flawed.
But it didn't stop there.
No,
year after year it seems,
death reaches all too soon.
A drug overdose,
a car accident,
a suicide.
One by one,
friends, family and enemies alike,
all have passed.
Some sought the grave,
some simply stumbled upon it.
It's all the same though,
the dead slumber;
the living carry on.
Until they don't.

This twisted existence is beginning to push my limits.
I've had enough of life I only strive to see it finished.
No matter how I try the timeline won't diminish;
I guess I'm meant to stick around for more than just a minute.

It sickens me to watch as old friends depart the earth,
As I'm left to sit and ponder on life and what it's worth.
It's hard to carry onward with this never ending search,
while other men just wander in apparent ceaseless mirth.

I had so much passion,
once.
It seeped from every pore.
My heart roared out of me like a lion,
hungry and proud!
I walked with a bop in my step,
fought like a savage,
loved with my whole being.
I was raw,
unfiltered,
naked!
I've come to find,
life has a way of taking that from you.
You add a layer over this scar,
a layer over that one.
The layers stack until the fire inside,
is suffocated.
I'm just going through the motions now.
I starved the lion,
and now my heart is quiet.

The prince is dead
the castle has crumbled
he failed the quest as soon as he stumbled
off a high wall
and down to the ground
upon which he perished with hardly a sound.
The princess is doomed
now trapped in a tower
where she watches the world blacken hour by hour
the sun went away
and the grass shriveled up
the demons now revel in the ash and the muck.
Oh the kingdom is ruined
and the people all wail
but heroes all die in true fairy-tales.

We can break bread or stand and make threats.
Man we can grab the cannons, blast and face death.
When this is all over you'll have half a face left.
For the rest of your life with a limp, you'll take steps.
I could end this rhyme right now and save breathe,
but I haven't said all I've got to say yet.
You ain't a killer you a dog, now just go and play fetch.
You a coward and a liar Fido, run off and play dead.
The wolves'll ******* find you we don't often stay penned;
all the **** you've been talking will see you pay debts.
You won't find time to scream "mama this is the end!"
When I get my hands on you and open your head.

Now to put it plainly,
I don't believe in reincarnation.
Nor any other form of after life.
I will be dirt.
You will be dirt.
We're all just ******* dirt.
However,
this leaves me vexed.
For I feel the most nostalgia,
towards things I have never experienced.
Music from the 1920's
to the 1950's,
makes me yearn for days,
I never had.
I only feel empathy for war veterans,
some part of me feels the pain.
Maybe I'm wrong,
or perhaps just strange;
who knows?

I like to write when drunk and high,
that's when emotions run.
Sometimes I even find it nice,
to set ink when I get spun.
Alcohol is lubrication,
when my thoughts are just too bound.
The ******* see's acceleration,
words just flow when I get wound.
I'm  not an addict or a shmuck,
I'm a pretty simple man.
Just one who's more than down on luck;
my whole life has strayed from plans.
Yes I'm often found inebriated,
I hope you'll excuse the current condition.
It just seems to me while obviated,
I adopt a cleaner disposition.

I know,
ten dollar bottles of whiskey
and cartons of Marlboros,
are certainly a way to accelerate my untimely demise.
But women,
now that'll be the death of me.
Underneath the drunken stupor
behind the walls of smoke;
I'm fragile as any fabric.
I can only be cut and sewn so many times...
Alas,
as with all my vices;
the whiskey,
the drugs,
the cigarettes,
I'll dive head first into the next one.
Give it my all.
Take it or leave it,
you'll have the best and worst of me.
And when you leave it,
I'll sew myself back together,
just one more time...
And it'll be on to the next one,
until I die.

If you think world peace is realistic,
you are a ******* idiot.
All the bright eyes and optimism,
I'm getting pretty sick of it.
No, it's not that I don't want it.
It's such a lovely thought.
I just know that evil in this world exists,
People full of madness;
malice, hate,
and rot.
You can stop the useless chanting,
go and tear up all your signs.
And if you can't quite shake the hope,
remember,
children die.

I preach peace and reason while I'm loading my guns.

A series of flashing lights simulate a reality that no longer extends farther than the boundary of your back door.
You sit complacently in your living room while the world outside your window turns to ash and the re-constituted chemical pastes you eat as food slowly transform your body from flesh to a synthetic meat by-product.
I am more preservative than man
Your perpetuated existence is a lie. Maybe once the plugs pulled those incessantly firing neurons will catch up to what's already done and stop.  You've been decomposing for years but haven't lived enough to ******* notice.
That's it folks,
the show's over.

I grew up living by the law of escalation.
There were no holds barred,
very little hesitation.
I wasn't physically imposing
but I fought
like a ******* savage.
Winning doesn't matter
when you're just plain mean.
I got my satisfaction
from making boys bleed.
We progressed,
fist fights hastily became grave.
People started swinging everything from rocks
to blades.
I escaped,
joked it was my "retirement."
And yea I've stopped the violence,
let go of some hate.
But I still carry knives to this day,
just in case.

I never thought,
I'd live for very long.
As long as I can remember
every instinct I possess,
has screamed of impending death.
I had accepted that,
lived in kind.
As I sit here,
only twenty-two years into this catastrophe,
called life.
I feel ******* ancient.
Something went amiss.
Now I'm forced to watch,
as days fly by me
wasted.
I had nothing in the works,
for this.
I'd prepared for every eventuality,
except the one,
where life went on too long.

I lay waste to hope,
wherever I find it.
I drag it into the light,
revealing all the little flaws,
in it's design.
I set fire to happiness,
with fervor.
I love to watch,
as people's joyful little worlds,
are rendered unto ash.
For every act of human kindness,
I'll see a thousand homes destroyed.
I'll leave ten thousand quaking people,
to be consumed,
by hells most vile lords.
All shall come to know my face.
All shall come to know my name,
Despair.

Oh, the days are long,
and the nights are cold.
Maybe I'm just growing old,
but it seems to me,
that we have lost control.

We will carry on,
and play our hand.
Some will even make a stand.
And if they fall
it's all part of the plan.

I watched,
as the stars in your eyes,
dwindled.
One by one,
they burned out into emptiness.
The void consumed our universe.

I felt,
as the warmth in your touch,
turned to stone.
With every stroke,
you left frost upon my skin.
Your ice soon circulated through my veins.

I listened,
as the music in your voice,
withered toward
detachment.
Every word became a reminder.

And I tasted,
as all the sugar on your lips
and the honey on your tongue,
went sour.
Every kiss held hints of decay.

True criminal, I sold my soul and stole it back.

It was on the walk home,
from school.
A path I always took,
with slow deliberation.
That Frank sidled up to me.
"Hey man, you ever smoked bud?"
Reaching into his sock,
he produced a small bag.
"You wanna?"
That Cheshire grin.
We slipped off the road into a small pine thicket.
He shoved what I'd now refer to as,
"Bricked out Mexican grown *******,"
Into a little metal pipe.
This was no,
"I didn't get high the first time" event.
No,
I got ******* ******.
I wandered my neighborhood after,
for quite some time.
Everything was beautiful.
The colors of the trees and the houses
all burst forth!
Brilliantly vivid.
I journeyed home and came to find;
the beratement, the hate,
it rolled off
like so many drops of water.
I fell asleep listening to "No Quarter,"
for the thousandth,
but the first time.
Life never was the same,
after that.

I just can't seem to get out of my head these days,
that's why I've got a penchant for smiling, when it rains.
You don't quite see the sun when you dwell in the shade,
I've grown beyond a longing for it's warmth on my face.

Nothing's concrete, I see the grey in your white and black.
It's a paradoxical existence, much like Schrodingers' cat.
Am I dead or alive? ****, where the hell am I at that?
My thoughts zip through my head like a thousand angry gnats.

Living The Heart of Darkness things seem increasingly insane,
but I'm trapped on this twisted river, heading deep into my brain.
Maybe it's because in here, I form monsters out of pain.
To feel emotion's difficult, but monsters can be slain.

I abandoned the
accepted standard
found the edge of the map
and fell off.
The world is flat

Just how deep
does the rabbit hole
go?
We may never know
but I dove head first
into the ground.
Try and find me now

The universe is vast
but I
rearrange the planets
in a pattern more familiar
*The system can collapse