I’m old but still new. Captured you outside a photo. Never so soft. Hardened by fear and anguish. You wanted to be left alone. So now i am. Can’t catch a break. This is what i have. So far fine. So far gone. Meet me later if you dare. I’m so lost. Find my way. Day so dark the clouds cry tears. Shattered here. Broken heart. Work alone can’t find my part. Empty threats left behind some imagery. You found a home. Left me none. Broke your promise. It’s like you’ve won. My time will come. For death or reckoning. Plucked my wings. Smashed my records. Not so nice. Eternal cave like bristling with mayhem and vanity. Rolled up sleeves. Lower morals. Fiendish flames flicker faint. No more stories. Nothing here. Empty ego. Broken springs.

My heart breaks
A little more
Each time
I hear you
Crying.

Out loud and alone
My breath makes
The only noise
My sunken heart
Allows.

I want to know my value.

You say,
"It's up to you"
And

I truly appreciate
My freedom
But

My freedom
has become
A prison
Of uncertainty
And self neglect.

So sad;

To know
You'll be gone
Before I find the time
To understand
How much more
I could have tried
To be part of
Your life.

I don't see a
Future
Without

The continued struggle
To convince myself
That my time here
Is somewhat significant

Although
Everything I do
and everything
I am
Will be forgotten.

forgot your face.
But the tears don't stop. I left
them in the mountains somewhere
over Williamsport when I passed through.

There were even more
trailing through the streets,
Floorboards, walls, parks, monuments, and
hotels of Washington D.C.

Don't mind me because I Am
pushy or aloof - oh, I forgot.

You really don't give a ****.

Skip the kind gestures and polite itchy ego scratching.
"How's it going?"
"Good, how about you?"
"No complaints here?"
The truth is too heavy and time consuming to hear. It might be something like:
"How's it going?"
"******, but its still early. Usually the day ***** less as it progresses."
"Decent, but the jury's still out. No what I'm sayin'. I reach a positive peak of enjoyment during the last hour of work. By the time work ends I begin the descent to a feeling of unfounded dread."
Who wants to hear that **** though?
I do.

Abysmal.  
Like the pond in the center of a forest. Deeper than the height of humanity stacked foot to shoulder.

It is too dark to see and too obvious to avoid. The world that I know revolves around my observations, created obstacles, and daily mental state.

I am not welcomed to the outside areas where the fringe lives. Nor do I welcome what is threatening for fear that it might expose my pettiness. My lies are easily justified for my secret life to thrive.

In the end...

I'm stuck inside myself looking out.

Waiting for the summer heat to eclipse the somber thread of one day, an old man is gifted a brand new pair of sneakers.

Father, Son, Holy Ghost? The pinnacle of the "y" axis has paralyzed the saltiness of the old man's overcoat.

"Grand dad?" A young boy turns the corner and peeks in while the old man leans over in his chair to reach his feet and lace his sneaks. "You were breathing loudly and I was just making sure you're okay."

The boy continued, "cool sneakers grandpa."
This reminded the boy of a new student in his class who moved here from Scotland, or Ireland - he couldn't remember which. Guess what the new kid in my class calls his sneakers?"

The grandfather looks up and leans back, "he doesn't call them sneakers?" "Nope" the boy replies. "I would imagine he must call them shoes, or something like that."

"Not even close. He calls them 'runners'. He came into class one day with a pair of red sneakers and Miss Kerrington had him stand up in front of class to talk about them. She said that people in England probably call them runners as a nickname for running shoes."

The old man stood up with a groan and said, "That makes sense. It seems a bit odd, but I like it. As a matter of fact, I am gonna start using that to refer to all sneakers. What do you say we go for a walk around the block so I can break these puppies in? We'll stop for some rootbeer on the way home."

The two of them set out on their walk and the old man felt invigorated. As they continued, a light rain began and the old man said, "lets get to the store, this rain'll do damage to my new suedes."

When they finally made it to the store, the old man rushed in the door pushing his grandson out of the way. Upon his entrance his eyes met with the shopkeeper's. The shopkeeper's eyes shifted to the young boy coming in behind the man. At this moment the grandfather realized that he pushed his grandson aside in his haste to get inside the store and out of the rain.

The shopkeeper turned his attention back to the grandfather who shrugged his shoulders before gesturing to his feet with a smile and said, "I'm breaking in a new pair of runners. They're not gonna dry off as easily as he does."

I mourn the loss of another unproductive day while drifting off to sleep every night.

I wake up in the morning and grieve for the past few hours of sleep that have ended.

Woefully **** and shower in contempt to the work that diverts whatever shred of energy I have to figure the path of shortcuts I must take to appear worthy of the hourly wage I use to pay my mortgage.  

More days than not, I will find a ghost task to steal away from work to nap heartily between reruns of Star Trek and bowls of cereal - the tomb where my legacy is laid to rest.

The hours seem glorious while I'm distracted from expectations and responsibility. If only I could carry on this way with no interruption.

Regret and shame settles heavily when the expectations and responsibility commence.

Medicine only takes the edge off. I'm in the same line. I read the same magazine covers to avert eye contact with the old folks who wait days or weeks trying to get insurance verification.

So this is what it's like to be a grown up. Late bills, missed appointments, and a disappointed spouse. It's the worlds longest suicide.

It's like live how? like you make it
copy down the sad crown
ride the wheel you made it
the strong misguided hatred.

-eclipse-

Bathing naked
The flurried atom swarms and indulgent desires strip me of my latest confirmed identity.  

thoughts  and painted-eyes
Department earlobe tenants remorse filled by the
phantasmagoric patience and comfort of pain.

So plain and petty feels  like I'm crying "lone wolf!"  double knot shoe tie
finite coffer rusty nails-stick latent reparation clips of manta ray striking tail whips.

The core is stifled to trip and fall upon the wet autumn leaves, broken twigs, and an earthly wisdom. Carry us, oh misleading stranger to a different home with Velcro that sticks to platelets and crust that covers elbows.

Hatred is stronger for the long-suffering and confusion when what we need is light
The fierce reserve beckoned to fight after immobility subsides and clears clutter away from the self-loathing, shame, and spiritual fatigue.

Maybe today is the day. This spot is reserved anyway and the wolves seem hungry.

No use for a bigger screen that my mind can't accommodate. I hear voices in the dark and paint pictures of one color in the corner of my clouded imagination. My thoughts consist of questions. The answers come in the form of blank print plates with damaged lettering.

My smile cracks the moment between naïveté and contempt.  

Can't take a break while breaking. I'm alive somewhere in between, walking on one side of survival and falling apart completely.  

I pray to something outside myself while bleeding from the inside out to echoing laughter - colorful lubricant for the slow death of plastic bags and cellophane.

Hear me now where I feel nothing and meet me where the pain screams out for safety.  

I don't have an ending that is worthy of what is left.

I'm bitter. Full of naïveté and dreams, I plotted an unplanned path to nowhere and nothing special. I ended up here after a long sleep. the images I remember raise goosebumps and feelings of remorse, shame, and embarrassment.

The continual process of hating my self-pity even though psychological projection is validated with tears for others who I view as sharing circumstance.  I look at myself in the face of a child - male and female - throughout all worlds that move the earth. Suffering is synonymous with life.

Some are devoured despite nature or nurture, good or evil, rich or poor, this or that. Innocently honest entities experiencing inflicted pain and swallowing tragedy thick and slowly.

The luckiest children avoid the heavy baggage of the most well-intentioned loving parents and begin to collect their own. Some are born to surrogate parents who exploit children for desire or money; lives created who know nothing but suffering.

"Focus on the positive."
*******!
I can't lie just to fake a smile and I can't ignore the truth to stay asleep.

What do my attempts to help amount to?
How is what is positive not soured by what is true?

I can devote life to the living, but to what end?
The starvation of my family, the loss of shelter.
Instead of lending a hand to the forgotten I am enslaved by a system that perpetuates the long list of sorrows.

Yeah, I'll see you ******* at work.

I'm left with who I am when the night is still. I am a microcosm of everything I see. I don't want to feel sorry for myself - but I am sure that I will.

The beginning of a new day, I want to be positive.  I don’t want to think about festering wounds that become overrun with infection due to a lack of self-care and bad hygiene.

I want to change my thoughts. I want to recognize them for what they are, fleeting and neutral before I trap them within the musty wharf of my psyche.

I want to believe in a god.  I want to believe that something is somewhere that can redeem the involuntary nature of existence. Something that balances the horror of ******, starvation, and ****; or the parents of a missing child who are later asked to identify the only remains found – a decapitated body eerily preserved by the abnormally frigid temperatures lingering long after the advent of spring.  

I want to know beauty as much as I know disgust.  What redeems the isolated ending of someone that no one will ever remember?  What justifies the lives of those who knew nothing but defeat, who weren’t heard, or who suffered the rejection of humanity in spite of the deep desire to feel accepted?  Save us from existing without ever knowing the victory of achieving an intended goal with self-will and perseverance.

What about the countless numbers of lives that have been extinguished and buried in mass graves.  How many people die that will never be remembered…  What meaning does life have then?  Were they here to be recalled as an obscure number?  Their whole life of memories – hope, fear, love, hate, despair, dread, loneliness, doubt, guilt, shame, and unique personality traits - all to be remembered as one of the many who are not remembered.  

Why must I fool myself to find contentment? Not everyone is able to see the silver lining. Must I only know the defeat of a man who could not overcome the prison of thoughts in his mind?

Do not mourn me because of a lost familiarity.  If that is all I am then you will forget me soon enough.

My eyes gaze over the table of food through the company and off into the distance beyond the mildew on the walls.

I would feel more comfortable collecting the cobwebs from this basement ceiling.

Instead, I try hard to seem interested in what others are saying while avoiding eye contact, and -

BANG!! It's time to eat. The moment I've been most waiting for. Now I can concentrate on the food and do what I really came for.

Never eat and run though. It's time to act interested in the others once more.

Karaoke. Who doesn't love an overly enthusiastic host hoisting a microphone in their face?

Thanks for the food but I don't feel like singing a Kenny Rogers song or a whoever the **** song of some twit whose been in the top 40 within the past 5 years, or 20 for that matter.

Thank Jupiter they are distracted. Now is my chance to slip out quietly. I make it out the door and find out that someone parked behind me.

what else do you got in that cd case? Any Conway Twitty by chance? Oh really. **** it, I'm next

Bones shackled, breast plate pierced, enemy to the new governance - SCREAMING dark hearted chants that linger in memory like death and love.

Come and be one: we are looking for your[self] substance. Is that the facade you've chosen? Only for now my friend.

Come and be clear: bring us your mistakes - especially those that you continue to make. Those that make you question your worth and capacity for love. Bring your folly, your hatred, your discontent, your ennui, your sluggishness, your truth.

I want to be around those who accept my naked soul. Stripped of the costume that makes me socially adequate or tolerable.  Can you be Who you truly are. I know you crave this. Embrace your anxiety and bring it with you...

All that you are is welcome here.

Look at me, my naked soul wears no pockets for a secret to survive.

Likewise vanished and collapsed to a destructive state – weighted space spreads across unevenly but equally sequential in relevance to the make up of your matter. For the crossing falls closer to that which floats up, or burrows down. Following the line of least resistance when gravity can be considered a burden.

Onward with the dead bodies floating in and out of our solar system. ****** victims with cracked helmets dancing together in an eerily serene motion where they follow sonic waves from this way to that. These are the new beginners whose marrow will travel to worlds yet undiscovered.

It is the equivalence of the ***** that makes the journey into the birth canal to fertilize the egg. The once living, now dead, finding a new reason for meaning where the marrow finds placement on a mass of fertile dust.

New planets are made with a sickness. Spores and mold grow into rage for the betrayal that laid the god body to rest. Their concept of creation has no meaning.  Hatred fed by existence considered bad luck at best.

It:::::just:::::::so:::::::happens

-that a door to another world opened today. I caught a glimpse but my attention is so consistently drawn to the weight of what I carry; it is gently cradled while I rearrange the tattered wraps that keep it bundled. 



-Such a man as this committed to remain stuck in this world while crying for a change; the royal cynic shadow king, lazily draped upon a throne of ***** matter.

-If not the others who make up this world, who can I look to for the feeling of worth that I cannot find?

-I've decided to sit this one out a long time ago, you know? I keep the expectations low enough to match the efforts but my thoughts are too many to regard this as victory. 



-It just so happens that I live my life in a constant state of grief. I mourn the naïveté that once provided escape. I mourn the loss of hope, no longer comforted by the story of a distant day feeling worthy of life and just being enough.

-What I seek cannot be provided from the world I see outside. This feeling of worth is not attached or enhanced by lovers, friends, or family. No experience, accomplishment, object, or victory will satisfy my soul.

-In the end, I can only rely on myself.



-This realization is a new door and the first steps wandering through begin the path of holding oneself accountable for decision and action.

-Empty, unapologetic, and all consuming

-A discovery that all days painted in an unfavorable way have been set to the theme I've created.

-This path is not chosen by everyone, some never meet this realization. I run only to end up right where I started. Others deny and hide from the ugliness that resides within. The once empty pleasures of activity without substance will no longer do, but the rewards along the way are many.


-Some days I really can’t find my value. Some days all that I create turns out like sh*t. Some days I cry about my imperfections and those reflected by my family. Some days I don't want to wake. Most days I crave more connection while hiding away. Some days just don't seem worth the effort it takes to make it through to the next. 



Still sad – partly mad
Am I worthy of this life? 

If I wasn’t this would not exist.

Laughter at the pirate ship wreck
Incarcerated alibi.
Self-doubt and enemy envy.

Post neurosis mental chariot waiting patient set to test and task the palatial steel ballast.

Starting to startle itself awake according to twilight reporting recognized first and focused lazily to be remembered later for the first half percent.

Decent decline descending darkness ascending atoms attending arson. Gallant grey nose for cold weather bubbling wound **** streak pillow.
Plain sight eyes glazing reminiscent veteran folded over beer bottle drunk at home the unknown soldier.

Spirit spear piercing glowing nexus weightless flying high shadows vacant samurai clutch in an adjacent basement.
Bleeding bone fractured paper homes manufactured homeless jeering platelet picked and cast like a rune on your first born baby blanket.

Hallow, heated, grave displayed, and looped backwards.  

Happy fishing!

I haven't written about you until now because I fear the words won't be meaningful enough. It's funny how something so important shines a new perspective on what I considered so important.  

You are...
The most important part of my life and I cry because I love you so much. I cry because I don't love myself enough to give you what you deserve.

I love you so much the world means nothing and everything. This world is not good enough for you.

I'm sorry I'm so broken.

Love,

Your dad

Elected:  naturally sweat swamped vanity trapped cat paw flip flop.  

           But oil lamps burn for a different view

Vague outlines of where you once were
It's been years now and we've both moved on
You've grown up
I draw a picture of myself as a stick figure with a fat belly
scenes like an adolescent martyred for love.

My emptiness is touched when I think about your reality.
I hold enough space to carry multiple lifetimes of love and heartache.

Emptiness that was once filled could never be filled again
new doors open but renovations are not allowed.

Emptiness is still full of nothing; the sick cling to details and perceived meaning.

It's a shared pain that shifts weight as denial grows. Each of us has suffered the grief of loyalty unreciprocated.

You held my faith as I held your hand. Your grip loosened and like salvaging a favorite paperback book, pages slipped out individually until an empty shell met back to front.

That shared pain is called to fill in the empty spaces that naïveté leaves. The weight becomes a burden on those of us who expect more.

There is no resolution for betrayal. I lock my fears up tight and covet the pain.

You can see the ones who shoulder this burden in the warm grave of routine, going through the motions of daily life without a smile or by putting off life's responsibilities for the sake of blissful sleep.

Last night in bed
I imagined your face
In front of
a setting sun

Surrounded by
The amber sky
Your smile was radiant

I tried separating
The pain in my heart
From the gratitude I feel
for witnessing your existence

A small furry tummy grows with pride and recognition. The day is new like fresh air and baby lungs. The trappings of usual experience have gone unnoticed with each wayward smile and shared glimpse.

Is this a dream?
What is real?

Silence guards haunting stories with latent thoughts streaming uncontested by a busy mind. If there is truth, then what is humanity? Who am I?

Do you feel ashamed too?
I'm not the leader I once believed to be back then.

I'm more machine now then ever before - lacking substance, strange entangled, my very best worst friend.

Structures are built, broken down, and decayed by the hand of humanity.
                  Collateral Damage.
Planning is carried out with the expectation of structural compromise.

Windows grant access into the pit of vulnerability. Scores and scores of people spend the bulk of their short lives inside the pit of an artificial stomach, chasing what cannot be obtained.

Relationships are sacrificed over plastic alters where the blood flows over disposable cups, collected from fast food restaurants and graduation parties.