it’s not the same when you touch her chest with your breath
what her heart hears is off key and she compares it to the best
bedtime story she’s ever heard
the kind where she becomes little red riding hood herself
with a basket of goods
that everybody wants
but she doesn’t want to fuck any of them
because she already knows that it’s the same as a sunny day but with too much wind
or one of those green suckers with a big bug inside of it

“fuck off,” she says to all the wolves and all the pigs and all the fools
they still come at her like a family of bonobos come in a day
it’s hard to run away from something that is happening to you all the fucking time
it gets you sick with a hook,

the short moments it stops happening, all you want is to run and find it
because attention is softer than loneliness
even if it is as sad as an addict tearing off couch cushions, in search of half a dime bag

- but as soon as she stopped looking for a face with eyes to love her
she took a dip in the forest, heard the birds
felt the pine needles on her bare feet bottoms,
sang like Snow White
and found herself an old lumberjack, building a house
it dawned on her that all the wolves and all the pigs and all the fools,
looked real fucking gross

The train sirens fell ill on my skin as the gates of waves descended upon the lowly burrows of 12th street and blew it straight into tomorrow's windy, lamenting unification of loneliness.  The plague it drew on the youth only rivaled the great hallow abyss in it's forthcoming nature. To the young it was the rotting, the sinister desecration of our world to come. I am only stunned by the great rivalry that seems to coincide in my generation's thoughts, capricious-now or wiseful-tomorrow. We strain to be in the eyes of our fathers and mothers and aunts and uncles, proving to our grandfather that we alone will carry the family name and legacy towards great and unimaginable heights, without the help of others and without the need for pity. Conger a frightful doe perking it's ears to every other sound it hears, that quiet din, it's last acquaintance before the grand, all-knowing silence takes over and surrounds it's being forever. Love thy harkening sorrow and writhe in heavy screams. All will pass but I see none with the sanctity to carry a soul farther than you have already; the seas spring longer and will soon swallow the world. Too many years will pass by before I can understand this with a sober mind. One day will come before I realize that drunken ravings of my night will see it's critical truth in the day by scholars and priests of common sense.

My mind is high up somewhere today.
In these clouds maybe, too far for me to reach.
It leaves me dizzy, desirous...
I feel so sleepy.  
I crave sleep,
for a deep, still pool of rest,
in the arms of love.
To feel protected and safe.
I want to be guarded like a vast treasure.
Where is my knight, the one where I see my reflection in
his armor, where I see burning eyes and burning hands that
love throughout the night...
Where's someone to always be there?

And I know.
Believe me, I know.

I should look inside myself for these things,
create my own light for this
dark place inside of me.
But I don't want to become The Hermit,
and carry this flickering lantern in the dubious storm of myself,
where there's snow and sleet and
bone shattering winds, forever to wander alone.

I want to find my puzzle piece, my chemical solution.
There must be a cure to this plague of loneliness.
Someone to be the balm that eases the pain
and whispers...
"No more, no more.
You are safe here, with me."


(c) May 21, 2013

These lost years of loneliness and social depravity
Have left me with nothing except this written tragedy
I sat and watched as the walls of my life crumbled away
Into this contorted sensation twisting through dismay
These ceaseless rememberance sessions screaming inside
A dead fixed stare on old friends taking cyanide

These bonds have come together in such a swift motion
And, just as fast they've came to their abrubt destruction
Dispersing any tint of mutual belonging from view
Molding a sad landscape of sighs and failing virtue
Watching as the remnants of my relationships loiter
The catacombs of these stockpiled confession letters

If only I could say anything my empathy had to tell me
My skeletal pose might have perched upright in a higher degree
And I would of have grown to a more formidable size
A clear cut aspiration that I never came to realize
Until all that I held grew too big for me to carry
and left me to stumble and sleep at the cemetary

Scratching dead love songs on century old gravestones
Where the forgotten have slept for generations alone
Hoping the crude penmanship might grace a weary heart
Or help a looming ghost feel a taste of love and depart
From the fog filled graveyard parade that it dwells
A final ringing from the synapsis of the greif bells

Sparking the ruin of a memory that doesn't seem real
A fading echo of a brotherhood I wish I could still feel
Detached from a reality that lurks in a decrepit imagery
Reshaping my empty cognition through a fake neuro surgery
I've reached the point where I have no reason to find
A replacement for all these buried pictures astray in my mind

Loneliness is a disease, that stifles and disfigures.
It is the side of the bed, sucked of all warmth.
The motivation behind the blade, with a cold sharp tongue,
that digs into tender sorrow.
It is the constant shadow, an illusion of company.
It is the definite reminder of why you're always feeling this way.

As I stood there, rooted to the ground, I was swarmed, yet, untouched. I was alone. I was not seen, nor heard. I am the leaf blown free from the tree, blown into a throng of weeds and forgotten. I am the scrape on a knee no one ever talks about. I am incomplete...an unfinished thought.


Written by: Andrew D. Robertson

By Me, the Great Duncan

Fickle and ever indecisive,
Destiny such a mistress
Taunting at my soul,
Yet,
When it shines in your favor,
Such a shine, shimmering with your jubilation for everyone to see

Hopeing was now a tired act,
Always the same night, same time,
Deep in sleep wanting nothing more,
Than to wake to someone,
Anyone to just ease this,
This tragic ironic loneliness I had put myself in

"Why?!" I screamed to the heavens of my dark ceiling,
Calling a question that mockingly,
Never was answered,
Yet

No more,
Live,
I whisper to the glass and grass,
Flowing and burning,
Mimicking the nights,
Speeding by,
Blurs on a deserted and dark, desolated highway, thumbing my way down,
Trying, searching,
For the tell tale signs of destiny,
Shimmering on the horizon,
Till,

Finally, in a bar,
"Let the night begin!" We yell as we begin our hunt,
Laughing, yet always on the scout,
Never seeing her,
Passing oh so close,
Almost!
The clock ticked down,
Closer and closer as Destiny,
That fickle mistress of my nightmares,
As deemed fit,
I met her tonight,
For all my cries in the night,
For all my past failures,
For all the ones lost,
I would find the one,
I've been asking for,
But only just,
As the clock,
Ticks,
Down,
Ever,
Closer,
Till...

She smiles sweetly,
I see her, only her,
The rest is blurred,
Distorted in the wake,
Of the beauty,
Radiating,
Only for me

Another smile,
From on high,
Destiny laughs,
We embrace,
A sigh,
Happily,
My question answered,
"Why?!" I had screamed,
Her,
Destiny answered

Life was easy before
Loneliness.

There wasn't a
Void

To fill.

Life was easy before
Love;

There wasn't a
Heart

To break.

Life was easy before:

Jobs
Girlfriends
Money
Apartments
Friends
Death
Fading idols
Tickets
Debt
Anxiety
Genius
Bravery
Solitude
Freedom;

Life was easy before all of that.

Instead of a simple life
Our society bogs us down with
New things to make our leaves easier

But the truth still stands behind;
Lingering on doorsteps,
Behind the television set,
Underneath our persian silk sheets,
Even underneath the sidewalk
We walk upon to work.

The truth is still there,
With a blank stare,
Holding a smirk as old as time.

Gadgets gear us towards the idea of immortality
That we are the mighty Gods now
But all we need to be reminded of our dispensability
Is a little rain
A little shake
A little gust of wind
And our gadgets and selves will just wash away

Don't let me stray into those matters
Evolution always has me worried
Envy of not seeing man at their newest, their best
Holding the gates of my eyelids open
So to see the break of the waves blue white breast

Atonement in these times generously dispensed
But everyone remembers a face
The way the iron clad soldiers forget is through
Further murder, hoping to one day die themselves
To be truly forgotten is the greatest of miseries
Never having lived means to never have existed

Our footprints are getting wider
The trees sway further toward the ground
Exhaustion peels away at me
Like a babies hand would an orange
Barely standing, I go to work to make $50 a day

Expected to live and be grateful
Produces a laughter mixed with mad absurdity
Where are our heroes now?
On the screen? On the stage? In the field? Behind desks?
There is so much to be done and
When all is finished, the hands scabbed and the knees scraped
All of it will be in vain

Though, we can say we tried
Rather than sitting on our loins
Watching the clouds burst
And the swirls of sand form a tunnel toward God

Lizards prepare their feast
Buzzards rip the flesh from a fresh carcass
Dung beetles roll their wears to the holy land
And the hope of man breathes in and breathes out

One final time