The masses don't know shit and owe me zip
can't take care of ourselves wounded animals
giving others the slip, taking over the streams
water runs the show charging people just to sip

Birds flaunt their freedom over the tree tops
and through the cracks the envious
four legged things that slither
eyes p e e k i n g out of the dark thicket
wanting to fuck each-other over
how thoughtful

People maintain they evolved
from risen apes
but some think we're fallen angles
who raised the stakes
I think we just got better and faking
the whole time
justifying our destructive nature

Culture is the collapse of something greater

See dafur and rage
Children's lifeblood
Wooden stakes
We live the killing age
Washed in evil men's  mistakes
Forgive us blood of lnnocence
Yet again we turn a blind eye
But of the tyrant king in Babylon
Devoid of any sence
For  his oil we burned the sky
I know what's right, what is wrong
Will never be setteled
In lyric or song
I have known this
All dark long
Go and witness dafur
And be undone.      Hy

Oh the work of a man
who has something to gain,
But for a dopamine junkie
it's all just a game.

Athletic and apathetic,
Need some drive
'cause lethargy's in vain.
So we'll keep at it
until we hit a vein.

Streetlamps flicker
and church-bells sing,
Soon-to-be-drunks
enter the ring.
"Is everybody in?
Is everybody in?
The ceremony is about to begin"

Gambling man
knows the stakes are high,
But I'm not one to gamble
I just like to get high.

Head to the library
and take a hit,
Scourer the drug dens
for a decent book.

Now to quote such a tome;
"Not all those who wander are lost",
Yet most who wander
tend to trespass.
I'd guess that is the nature of adventure.

But comprehend this,
When we consider others' words
we hear a whisper of their thoughts.
When we walk in others' worlds
we stand atop their minds' plot.
And to traipse in another mind
is trespass beyond the metaphysical line.

I'm gonna hide behind the fucking stakes
and watch the fires ignite.
The slow and guaranteed burn of the wood
To turn it into blackened charcoal.

Be patient, the fires won't disappoint me.
They are truly loyal. Only they are the ones
I can count on
To get things done.

Little swirling souls.
Dancing upon the rocks.
How the water rolls across them.
As they happily run out their clocks.

Hopefully, someday in the future.
My own will join the dancing.
A singular suture.
That will let my soul run free.
Although, it clings to me.
Like I might need it.

I've seen it hold me and catch me.
Where I could have just kept falling.
Across the gossamer hopes that slowly become farther gone.
How it keeps calling.

For it pulls at me out of the silence in the dark.
Chaining me down.
Shoulder by Shoulder.
Hand by Hand.

Slowly but definitely blinding.
As the tone places itself on the middle of my chest.
To be constantly reminding.
About the rest.
Because the best of me.
Never was.

Pushing at the walls behind me.
In kind to my soul.
That's trying to free itself of it's own toil.
But, in me there is a bowl.
Of poison.

In the anguishing nothings.
The poison is much too simple a something.
As the chains and walls free me.
To the dimple in my skin.

Of where my soul used to reside.
Has left this side.
Though, out of all I've got.
I've not got a lot.

But without a soul?
What have I to lose?
Just as much as before.
So what's in store?

I'm sewn into the fabric of the cold air.
The lifeless stare.
That the mirror will give me every once and awhile.
Will defile what I am.

As my hands clench the wooden overhang of the counter.
I look away.
Because if I stay to look.
It will see what it took.
To laugh.

I want the warmth of a thousand people.
Yelling for something much more important than this.
So I can place my life in perspective.
Because at the moment.

It's so close to failing.
I don't want to be the one bailing.
To be sailing across what was.
Against the undertow of now.

All the options I can take.
That I can rake up.
To put the stakes up.
Will become my own walls.
All the calls that I give won't pass them.

As the others are all in class.
I'll pass the hallway.
And sit in my room.
Contemplating that dimple in my skin.

It had a lot to do with your
“I gotta quit the drinking”
cigarette ash on the mail
speaking French out on the balcony
or standing on the rail

Christening at dawn, with water
holy from the lake
drawn out from underneath
a swamp of rising stakes

And with the body wasting,
the mind had started, too
Held together with some failing bits
of tape and glue

Descent and madness,
need and rhyme
Lust, admiration
More and time

A blithering fool I am. I bring some more tasty, poetic food to a full table of empty people again.
The smell of decay is swept over, with a savory draft of nauseous meat.
Close that fluttering trap, sit the fuck down and warm your seat.
Here's a bottle of whines for your bitches. Eat, meet and greet, and please, this Filet Mignon is too tough for my teeth.
Seething in impatient anger, Lisa demands another plate. Complacent waitress Marie patiently escapes the bubble of her "high class" greed. She then tells the cook for another steak, medium-well please! Geez, what a smile planted on her face, while she comes out to face the dirty, condescending looks of a rich, shrewd couple that doubles a shroud of negativity, which makes poor Marie's day an even more stressful activity.
A chest full of kindness she displays to great lengths, but the couples' stuck-up, fucked-up attitudes stinks worse than a pig pen in May. Paul and Lisa brings shit to everyone's fun parades. The stakes are high, while the next course swings by. Bring us some cookies, brownies, and ice-cream cones pronto! Not a smile, but smirk, as she rushes to grant the picky requests from rude folks. She looks dazzling, even amongst the mess. Then she trips and falls, hurling a tray of glasses. A swirling disaster, shards of glass spray everywhere amongst the upper-class masters. A blast of laughter erupts from Paul and Lisa's direction. Sitting smug, they look the happiest they've been in months. Quite the ugly reflections, marriage fights, and failed Republican elections. Careless customers rush by and look down dirtily upon her inspection. They just continue on their way to their seats of self-destruction. Waitress Marie brings herself to her knees, no helpful hands to her silent pleas. Co-workers agree that this couple is a messy infection. Marie finally stands and rushes to a bathroom to medicate her bleeding arm. Her charm dwindling away, as a swarm of classy critters, with dresses that glitters, shove her out of their important way. Feeling dismayed, she wraps up her bloody display. Great, she awaits the end to this hellish day. Amazed, her courage to carry on this shift of the shattered positive arrays is swift. She gracefully drifts out and back to her table of dreams. Amidst two faces of schemes, Paul and Lisa want their checks, with upset eyes that traces the lines on her worried forehead. A smile brings light back to her face of beauty, the couple continue to be snooty, making rude comments on her round booty. Marie rushes to get their expensive checks, and comes back with pen and paper. She gently begins to lay them down on the table, but instead, they're snatched from her grasp. Taken by surprise, she gasps. Her hands clasped, she smiles thinly at half mast. She says she hopes they enjoyed their meal, but they just laugh, leave their seats, and storm on past her in a flash. The waitress looks down at the checks, inspects, and feeling dread from within, as no tip lines we're filled in. Brimming with fury, she blinks away her frustration.
She then decides to go clean her station. As the night comes to a close, I'll finish up this crazy poem. Here's some food for thought to swallow. Be careful not to choke.
I hope this satisfies you, so wish Marie luck, for a brighter tomorrow.

Insurance doesn't stop the deed
Merely writes a check at times of need
Only then do we really know
that our dreams and stakes top undertow
the swelled waters of our warm days
Yet fathomed in our honest ways
The warm, soft blanket curls around
Keeps only cold out while we're bound
Try and trust of winter's solemn
The wane and lust of sunrise problem
And cross the threshold of this day
With zesty spirit or furrowed brow
Is all we have to make somehow
So bump along and bury the day
Nothing's changed, but changes pray.

Austerity emblazoned in silk
fallen out of the ranks
in the popularity stakes
the iced tea on the hob
warmingingly out of character

Do you recall turning the page of irony
yellowed blotter, signature book
of those you'll never meet again
autographed in old inked scrawl
holed up with cobwebbed coats

Well, they don't bother you now
even though they stared you down
head hunted the perfect prefect of popularity
seeking you to check out the aged paper trail
their current capabilities warranting a slice

Settling, the nest felt comfy
nurturing, gifts placed at your feet
you dislodged the parrot from your shoulder
it left its calling card, a neat reminder,
chatted  up colourful clowns in the corner

Squatting within a lurch of emotion
fried eyed, stop tap turned off
zero shifting into first place
cashing in their deposit too late
they paid in full willingly....it seemed

Steamrollered, you left the game
parked your plastic smile
scrubbed clean the mossy mess
sat back amongst daisy/buttercup armies
felt the hot poker of rejection, water.....devoured it