Mindless scribbles.
Endless riddles.
From the roots
I am whittled.

Good intentions.
Wrong directions.
Consequences:
Aforementioned.

Lost, misplaced adolescent sanity
Parasites of pretty dining
On a serotonin buzz
Rust
Aging peace of mind, relentlessly
analyzing minute subtleties
With pricey ink, rhyme
Turning thought into parodies
Staining photos with a milky film
Mirrors turning mind images
Into mirages
Potent, bitter with your poison.
Your syrupy sweet venom,
Pervading will-
Turning weak human reason
To damage - seeking treason

Rationalizing each patch
Of black and blue,
Patriotic to the danger of you,
You self-inflicted malady.
Because that is the nature
Of you, oh disease.
Oh dizzying force, so appealing
So easy,
Turning minds to war machines
Yet
bystanders,
simultaneously enveloped
in the same deranged form.
Denial in a package on your  
Doorstep.

Hell is my dwelling place.
What?
No.
No, I am happy here.

Lost in the lullabies, stories told to sweeten
Life's sour aftertaste from which we all have weakened.
We are the storytellers, weaving webs of lore
Made to be our weight bearers when we can bear no more.
This world is just a story; This life: fictitious folly.
No rights.  No wrongs.  No this or that. Just tales to keep us jolly.

When the last strained
chord of the parade
blew sour and home sounded
good again and all the trash
was meticulously placed
on the floor there was
a bottle rocket peeling
past the grim-faced throng

to adorn ribcages
with a scatter of sparks
the desperate stink
of burning hair wafted

all was transgressed
and now the walk
of shame.

a swig of honeyed
gin and all was
right again

until next year

Twilight.
Late at night.
Beautiful sight.

She blinks.
Heels in her hand, mascara flakes onto her rosey cheeks.
Swaying,
Secretly praying,
Silently in her mind.
Even more silently in her heart.
Who knows what of?
Who cares?

She thinks.
These are the best days of her life.
At least that's what they told her.
Eighteen,
Singing Springsteen,
Loudly in the streets.
Drunk and disorderly,
Who knows who she'll meet?
And who cares?

People age and children grow.
Things will change before you know.
Don’t know their gone until they go.
That’s just the way your life will flow.

So say what’s on your mind
When you get the chance.
For all that you know
It could be your last.

Tell them that you love them
Just as soon as you know.
Otherwise you might be
Watching them go.

Consequences exist
and they’re terrible.
But take the risk and
you’ll find that they’re bearable.

Don’t sit around waiting
For when the time is right.
There is no perfect moment
to start living a life.