I am
A needer
A wanter
A desirer
My purpose is to exist
In a state of less-than-enough
I am perpetually hopeful
Always hungry
Always wanting, needing, more, More, MORE
But I am never satisfied
I am consumption
A machine whose sole purpose is self satisfaction
Never satisfied
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC
Forgive the fools their gold
And the wise men for their cynicism
And, if you would be so kind
Forget
Those honey laced words
And the ocean sweet bliss
That you tasted the other night
Because I fear that if you don’t forget
You may very well die
Not from a broken heart
Like so many poets would love to tell you
But rather from the pale honey
Of which I should have never given you a taste
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 3:52 AM UTC
I just saw a reflection
Of who you could have been
Had you not fallen from glory.
Had you maintained your beauty
Had you maintained your health
Had you remained above the drudgery
I am sorry
For who you have become
Even though I tried my best
To make **** sure I wasn’t responsible
So I bid you well
Whoever you had the potential to become
And should you ever stop your frantic run
Know
I will not be there anymore
I will be in the mirror
With your reflection
Altogether more beautiful
In that uncorrupted bliss
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 3:50 AM UTC
I love to be hated
By the liars and thieves
Who pretend their your friends
‘Till you’re down on your knees
I love to be hated
But never ignored
By the pundits and tyrants
And prophets of war
We froliced like children
Dancing with knives
And we prayed to our Idols
'Til we ate them alive
We all were fatherless
With room still to grow
Lost in the desert
with nowhere to go
They look like insects
So far away
We drown out their cries
The louder we pray
Nobody cares
Unless devils draw near
So scream out for rescue
There’s no one to hear
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 12:22 AM UTC
When I watch the news, I see myself in the future
Telling my Grandchildren's children that I was alive
When America burned
When I feel homesick, I see myself in the future
Where I used to live
On Rue Saint-Andre in Montreal
When I am drunk, I see myself in the future
Still angry and rebellious
The same disillusioned child with an older face
But now, I see myself in the future
Cancerous and bitter
Waiting for this disease to finally **** me
Or let me live forever
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 12:49 AM UTC
One More, My Love
One More, Cigarette
To quench the stress in your shoulderblades
One More, Sweet Note
From the belly of the dying Piano
One More, Last Kiss
Before you learn to hate me for the rest of your life
One More, Burried Treasure
In the park by the tree where we met
And One More, Excuse
As to why I let you wander into oncoming traffic when I knew you were drunk and I should have been watching you.
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
One More, My Love
One More, Cigarette
To quench the stress in your shoulderblades
One More, Sweet Note
From the belly of the dying Piano
One More, Last Kiss
Before you learn to hate me for the rest of your life
One More, Burried Treasure
In the park by the tree where we met
And One More, Excuse
As to why I let you wander into oncoming traffic when I knew you were drunk and I should have been watching you.
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
Something
About nothing
Is incredibly beautiful
Maybe that’s the wonder of space
Quite simply
The amount of nothing
That EVERYTHING is made of
Jun 17, 2011
Jun 17, 2011 at 10:27 PM UTC
In what peace can they rest?
They, who struck to cut the vital cord,
To silence the endless violent voices they had heard.
In what peace can the rest?
What peace, other than the universal silence
Of all voices that cry out in hate?
Jun 17, 2011
Jun 17, 2011 at 10:26 PM UTC
We are hated
Impetuous, reckless
For our bodies so out of sync with our minds
Our minds which cry to be numbed
But we are told we must face our world
Raw and unaltered
We are told we are dangerous to ourselves and others
So
We are told we must swallow our spoonfuls
Of seething vitriol
But we do not heed these naysayings
And though we are faced with righteous constriction
We cannot bear the concept of this empty red iron life
So we escape the sub-real by fleeing to the surreal, the anesthetized anti reality
And burn away our tortured, sober, senses
Until we hold no fear of our forefather’s submissary world
And we may repress our heinous dreams
And our uncomfortable thoughts of a greater reality
Drowned in a caustic flood
Of shameless hedonism, glorious temporary satisfaction, and amorous alcohol
Jun 17, 2011
Jun 17, 2011 at 10:25 PM UTC