first comforting...
but be wary,
it is a silent killer.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 4:16 AM UTC
The Internet has this amazing way
of making art
feel so accessible
yet so demeaning.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 5:25 AM UTC
Realizing that we expect far too much from one another.
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 2:49 PM UTC
Where are the Kerouacs?
The Ginsbergs?
The Cassadys?
Drunk on
wine
and life
Riding the highways and railroads to dreams unseen, even by them.
Clashes of ideas, like bright lights in the dim daybreak of an all-nighters.
Fueled by cigarettes and philosophy.
Now everyone wants the same thing.
A boring spouse.
A boring job.
A boring house.
What happened to the generation of lost souls that once searched the open plains and the cramped alleyways?
For nothing more than a beautiful moment.
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 4:17 AM UTC
Slipping into consciousness
exploding with pain.
So much time spent, praying to this porcelain god.
Asking why
Begging for a break.
Those rare moments with the pain fades, and the absence feels like the strongest intravenous drug ever plunged into your veins
during those
late night ER visits that have become ever too familiar.
With sheets for walls.
And Judges for Doctors.
And cries from children echoing off white sanitized walls.
And you slipping out of consciousness
and into drug induced escape.
As the ceiling panels become beautiful,
and the scratchy sheets become cozy,
You breath a sigh of relief
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 8:42 PM UTC
I want you to lie to me.
I want you to tell me that in your dreams
you wear an ugly polo and khaki pants.
And that you LOVE tucking your shirt in.
I want you to tell me that flipping burgers
is a step in the door to reaching your life-long goals.
I want you to get on your hands and knees.
I want you to beg.
I want you to plead.
I want you to say you'll never be as successful as me.
I want you to accept you'll never be free.
**THEN.
MAYBE.**
You'll earn the right to make minimum wage.
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 5:17 PM UTC
Gravekeepers,
are the peace seekers for the souls past.
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 2:21 AM UTC
I lent you dog-earred Bukowski,
you returned it unread.
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 7:14 PM UTC
Tomorrow I will write the worlds best poem,
one with rhythm, beauty and form.
It will change how everyone views the world,
around my pinky finger they'll all be curled.
Tomorrow I will paint a masterpiece,
with genius hidden beneath colors rich and deep.
It will change my soul,
make me feel whole.
Tomorrow I will be the best,
at everything I test.
But tonight
I will just write.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 3:01 AM UTC