I thought I buried you under the green grass
in the gloomy graveyard that is my past
I thought you'd gone on
to a distant land never to be seen or heard from again
I made these assumptions and tried to press onward but...
I Lost all of what made me less awkward,
I Lost my positive out look from one too many fixings of my black hole of a heart
my ****** edge is dead, that's why my Sundays have been so dry
I can't string two words to make anybody moist... so really why do I try?
I guess it's because I gave my heart to this notebook and pen,
when I was dead inside it became my closest friend,
helping me out my problems and surpass my demons,
but then everything has a season,
I guess what I'm getting at
is if you wanna try, (which I doubt)
I'm up and down for that...
So really.. why am I not the same anymore?
I thought I knew

As the moon grew full
so did the sorrow in her mind,
the night she picked up the knife
instead of the pen
For the drops on the floor were more poetically true of
her innerself than her open ended words on that paper
could ever be...

A thousand times I've said
A poet I am not,
A writer I am not
So repetitive I've forgotton who I try to convince,
the world or myself?
Perhaps both
Perhaps neither
You can decide on that
After these are all just
words on a page with the little meanings you pull through the lines

Dear Music

thank you for being a friend
thank you for being there when my world was at an end
thank you for being the ultimate antidepressant
thank you for saving me from myself because I'm my own worst enemy

there's a lot I could thank music for, like giving me confidence when I walked through a door
or blocking out people in the morning on the bus
thank you music, for being there for all of us

The Burden of Creativity
is that somethings I do
somethings I say or think
won't make sense to anybody but me

let's use for example Mr. Kubrick, first name Stanley
who took 178 takes of one scene grandly,
I'm sure everybody was tired and worn into the ground
but The Shining was one of the greatest movies around

so though this may sound self serving to a point
painting pictures with verbs and drawing landscapes with words isn't an easy way to make coin

but that's the curse of Creativity,
a lot of things Don't make sense, even to me