When I was a lad,
I saw those that had,
And those who had not.
It would make me sad,
It would make me mad,
In my head, I thought.

I want a better day.
I need a better way
To make this world today,
A better, better day!

As the years went on,
I grew on and on,
But life seemed to stay
The same, one big con.
Of who lost or won,
One day, I will say.

I want a better day.
I need a better way,
To make this world today
A better, better day!

I’ve grown old these days,
Sitting by the bay.
Life has gone and passed
Me most far away.
But, still, as I lay,
I’ve but one line to cast.

I’ve made a better day,
I’ve found a better way
That makes my world today
A better, better day!

Alexandria, my darling,
won't you be my sunshine starling?
Won't you dance with me in the light,
and kiss me sweetly in the night?

Tell me you'll be my sweetest love,
and send my heart up stars above.
I know it's soon, and we are young,
and that it might not be true love.

But what I feel, I know is real,
and no more can this I conceal.
I care for you, I long for you,
my spirits soar when you pass through.

I say dumb things to see you smile,
I watch in awe as you ooze style.
Your fae charms have bewitched me so,
oh, how I wish, you'd be my beau.

Born of the salty, watery brine,
born of the rising, rapid tide,
she of the romantic river Rhine,
she, the loving ocean's bride.

Alexandria, Queen of the Sea,
her hair like waves upon the coast,
her eyes, cerulean, looking at me.
her smile, inviting me from my post.

Her attire, alluring and appealing,
perfectly provides a picture picturesque,
of the sunlight striking the ocean ceiling.
My head spinning, my thoughts yet coalesce.

I am striding toward that distant shore,
eager to meet my aquatic queen,
to find and hold the dewy hand of lore,
that figure of myth, my dear undine.

Soon I spot the sign of my sweet
her soulful voice singing that sonorous song.
At my arrival, she turns her head to greet,
and I, in turn, gladly return the greeting along.

Her briney hand then reaches for mine,
and I hold it out past the quiet water,
fingers stretching past the gentle coastline.
My hand is ripped down to slaughter.

Anger is power,
and don't let them
tell you otherwise.

Anger is action,
allowing you to
to advance onward.

Anger is change,
the force that
moves the world.

Anger is effective,
as long as you
don't let it control.

Anger is a pill,
helpful in doses,
yet easily abused.

Anger is pain,
when it lashes out
recklessly and wild

Anger is natural
and not to be feared,
when you take the wheel.

I am becoming something more,
something better than I was before.
I am ascending above, to a place
few have ever happened to reach.

The me that once you knew
is no longer the me that is
here now. He is here to stay
forever, and ever, and evermore.

I had to **** the coward I used to be,
so that I could ascend and become
the man you see before you now.
Had to rip that ******* in two.

You may want to turn and run,
since you fear what you can't understand,
but my words are true when I tell you
that the me that I am now is the best me.

The me of days past was fraught with fear,
and let the world at large push him around,
This brand new, shiny me that you now see
is a person who's not afraid to proudly be.

Now I am loud, and I am proud,
not afraid to push back when pushed,
not afraid to yell and scream at those
who dare to stand in my way

You can call me scary and scream,
you can call me strange and walk away,
but realize that this me is something higher,
a being that has found the means to ascension.

My girl's name is Susan,
she's sweet yet sassy,
she's fun but classy,
smart, ****, never apart,
for 5 long, strong years.
She's a paralegal,
with a pair of legs,
that go on for days.
Bragging isn't my nature,
but I won't lie either.

Tie the knot, not yet,
though the talk has come up,
but we always push it back,
that's a game we don't play.
We've been happy as hell,
always smiling wide,
through the good and bad,
but lately, I think that
things are getting stale.

Like the air in a musty room,
where the AC's been off
and the doors were shut.
Where no one's come in
for years if not more.

It hits you when you step in,
and that's what I'm feeling
like we've met our due date,
like we're past our expiration,
moldy, rotten, and pungent,
a train past its destination.

I don't know what words I ought to say,
I don't know if she's feeling the same way,
or if it's just me, and that's what kills me.
I don't wish to break her heart,
but I think we need to be us, apart.

And you know it isn't her fault,
she's been greater than great,
helped me find myself along the path,
helped me figure who I am,
and she's loved me fully and truly.

It's probably just me being a *****,
never was I one to be content,
needing something new and flashy,
to replace the old and weary.
I want to say this is different, somehow,
but I'd be lying if I said I really know.

Messing up a good thing would be foolish,
cause I know we still have fun when we're out,
and I still care deep down about her.
Idiots always say 'let's be friends', when this happens,
but I really don't want us to lose what we had.

But lying to myself is prolonging the pain,
when our hands clasp, I just don't feel it.
I can't feel something that's just not there.
The gods above couldn't tell how or why,
but whatever once was is there no more.

So one way if not the other,
I'll have to figure out how I'll do this,
even if it pains her bad, like it might,
honesty is always the best, so they say.
I guess I'll see for myself the truth.

She's a shining star, this I know,
but I know I got to let her go.
So she can be the light of
someone else's night-sky.

I breathe artistic
the air acts as my paintbrush,
my lungs, the canvas.

Don't believe her candy-coated lies, and
don't fall for the girl with candy apple eyes.

Her face is so sweet,
but her heart is sour
Good enough to eat,
Make a man dour.

She'll lick them full lips,
and charm you like that.
She'll shake them wide hips.
while you watch her strut.

Don't believe her candy-coated lies, and
don't fall for the girl with candy apple eyes.

You think she's tasty,
and you're 'bout to score.
But don't get hasty,
or you won't see more.

She'll leave you breathless,
and begging for more.
But you'll be sexless,
your face on the floor.

So don't believe her candy-coated lies, and
don't you dare fall for the girl with candy apple eyes.

Can't connect,
faces look strange,
out of place,
out of time.

Without rhyme,
no reason,
like tall walls,
between us.

These feelings,
so bizarre,
life so far,
can't connect.

They say good fences make good neighbors,
but the best fences are often our labors.

Those things which pull and keep up apart,
our fears and insecurities preventing a start.

Choices are important.

The things we do,
the words we speak,
the thoughts we think,
they each define us.

But one bit to consider,
as our choices shape us,
at what point are we
the ones in control?

We like to think we
are free to do whatever
our hearts desire, that
we could scream to the
heavens above, just
because it was our life
and we could live it
however we pleased.

But is that really true?

Or is our idea of freedom
just another form of control?
Rarely do people genuinely
do things outside their
normal, every-day routine.

They get up, they eat,
they wash, they go to work,
they work, they go home,
they sleep, so the circle spins.

Even when they get time
to be on their own, what
do they do? They eat,
they drink, they dance,
they watch their tv,
they follow their routine.

The choices they made,
those things that seemed
so slight back in their early years
proved to be fundamental in
deciding who and what they'd be
at this current spot in time.

We all make choices,
but in the end, our choices make us.

Rotting men walking rotted streets,
as rotten scents choke the pungent air.
Their tired, weary, restless feet
pound the agitated concrete,
which is as worn and weary
as the people who so rudely
stomp its grayed features.

They make their way to their jobs,
their means of survival, the place
where much like zoos and reserves,
they are poked and prodded, pestered,
and provoked by smiling, grinning men
who are above them on the evolutionary
totem pole that we call the rat race.

So they laugh off the abuse labeled as 'jokes',
they suffer and endure countless injustices
from their fellow animals and their zookeepers,
all so that they continue to earn their measly peanuts,
all in hopes that they can save their nuts,
and maybe buy something that will
give their own existence some new meaning.

A new car, a new TV, a new bit of restless noise,
new white static that will fill the void of
emptiness that they all suffer inside,
and then when the new becomes old,
the process starts anew with another
new trinket or new toy to make more noise.

And so they return home from their misery-laded
job, to a home of misery where their wife
chides them and chastises as a way to
vent her own frustrations at her own personal zoo
where she was poked and prodded and made
to question her own self-worth, her own happiness.

She yells at them for forgetting to put the clothes
in the dryer, although she had clearly said the night
before that she would take care of it and then
she fusses at them for forgetting to put his cup up
even though they were JUST getting ready
to throw it in the dishwasher if she would just
give them a minute to finish their sandwich.

It takes all their strength to not just scream
right back and give her something worth
yelling over, but as their teeth clench,
and their eye twitches, they simply nod
and yes dear until she is satisfied, and leaves
them to go work on their sudoko after-dinner.

With the dishes put up, the clothes in the dryer,
as they are sure to not make the same mistake
twice, their children approach them, begging for
attention and affection, and while they can't blame them,
right now they just want to take a minute to relax
and not hear any more voices of any kind.

But as the child raises their voice to scream,
they wave them off and give them what they wish
for hours, until they tire themselves, and mercifully,
most mercifully, they can be put to bed and put
out of mind for the rest of the night.

The midnight hour fast approaches,
and so they resolve to enjoy the last few hours
of their night, but right as they prepare to
enjoy the newest episode of the newest tv shows,
their smartphones bleats its high-pitched ring.

Its their zookeeper, asking if they can come
into work tomorrow early, even though its the weekend,
and they were promised to get the weekend off,
for the fifth time in as many weeks, but they REALLY
need them to come in and help the cause.

They want to scream, they want to shout,
but they know they can't refuse, because
the first time they dare to, they will be treated
like even worse dirt on shoe if not outright
replaced by a more willing circus animal.

So, through a forced grin,
that can be heard over the phone,
they accept and thank their keeper
for giving them the opportunity
to work once more, and as they hang up,
their wife asks who it was calling at this long hour

They explain it was just their work,
wanting them to come in again, which
makes the wife mad, as she yells at him
for not spending enough time with her
and the kids and why can't he just say no
every once in a while, it's not like they'll
fire him for not showing up one time.

The wife doesn't understand that
his job is what funds her spending,
her lifestyle, their lifestyle, for that matter,
in spite of their best attempts to explain,
and so they fight, and fight, into the night,
until they just decide to give it up, and go to sleep.

The sun rises, and they get up, and
eat their eggs, and put their cup up, and
get dressed, and get ready for one more day
at work hoping that at least sunday will be a free day,
but they have an odd sick feeling in their stomach
that they'll be called in once more early in the morning,
and be forced to make that same rotten walk
to their same rotten old miserable job.

Clouds up high in the skies
floating, flying far above us,
like stars for our watching eyes
to dissect and to discuss.

Whether puffy or wispy,
whether eggwhite or gloom-grey,
whether full or misty,
clouds always seem to stay.

Even with a clear sky blue,
there can be found a cloud.
If not one, then maybe two,
floating on high so proud.

What is up there so high,
waiting or perhaps watching
we humans do they spy?
What could be stalking?

Is there a man of the stars,
resting on his fluffy pillow,
a man who came from Mars,
with a beard of smoke-billow?

Or perhaps a race of ancients,
from a long-forgotten age,
who possess great patience,
waiting for a war to wage?

Or maybe so far beyond,
there rests a city of gold,
that wonders where we've gone
and awaits our return foretold.

These thoughts of mine,
do keep my mind thinking
as I enjoy the sun's shine.
and the clouds, like ships sinking.

I’m not the kind of nasty guy
Who’d leave a nice girl high and dry.
When you need me most, I’ll be there,
With handy handkerchief in hand.

That’s right, I’m really pretty cool.
I always enunciate and rarely drool.
Though I guess my pillow’d beg to differ.
Unless you drool a lot, or suffer from liver quivers.
I’m certainly not the kind of who’d judge someone’s oral secretions.

All I know is that I like you lots,
Even more than tater-tots,
And that really does say a lot.
Trust me, I really like tots.
Would you like some tater-tots?
I do happen to have quite a lot.

Silly me, all this talk of tot and tater
Makes me realize the night is growing later.
Mother Moon really is a big hater.
Was that just a lazy rhyme for later?
It’s hard to say, but hey, did you like the cater-
Ing? I know it was mostly taters, but you know…
Potatoes are known for their versa-tater-ility.

Ah! What I meant to say is you look quite pretty.
From your eyes to your toes, I’d say… hit me!
Not that I’m into that sort of thing, no, not me.
Only you’re cool with it? Then sure… slap me
Around a little! Here’s my head on a tee.
I should apologize, my self-deprecating tendencies seem to be kicking in roughly again tonight.
And golly! That last line was long.
I seem to be getting this all wrong.

All I mean to say is that I’d like to kiss your face
But only if you’re cool with it. I’m not one
To take advantage of a girl, or tell her her place.
Trust me, I had a sister who put me in my place
Like A-LOT! Ha! No… no sisters actually. I still know my place.
Just please don’t hit me in the face.
Unless you’d really like to, I guess. Wait, no, that’s weird to say.
Just give me a moment to compose my thoughts and say
What I really want to say to you today, or er, tonight, really.

…I love you. There I said it!
No need to regret it!
Wait, please don’t walk away!
I really do mean what I say!

Won't you be my crazy lady,
and won't you be my crazy baby?
Tell me that you'll rock my world,
and I'll be your lover evermore.

When I see you walking around,
I can't help but gawk in awe.
Your long hair, your soft skin,
and the way you look at night,
it sends me into such delight.

You dance the night away,
and I watch the way you sway.
I see how your body moves,
and I can't help but be in tune.

In a moment, I was hooked
like a fish on a line, out of time.
I stepped to you, asking your name,
trying to get to know you good.

You didn't say a word, but flashed a smile,
and winked and took my hand,
as we searched the Motherland.

Before I knew it, you were taking me
to all kinds of new and crazy places,
and meeting all kinds of strange faces,
but through it all, I bared through
cause I knew that I had you.

I did shots off a woman named Rita,
and shared a line with a girl named Kita,
took some pills with a lady named Lita,
and through it all, I never thought to learn your name.

Cause you were my crazy lady,
and soon, you'll be my crazy baby.

What a crime it is that a man ought to die.
That our feeble lives, like calendar marks,
pass by so quickly and without warning.
What is 70-80, 90 if you're lucky, years
really worth in the big picture?

What can a man amount to honestly
when as soon as he breathes, he dies?
He can do a lot and achieve much, sure,
but imagine what more could be done,
what could be made, with just a
few centuries more time to play with.

Imagine the discoveries we could find,
the secrets of time and space unraveled,
the elixirs of health that could destroy disease,
and everything else on earth that could
be made better if we only had the time.

Imagine the weight off our shoulders lifted,
when no longer must we fear the Eternal Footman,
no longer must we fear the passing of the seasons,
or the changing of the times, or even the start
of a new day, as we would all be there together.

People could live fully and happily,
knowing they had all the time in the world,
and no sick, twisted date with Death
awaiting them on the gilded horizon.

As it is now, time passes us by,
before we know it, and in the dust,
we pathetic humans are left.
In the scheme of the grand design,
a life is just a few puny particles,
of a few tiny granules of sifting sand
in a cosmic sandbox.

For humanity to truly continue its noble path,
we must find the secret code to stop aging,
to make our cells replicate anew forever,
or at least, for a few more centuries,
so that our destiny can be achieved,
to make a world truly terrific.

A world of youth, a world of beauty,
A world of truth, a world of joy.

The night was long and the sky was pitch-black.
A long day of work for me had ended.
I found myself walking the long road back.
Had I known what cruel, sick fate portended,
I would have stayed at home that dark, drab day.

The trees surrounded the road on each side,
Making it hard to note even your hand.
The gloomy trees did make the path not wide.
Still I trod, waiting for familiar land.
In the distance, creatures began to stir.

Knowing no better, I continued on.
Even as my neck-skin began to shake,
I knew I just had to make it home, soon.
When I could begin to feel the ground quake,
My uneasy walk became a swift pace.  

Vibrations of the hard earth were no joke.
And as I hurried, my ears heard faint noise.
A rustling of a nearby bush, I bespoke.
Just the wind, I thought, to maintain my poise.
But I could sense something unbecoming.

As the strong tremors of the dirt endured,
I lost my footing, and fell right over.
Cuts and scrapes made my vision obscured.
But which saw sight which made me seek cover.
A sight of a rotting, wretched, ripe corpse!

I recoiled roughly rearward, in great shock.
Never had I seen such a stark, grim sight.
Looking, it seemed death by self-caused Glock.
As best I could see by what little light.
Panicked, I found myself dashing away.

With scarce thought or mind to which direction,
My legs ran as fast as they could dare fare,
Though my mind didn’t make the connection,
That I could walk into something’s vile lair.
I had to forget that which I had seen.

My mind did not awaken till I was,  
In a darkened, moistened, and chilled cave.
Having composure anew, I felt fuzz,
As I considered if it would be safe,
The slight static popping in my ears stayed.

For whatever reason, I did not leave.
It was cold, wet, and pouring down outside.
And I still needed a moment to grieve
That poor, lonely soul still lying outside.
All the while as I stood, the static stayed.

Feeling piqued, and on edge, I explored it.
The cold cave seemed abandoned and alone.
I could see little, due to dark unlit.
But my ears did pick up a strange, low groan.
Mixing with the ringing, rattling static.

I was most disturbed, yet I could not stop.
Something greater compelled me to walk on.
The next noise I did hear was a loud pop.
Like the sick dislocation of a bone.
Inwardly, I noted the static sound.

After much traversing, I reached the end.
My heart was beating a drum in my chest.
I knew I had myself with which to fend.
As the static in my ears would attest.
It had reached a fevered, maddening pitch.

What I saw defied imagination.
Obtuse, abstract, yet horrifying sights!
Creatures of inhuman shape and proportion!
Their only clear feature, eyes gleaming bright,  
As they lurched and shook, as if in a dance.

Screaming wildly, I ran from that foul place.
Feeling the static cling onto my face.

Dear god,
Your pain, it burns
Your scorn, it tears
Your hate, it rips

And yet they call it
Your LOVE.

Dear god,
Answer me this.
Would a true god slaughter
Children just to make a point?
I've seen your 'love', and it's just
HATE dressed up in the brightest blues,
The boldest reds, the finest greens, the sunniest yellows.
I'm not fooled, I see your heart, a dark BLACK!

Dear god,
This is my address to you, old friend.
No longer do we need you, this is the end.
There is true knowledge, a flame of light
Burning with reason and logic, a fire bright!
We call it science, but you can call it your deathbed.
Your rule by fear reign will soon be overcome.
A rule of peace and love will be what we won.

Dear god,
I hope you are ready.
Be not proud, god, for today,
Thou shalt die!

Dear, I fear the end is near,
and I can't seem to recall.
Can you remind me how
we came to be, and
what will come when we
are done?

Dear, I fear I lost my name,
somewhere along the way.
and in my pocket, lies a
picture of a woman I don't know.
Of a scene from a play
that feels so far away.

Dear, I fear the world is fading,
from my memory, but I still
hear the sound of laughter
floating through the trees,
like a whisper to the wind.

Dear, I fear I'm not myself,
and to that, I'm sorry to have
let you down. I know that
I loved you once, when
I knew who you were.

these demons they haunting me,
they ******* won't stop bugging me,
they screaming in my ear, 'do it now'.
won't leave me alone, won't leave me alone,
why won't everyone just leave me the **** alone?

****, what am I saying? Am I ******* stupid?
I don't wanna be alone, this loneliness drives me mad,
but I push them away, pushing people away,
cause why? Cause I'm angry, cause I'm mad?
What the **** does it matter, why do I care?
Why am I this way, so weird and insecure?
When I look in that mirror, and I see that
face looking back at me, I just want to *******
grab it and slit its ******* throat.
Why am I so ugly? I don't ******* know.

these demons they haunting me,
they keep on stalking me, day and night,
they keep on leading me astray, oh,
won't I ever find my way back to where I was.
They won't let me alone, can't you feel my plight?
why do they do these things to me, why won't
they just leave me alone?

Demons, are they real, the **** should I know?
they may just be something sick like my head,
something dark and twisted brought to life,
by these worries and these fears that I made up my mind.
whether they be real or just ******* fake,
I know they make me wanna curl up and die.

these demons they haunting me,
in my dreams, they stopping me,
won't let me be, won't leave me alone,
won't let me be the person I know I can be,
won't let me be free to be what I know I can be.

And when I set my mind to racing,
I can feel my arteries thumping, and my heart pacing.
I'm gonna need a ******* pacemaker, at this rate,
cause all these fears and these worries going to build,
and one of these days, I'm gonna ******* blow,
all over everything and everyone, and y'all
be left to pick up the pieces of my broken soul.

these demons they haunting me,
I can hear those ******* laughing now,
at me and my self-conscious bull-****,
knowing that all this is just another ego-stroke
as I feel sorry for myself and wait to be comforted
by those people that want to call me their friends,
but really, I just seem them as means to ends.

Call me corrupt, or just call me a ****,
but I know that machiavellian ****,
my means are always justified by my ends,
know that I'm always right, even when I know
that I'm wrong, I keep on fighting like it's a war,
and I'm the ******* 5-star general,
that earth-rattling, world shaker who
the universe rightly revolves around
I ain't no Prince, I'm the ******* King!

these demons they haunting me,
they egging me on, telling me I'm right,
even when I'm wronger than wrong.
I know it's wrong, but it feels so good,
and I can't find it in me to argue
when the promise of righteousness feels so good.

And so I keep on playing the game,
arguing and fighting over petty ****,
desperate to prove my point like it matters,
feeling that high when I prove someone wrong,
it fills me, it thrills me, it's like a spine-chiller.
It's a ******* drug and you, the dealer,
but the way I'm feeling, like a high-wheeler.
I won't complain or say things should be different.

these demons they haunting me,
I can hear their ***** singing along,
I can hear their voices ringing real soft,
it sounds so sweet, but I got this feeling
deep down that maybe it ain't as good
as it sounds and there's something deeper lurking.

All it takes is one word alone, and I'm
shattered like broken glass, like I just got
put out on my fat ***. Cause I know I'm
fat and ******* ugly, you don't got to remind me,
mirror, I'd rather hide the truth.
And just like that the circle is running again,
like it's done time and time again.
A cycle of loathing, then a cycle of loving,
then a cycle of loathing, a cycle of loving.

these demons they haunting me,
not even caring that I'm onto them,
and those games they play, they just
keep on grinning, keep on sinning,
these jackals, they wanna bleed me dry,
they wanna consume, wanna swallow my soul,
like an anaconda, they wanna swallow me whole
why won't they just leave me alone,
so I can find some kind of inner peace?

Instead I just keep on rolling on that
hill like I was Sisyphus, and my ego's
the boulder, and every time I push it up,
I know it's gonna come down even stronger
It's like I gotta just deal with the fact
that when I'm happy, the sadness'll
strike about 10 times harder than it ought to,
like it was giving me a special '*******'.

these demons they haunting me,
I think they ******* hate me, but
who can really blame them? I hate
me too, and the ******* I can be,
the ******* I can be, the ***** I can be
when I let my jealousy get the best of me,
treating my friends like they out to get me,
Sometimes when I think back on how I act,
I just want to kick my own *** just to teach
me a lesson.

I try to be good, and decent, and think good,
and think decent, but I can't find it in me
to feel that heart beat-beating for me,
I just look in the mirror and I hate what I see,
I hate what's there, and knowing I'm stuck where I am.
Why I gotta be me? Why can't I be you, or someone
new or someone better? Or just a person who I know
is better than me? Smarter than me, nicer than me?
Kinder than me, prettier than me?
Why I gotta be stuck in this ugly *** ******* shell?

these demons they haunting me,
they taunting me like *******,
I don't know if it's in my head,
my mind playing those tricks on me,
or if they're really there to steal my soul,
but I know they keep tripping me either way,
I think I hate them more than I hate me,
and that's something to be said since I despise me.
They test me, they trick me, they want to end me,
and all I want is for them to get off my throne.
My throne of **** and wallowed pride, that's all mine,
for better or worse, I still want to claim it as mine.
Everyone keeps on testing me lately, human contact,
and I just want to be left the **** alone.
Can't everyone just leave me the **** alone?

Demons, who the hell am I kidding?
Satan himself knows I'm full of ****,
I'm just using them as an excuse to justify,
the kind of guy I am deep down, and to victimize
myself so I can throw out a line for sympathy,
and get that ego-stroke needed to get back in line,
and start that same wicked cycle back again,
hell, that's what all this is, just another me whining,
and complaining before I get high on me again,
at least that's what I say to myself to feel like I win

When you’re watching your TV,
And you see people in snappy suits,
Screeching about right and wrong,
Yelling how they will fix it all,
Doubt half of what you see,
And of what you hear, all.

‘Cause people like that, you know,
Can’t be trusted to lead a horse
To water, nor lead you and me.
Their words sound so nice and true,
But look in their eyes, my friend,
And see what really lies through.

Greed, avarice, and malice together,
Form the heart of people like them.
Demons in disguise, they are,
Monsters we gave human form.
Let’s not let these beasts of our burden
Become our new and stated norm.

And trust me well on this, folks.
For I’ve walked among the beasts.
And I know better than to trust them.
But let me say this, just to be sure.
You can definitely trust a man like me.
Of my honorable deeds, I needn’t assure.

Ah, this snappy suit of mine, you ask?
Well, don’t you worry none at all, pal,
Because I’m a guy you can trust your life to,  
A good, honest fella who you can depend on.
I’ll hold up them traditional values dear,
I’ll lead us all, you’ll see once I’ve won.

I find myself rotting away,
into something different,
something stranger still,
something worse than,
what I once was.
I am descending into
a deep, dark depth,
and I don't know,
if I can find my way
back to the surface,
or if I even want to.

You silly guy, you little man,
you don't gotta play the clown,
don't gotta dance their dance,
or do tricks to act like you're cool.

All you doing is playing their fool,
when will you think for yourself?
When you will realize you're best off
being yourself completely, with no fear.

I know it's scary being in this world,
and when you're on your own, it's
even scarier. But you don't need them
to feel safe and secure in yourself.

You don't gotta lie to impress me, man.
I know you're great just the way you are,
I know you're smarter, funnier, kinder
than they're ever going to be.

Your potential is limitless, relentless,
when will you realize this. man,
that those blood-suckers just gonna ****
you dry, and leave you when they bored.

You don't gotta be their puppet,
don't gotta let them pull your strings,
or tell you what to do and think,
they got you by a rope leading you on.

You're a hell of a guy, this I know,
but this I don't think you really know,
maybe that's why you let them treat you
like some kind of children's toy to amuse.

And yeah, I know. I'm telling you
what to think in a way, too, and you
don't gotta listen to me. But know,
that I do want what's best for you.

Deep down, I really care about you,
and want to see you happy and free,
not needing they approval to give you peace.
Not needing to falsify just to fit in.

You can do best just by doing you,
cause the you I see when you're happy,
and not around those soul-suckers
is the best you I ever did know.

When I lay me down to sleep,
And I try to close my eyes,
And escape to another land,
And yet find myself still awake,
I find myself wondering this one thing.

What is real and what is dream?
What is truth and what is fiction?
What is genuine and what is false?
What makes a dream a dream and reality real?

I can count the many times in my dreams,
When they seemed so real, so very true.
Speaking to family, watching things that could be.
The sensations spoke to me of truth.

Yet once I woke, I could not recall, not at all.
Hardly the faintest remembrance of what I saw.
What I heard, and what I felt, no, not at all.
And many times, I dismissed it at that.

But on those uncertain nights where sleep eludes me,
I look back on those ‘dreams’, and ponder, ponder.
Who can say if those feelings, which seemed so real,
Were, indeed, just a dream, vague remembrances, nothing more.

Could it be so that the land of dreams is the one true reality?
And that our day-to-day lives are the real falsehoods?
And through our ‘dreams’, the only escape into the real world is found.
And yet cursed we are to only see it when we go to sleep.

Then again, perhaps I am merely suggesting lunacy.
And our day to day world is as we know it, real.
And dreams are just pieces of memory glued together.
When one cannot sleep, the mind will wander, wander.

Of this I cannot say what is real and what is dream.
Or what is truth and what is fiction.
All I can truly do is think and wonder.
If reality is not real, but just another dream we are making.

Man of the people
Stands on his steeple.

Spewing only lies
That the public buys.

He speaks of the truth
To bolster his booth.

"Join me, my fellows!"
Does his voice bellow.

A voice of honey,
He's made of money.

Sickeningly sweet.
Yet none have him beat.

A fake smile does hide
That which lie inside.

His heart is all dark.
He bears the true mark.

One alone must rise.
Render truth from lie.

I shall take the task.
Make him shed his mask.

And so, I shall stand
With rifle in hand.

Shall aim as I must,
To do what is just.

Tonight, o', tonight.
The dust shall he bite.

A simple man named Emory Lee,
walked through the streets of Tuskegee.

With a small sack on his back,
and a big stick to go thwack!

Emory Lee, oh Emory Lee,
he's the pride of Tuskegee!

With a sweet smile on his face,
although he does lack grace.

He makes it up with lots of *****,
and a life more fit for a monk.

Emory Lee, oh Emory Lee,
he's the pride of Tuskegee!

A simple mind and a simple kind,
makes for a man worth a find.

Look past his ragged attire,
and you'll see a man to admire.

Emory Lee, oh Emory Lee,
he's the pride of Tuskegee!

O', my grace, my Empress of the Sun.
Your beauty, your glamour, it burns me deep.
Do not tell me that we are to be done.
Do you wish to watch this wretched wretch weep?

After all that I, your darling, went through,
will you truly toss our love to the side?
After the world which I moved all for you,
will you slice and then slight my justly pride?

I implore you to hence reconsider,
if you realize what is best for your head.
Do not make me a sick, sinful sinner,
if you do wish to not thence become dead.

Please, I beg of you, just be mine alone,
and let me rest upon your flaming throne.

Everyone in the world today,
has a place, has a role to play.
In this turning world of ours,
everything's in its place proper.

Everyone has got a role to fill,
everyone and everything, in
every possible way has a part,
in the great act called Life.

From the humble farmer,
to the noble doctor,
they all do their job
to make our world turn.

The teacher who teaches,
the judge who judges,
the butcher who butchers,
the plumber who plumbs.

From the sweat of their brow,
our orb is able to function,
From the toil of their labor,
our earth runs like a machine.

If just one person
couldn't find their way,
then all around us,
would soon fall into disarray.

Everything in its place proper
makes for a world stable.
Just one thing out of place,
and the whole thing is ruined.

Like a stack of playing cards
or a tall, towering stack of blocks,
it requires perfect, precise placement
for premium optimization.

Consider the burning sun,
and the frozen moon.
Just inches difference apart
could not support us at all.

Or the very force of gravity,
that keeps our feet grounded.
Were it too strong or too weak,
our world would be flattened.

From the atoms that make us,
to the planets that hold us,
to the people that shape us,
to the decisions that change us.

So when you begin to wonder
if you'll ever find your place,
just remember this one fact
Everything is in its place proper

Everything passes,
from kidney stones
to the worst heartache
for better or worse,
like a gift or curse,
everything passes.

So when you're down and out,
feeling like nobody's got you,
remember that it won't last,
those sweet times'll come back,
just because everything passes.

And you'll be back on the path true,
where you know you rightly belong,
like nothing had ever gone wrong,
like you were silly to even complain,
because everything passes.

Everything passes from taxes
to relaxation, from weight loss
to exhaustion, from parties to pain,
from loss to a gain, it all goes on,
and everything passes.

Even when you're feeling great,
and like you know you ought to,
life follows that great circle,
and you're bound to feel that pain,
but it's okay and you'll be on that train again,
because everything passes.

Life is a cycle of joy and anguish,
that's just the way the game is played,
The question remains, all the same,
will you let it play you, or are you
going to be the one holding them controls?

Everything passes, including all us,
but when life has made that call,
will you have savored every morsel,
like the finest dish in a five course meal?
Or will you have been someone who
let it all happen listlessly, while you
sat and worried restlessly?

One must make the most of their time here,
when they're young and thriving high,
when they can truly take things in their two hands,
so that they can say it loud, and say it proud,
when the movie theater closes for the last show,
everything passes, and from that, I made the most.

The air is chilly,
the wild wind blows wistfully,
wondering where you went.

I walked through the forest of lies,
on my own, barefoot, and bare-skin,
like I didn't know what was where and when.
Picking up things I didn't understand,
like truffles of gold or relics in the sands.
I threw them away, I tossed them aside,
like they didn't belong to me beside.

Searching for a place that I could stand,
I walked for an age through every land,
through a river of deceit, and a wood of worry,
trying to find something that had been buried,
deep inside the treasure map of me,
but no matter I looked, I couldn't find the key.

So I packed up my things and I walked on,
like a wayward vagabond you made gone.
With each passing turn and changing season,
my back would ache and my stomach would shake,
so I knew the clock was getting ready to strike,
and I didn't need to be told to take a hike.

Something about free feels so alluring,
having no cares sounds so tempting,
but when you don't have a thing to stand for,
you find yourself searching evermore.

I will forget you not,
for you are what
breathed into me
a life alight anew.

You took me in,
and helped me up,
when I was falling
down, down, down.

You showed me what
it meant to be alive again,
to feel my heart-drum beat,
and to believe again.

I loved you then,
and I think I still do.
But I understood
your heart's reluctance,
and still do now.

I never considered
you had darkness in you
things that held you back,
and pushed you down.

You seemed like angel-light,
something sent from above,
meant to be my sun,
but you were just human.

Just a flesh-made person,
in ways just like me.
I never saw that then,
but now, it makes me
feel for you even more.

So I'll wait till you're
ready to hope again,
ready to believe in me,
the way I believe in you,
the way you made me believe
in myself.

And if you won't be ready ever,
then that's okay too.
For I will never forgot
what for me, did you.

I'm a free man,
not your little toy.
I won't do your
stupid dance,
not any more.

They want to buy
and sell me by
the pound, but
my body's not
for sale.

I'm more than
just meat and
bones, I've a mind
and a soul, you
can't control.

You won't put
a tag on me,
or brand me as
product on
display.

I am free to be,
all that was meant
for me, with no fear
of falling apart,
keeping me down.

This one is for all those people in life,
who deal with those who give them crap.
Those special, special souls truly deserve
a song of sorts composed just for them.

A song of disdain, a song to complain,
about every ****, clod, and bully one
will ever meet in this thing called life.
This one is for the scalliwags.

We all got someone like that to deal with,
someone who hates on every thing you do,
from the way you look, to the way you comb
your hair, and the way you walk, the way you talk,
and everything in between just because you're you.

It ain't right, and it ain't fair that you gotta deal
with fools like that but it's just one of those facts
when you're playing the game. When you out there
stylin' and profilin', there's bound to be people
jealous and mad because they ain't you.

Allow me to provide a most germane example,
I once knew a fellow named Michael
who used to bug me every single day
in every imaginable petty way.

Dude would always have something smart
to say, like he was some kind of stand-up.
It ****** me off the way he hung around like VD,
and smelled worse than a rotten roach.
I always wondered what the hell I did
that made him despise me so strongly.

But one day, a friend of his filled me in,
Mikey was jealous of my name, my game,
the fact I was so happy and successful,
from crown to sole, I was good as gold.
While he couldn't get a date if he had
a calendar or hold a job if he glued it to
his hands. So the fact that I was me
was enough to make him wanna hate me.

It was pitiable in one way, knowing
he was so down on his luck, and so
pathetic. But, deep down, I couldn't
help but wanna laugh at the clown.
Tears of a clown, they say, but
this time, they were my tears rolling.

One day, I told him thusly,
my man, I used to find you abhorring,
but now I just find you a-boring.
Leave me alone, and try to make
some friends. Maybe you won't be
so empty inside then, my friend.

Now that really got the ***** going,
he was like a little teapot, ready to blow,
he screamed and he cussed, and I just
kept on grinning, showing my pearly whites.
Then he took a swing at somebody,
and then I knocked his *** out clean,
and walked away, feeling that sheen.

So, my good man, commit that to memory.
Haters hate because they hate their lives,
and deep down, they hate themselves.
Don't let their bitter spite affect you,
just waltz on by them, doing you,
and that'll be the best pain of all.

It's hard to love,
hard to trust,
hard to open up,
hard to stay true.

To love is to say, "I give of myself fully",
the good and the bad, the mad and the sad,
the peaks and cliffs, and the valleys and nadirs,
all of that, and more. It says, "I trust you,
and believe you can take it all without judging".

It's like writing down all of you into a book,
and giving it to someone for them to read.
It's not something you would give to anyone,
so imagine that as the gift of your love.

It's opening yourself to pain and rejection,
and wishing and hoping that you won't be let
down, even when it's happened again and again.
It takes more courage than the bravest knight,
to confess your feelings to someone you love.

It's easier to just keep your feelings sealed,
never to tell your honest heart's message,
for fear of feeling failure yet again.
Or easier still to harden your heart's armor,
so that you can never love and never be hurt.

But, please, don't. To love and to be loved
is the most wonderful feeling in all the world,
this I can say to be true. If ever you find,
a lover you love true, then please confess.
Let them know, and don't waste time worrying,
or else they will find someone else who wasn't fearful.

Such was my fate, and so I stay here, sorrowful.
A knight of resignation who couldn't court his princess.

A warm spring afternoon,
crimson roses in bloom.
Forest-green trees,
and a slight, slight breeze.

Upon a stump, I do sit.
behold do I the birds a-flit.
Oranges, blacks, and yellow,
the joy of a coming mellow.

Sounds ring a-many,
as noises make a-plenty
The buzz of brash bees,
the wind through the trees,

The colors and sounds,
the heat and mounds.
The earth, the sky, and me,
the feeling fills with me, glee.

What I'd give to feel
something human or real,
like a lover's kiss, or
a spring's summer shine.
To feel the breeze on my
face or a warm embrace
would be greater than any
show of strength or fleet of foot

But I can't feel a thing,
my skin is like a wall,
keeping me from feeling
bullets as well as love.
Heat, cold, snow or rain,
it's all foreign to me.

All I can feel, deep down,
is the pain inside, cringing
and scrounging in my body,
wounds from a battle I can't
ever forget, or ever throw away.

All the power in this world,
that can shield me from outer harm,
or external damage like bullets or bombs
can't fix the twisted organs
or torn, bleeding muscles
that always throb and burn
with blistering, ceaseless pain.

It's a pain I can't dismiss or deny,
but I'd do it again in a minute,
for that's what a hero does,
fighting for good, ignoring the pain.

What would I be if I gave up,
just because I ached every time
I woke up or turned my neck?
Just a cowardly, craven chicken.

I'm a hero, for better or worse,
and though it may be my curse,
it's a burden I'll gladly bear,
so that the world can live free.

An ant becomes king,
subjects hide their heads in shame,
while the world watch on

Oh, what I'd do for a bear best friend.
He'd be big and cute and cuddly,
and friendly and huggly, and he'd cheer me
when I was sad, and make me laugh
with his big, bear belly when I was down.

I'd want a big, brown bear buddy,
who stood about 10 foot tall
and wouldn't let big, bad bullies
beat me up and make me feel sad.

We could play videogames together,
and eat lots of snacks and candy,
and I wouldn't mind when he ate
more than me. After all, he's a big bear,
who needs to fill his tummy.

He'd let me ride on his back,
and take me to all kinds of places,
like up a tree, or in a cave, but
I wouldn't be scared of bats or rats,
since he'd be there to protect me.

And I'd show him stuff too,
like my prized marble collection,
or the art I did for my class that
the teacher didn't really like, but
I know he'd love it just 'cause I made it.

He'd be nice and polite, but also
fun and cool, and just the best!
Oh, what fun it would be to
have my very own best bear buddy.

A world ruled by my hand
is a world worth knowing,
where the strong thrive,
and the weak survive.

Where people wouldn't be held back
by those who would chain them down,
for the sake of offending others.
The artist could paint whatever he wishes,
The scientist could invent the newest vaccine,
and the laborer could make a honest day's work,
without fear of the highwayman bleeding him dry.

No more regulations or restrictions,
mine would be a world without limitations,
Anyone who didn't match up wouldn't
be bought or sold, simple as that.
And if you didn't like being outshone,
well, just build a better mousetrap.

You might criticize my reign as too lax,
but people can govern themselves
more often than not, and don't need
some dark-suits to tell them how to act.

The only power I'd really give myself
is the ability to enforce the rules,
for while little government is better than big,
nothing at all is just chaos and anarchy,
and that's not a world I'd look over.

Would I let it corrupt me, though?
It's hard to really say, but I've
been always a man of noble-mind,
but of course, it could rush to my head
like a shot of blood, but you can believe
I'd do my best to be upright and honest.

To do my part and use my strength,
to take this world and rule it all,
for the better, for the best.

If Life is truth, and never a dream,
yet dreams are a part of life,
then dreams are a true illusion.

I loved you when,
you glowed like the sun,
when the skies were clear
and the clouds were puffy.
Oh, how I loved you then.

I loved you when,
your heart was open,
when your soul was pure,
and your light was shining.
Oh, how I loved you then.

I loved you when,
we were together as one,
when our hands were clasped,
and our lips were matched.
Oh, how I loved you then.

I loved you when,
you loved me too.
When our love had yet,
to fall apart like falling cards.
Oh, how I loved you then.

I loved you when,
you didn't hurt me,
when you didn't curse me,
and didn't slap my face.
Oh, how I loved you then.

It's like I'm in a cage, and
you've locked the door, and
swallowed the key whole, and
now you're laughing all the way.

For so long, you've kept me down,
not let me shine like the diamond I am.
Afraid of feeling inferior, insecure, you
chose to bring me to your level instead.

You took your wrecking ball and
tore my gilded mansion down, and
burned the ashes of my soul away, and
built your rusty, rotten cage on top.

Pathetically, pitifully, you tried to
make me and shape me like your
own piece of designer clay, something
made in your own flawed effigy.

I played along for a while, I'll admit,
but I'm done drinking your pity, and
letting you play me like a game.
Today, I plant my own flag in the ground.

I speak for thee.
I sing for thee
I scream for thee.

I am the talk of the town, the chatter of maidens
The booming of laborers, the joy of the youth.
All the voices of Man are the voices of Me. I speak for Thee
In Me, there exists all things, and in all things, exists Me.

I am the love that burns in all human, the
Desire to meet, to mark, to mate, it so primordial.
I write the songs of love, of friendship, of ardor. I sing for Thee
In Me, there exists all things, and in all things, exists me

I am the heart beating red, radiant, and real,
The pulse of a nation, the beating of the war-drum
Inflicts a beating upon Me. I scream for Thee.
In Me, there exists all things, and in all things, exists Me.

I want to see less of You, and more of Me,
And this is why I speak to Thee.

I want to be a hero,
someone good and true,
someone to spread peace,
and happiness to all.

I want to be a hero,
someone big and strong
who could right the wrongs
of this scary world.

I want to be a hero,
with all the love of
all the people in
every city and town.

I want to be a hero,
a person who could
save the innocent
from the wicked.

I want to be a hero,
admirable and noble,
someone not afraid
to give his life.

I want to be a hero,
who fights villains
and stop crimes
from happening at all.

I want to be a hero,
someone who is a
symbol for others
to admire and trust.

I want to be a hero,
because heroes
are what this world
really needs.

Step right up and feast your eyes,
On something not meant for mortal eye.
Hide your children, and your wife,
For they could faint from the fright,
And the grisly, grim sight of sights.
And allow me to give you pause.

Even in chains, this freak may bite.
So look carefully, keep on guard.
For here lies Lady Disturbia,
High Queen of the Freaks,
Duchess of Disturbing Delight,
And Princess of Putridity.

Ah, do you doubt my word?
From behind, you say she looks
Divine. Hair, like golden wheat.
A waist so slim and so trim,
And legs so long and so supple.
An image of beauty, so you say.

But don’t be fooled by our Queen,
Simply look from another angle.
See her true face, now if you dare.
See her lovely lips, and doll nose,
See from her one, lone eye,
The rain that falls, and retreat!

I know you are eager to see the sights,
the sounds and songs of fair Paris,
but trust me when I say Quebec
is just as wonderful and elegant.

I was born, and raised in that land,
learning much of all things grand,
from the peaks of Mount Royal,
to the art of Montreal Metro.

I learned of law and of order,
and to this day, I still enforce it so.
You know me as Chief of Police,
for this, I am widely renowned.

Yet, for all its glitz and grandeur,
and its modern beauty and glory,
there does exist a darker side to which
I must inform you in whole.

When you're visiting lovely Quebec,
and you're walking down Old Montreal,
keep an eye over your shoulder
for La Femme Folle du Montreal.  

She's said to creep in the alleyways
and between the old cobbled streets,
snooping for curious tourists
on whom she leaves her mark.

When she spots a sucker she likes,
she greets them with a smile of white,
and beckons them to come closer,
and that is when the mad woman strikes.

She guts the poor souls like dogs,
cutting and slicing them till they're raw.
Once she's done her deed, she leaves in them
the sign: "La Femme Folle du Montreal".

The police have yet to find a lead,
that didn't end up like her victims, dead.
For though her crimes are grisly in nature,
beyond her sign, no evidence has been had.

Little do those silly idiots know the truth,
that she lurks among them, laughing,
her position and rank protecting her.
No one would suspect the Chief herself!

Light in the Dark
This world is finite yet unceasing.
it keeps on spinning yet the
people do not. One day,
every person on this earth
breathing now will stop.

From the young to the old,
from the sick to the vibrant,
from the rich to the poor,
the End is the great equalizer.

The fear of death is something real,
the death of the self is a fright.
But the death of us all is a terror.
To think that it awaits every person
is a crisis that strikes the human heart.

To not exist in this plane
to not breathe a single breath,
to know it all will just stop one day,
is the horror of existential horrors.

Much like the pain of grief,
everyone deals differently,
but that's not what this is about.
This is a poem about you,
and one about me.

You are the light in the dark,
the truth in the lies,
and when I want to rip this
world in two and start anew,
I simply take a look at you and see.

Now, I don't know the truth,
and I don't have the answers,
but I can say that being with you
is like living forever.

I can't deny or dismiss,
this feeling of loneliness,
or the way it creeps in,
when I try to go to sleep.

Shadows on the wall,
shadows down the hall,
feels like I'm always alone,
and it's all I've ever known.

Even when I'm with friends,
I cannot seem to make amends,
with the pain that I feel inside,
no matter how hard I try to hide.

Loneliness seems to affect
me, causing a disconnect,
between my friends and me,
it's something they can't see.

Something they can't get,
not that I blame them yet,
the sadness is still there,
this is me laying it bare.

It's just too much to bear,
when it's like they don't care.
It's like I'm a man on Mars,
and they're out among the stars.

We can't connect or relate,
they're all living lives great,
while I'm struggling to keep up,
like some kind of sick keep-away.

Why did they leave me here,
Isolated, crying out in fear?
Did I deserve this horrid fate,
with all this grief on my plate?

Forced to face the masses bare,
forced to feel the crowd's stare,
it's all more than I can take,
an awful feeling I can't shake.

I never did feel more alone,
then among a crowd on my own,
Like an ant among anteaters,
a platoon of people-eaters.

I long for those long gone times,
when skies were blue,
and you were my truth,
among the lies of love lost.

The stars spoke our names,
reflections like pinpricks on the skyline.
so far away, yet somehow, in our reach.
Yet, was I just grasping at straws,
when I should have been grasping for you?

Caught up in myself was I,
like a mirror reflected to me,
never stopping to see your
hand in hand with mine.

Now this hand hangs down,
my head follows the compass,
and I am left to experience
what is it like for a star to die.

In all the worlds, in all the places.

Let it be not said,
Of me or mine that
Vaguely my heart does beat.
Everything I feel, I feel extremely.

Yes, it is true, believe it or not.
Openly shall I say, truly shall I speak.
Us is what I hope we can be.

Many things could I say of you,
Even though it wouldn’t do you justice.
Goodness is all you radiate.
And this I can utter without doubt.
Nothing can compare to my love for you.