It never saw itself as much,
             a rough coat...
  but underneath that where
             its true potential lay.

But when It looked deeper
          all it saw was conflicting layers.
    Then the unthinkable, others saw
his uses but he just cut into himself.


Tears feel as the feeling of unworthiness
             was cut away as layers fell..
but this was like every other
                     onion depressed at its worth.

but everything is special in another's eyes,
     Were all like a onion, layers of dignity.
But even though we don't see it,
      We all have a worth, were layers of an onion..

All things must come to an end;
The day, the week, the minute.
Man counts the hour alone,
He stands upon his great throne.

I have counted all these things.
I have stood as all men stood.
Everything has lost its sheen;
I have done all that I could.

I think I like how it feels;
To lose each and every thrill.
To hold on by a small thread.
I walk with death as a friend.

I swear the star-lit hours are thieves.

Deep navy our depressant
in those free hours of the night,
Principles drenched clean in burnished light.

Inhibition stolen now,
we flail a rhythmic roadside dance
an ethereal midnight trance.

Bluey blood flowers my sleeve,
Kneeling on ghostly asphalt - still.
I don’t know what I tried to ****

But blue looks red in the morning.

Why?

i don’t know why i tried,
said what i said,
or do what i do.
being with him was pointless
he doesn’t make me feel the way i should,
loved that is
it won’t matter in the end
because it’s no secret i know he feels it too,
us breaking in two
—an excerpt from the book i’ll never write
C.T.

I searched inside myself to realize
there is nothing left to find.
A heart of stone and eyes that never cry,
a confused and twisted mind.
My soul is cold and black as starless nights, never meant to shine.

I know i am just a no one born on forsaken lane.
Belonging nowhere except to the house of pain.
There is no peace within me, no compassion i can claim.
A ******* of the world is my bane.
Will someone tell me my name?
I am a man without a name.


I searched inside myself to realize...there's no one left to find.

Each day will be different,
And no feeling will ever last,
You’ll climb some mountains to the top,
And others you’ll fall down fast,
There will be days you can’t get up,
And nights where you can’t sleep,
This place called Life is where you’re at,
Where none of us asked to be,
There will be moments you fall in love,
And a broken heart will follow,
You’ll learn very quickly the meaning behind,
“We were not promised tomorrow,”
We all hate something about ourselves,
So we pick on others,
And we never stop to think about,
How one another suffers,
This place is hard to understand,
So make it up as you go,
And no one can tell you why you’re here,
Because no one really knows.

The boy stood on the top of the world
Cold dark day
Gales of reality pelted the young lad
As he shivered under the frost of the everyday
He wants to scream
But he had long lost his voice to the demons below
The winds howl
Summoning the torrents from above
And though the gods wept for the young boy
None more will shed tears of feeling
Ignoring the crimson stains on the earth
The boy’s last mark on the world
Soon washed away by the angels’ requiem
As he is slowly carried away
To his final destination
Where away from his devils
He may finally rest

Was Ebenezer Scrooge in Dickens'
Christmas Carol purely fictitious?
No, Scrooges live today,
Equally greedy, cold and ambitious.

They represent Scrooge before
He earned our admiration and saw
That human compassion came only after
His ice-cold heart had begun to thaw.

His transformation showed him his former
Cruel disregard for humanity
And let him see that miserliness
Was nothing but a heartless insanity.

Modern Scrooges fail to see
The light of compassion that brightly outshines them.
Their greed prevents them from seeing the moral
Bankruptcy that clearly defines them.

They couldn't care less about
The hard-working and struggling masses.
Their main concern is that each law
That benefits the wealthy passes.

Some of these Scrooges you will find
Working in Congress, eagerly serving
Wealthy donors who give them money
And feel as though they're more deserving.

Creating laws to make their pockets
Overflow: that's their aim.
To them the parasitical poor
Deserve bitter contempt and blame.

One wonders if these greedy misers
Find it hard to resist the temptation
Of saying, "Then why not let them die
And decrease the surplus population?"

“Aren't there workhouses?” and “Aren't there prisons?”
Are what these Scrooges appear to say.
“Concerns of the poor are not our business;
Why can’t they just go away?”

Ebenezer Scrooge was lucky:
His transformation showed him the light.
Will wealthy Scrooges running this country
Discover compassion and be less tight?

-by Bob B (12-28-17)