Oh!

How I wish I could silence
these demons in my head!

These demons pray on violence-
& I think they wish to see me dead!

(Oh!)
No!

Her kiss- is all I wish- to feel.
I would love that- a great deal.

" - we may never find ourselves joyful."

Oh, me!
Oh, my!
  "The things I would do,
   to transform to a fly
   upon the walls of your room!"
   (Everything!)

Oh, me!
Oh, my!
  "Admiring you, I flew-
   around the pillow I wished was mine:
   the one lying next to you!"
   (Oh, how I wish!)

Oh, me!
"If only I could portray, so that you knew-
  all of the beauty, within you, that I see."
Oh, my!
 "What I would give- to be your guy!"
   (Anything!)

Oh, me!
Oh, my!
  "If only I could transform to be-
   a fly: hovering above thee." 
  (Alas, it's just another pipe dream.)

Are these slander & slurs,
I seem to be hear-
ing with these two ears?
How, men, may you hold valid opinions
of me as a ***-r -
when our acquaintance
has never been near-
er than a distant planet from here? -
Weird, -
you seem so sure of your facts.
However, it seems awfully whack -
as you've never crossed the back-
of my mind! -
Suggestion, sir: --
if I may concur; -
Stop hasting over others lives!
  If you've already blown through
  seven wives.. - don't you think -
  just possibly -
  that - YOU - might
  be the issue?
Open your eyes!
Take control of your live!
& I'll continue down my own
    the way I always have.
Trust me, friend.
Once you can see,
you may even thank me.
Surely- so much more, you can be!

Gently shaken awake from my slumber,
I let out a nervous weep,
"Get your hands off me,
who are thee? Set me free!"
I slump back into my nest
as I remember that...
It is I,
with a gentle grasp
on the throat of my life.

Whilst sitting- smoking- in a lifeless cemetery,
a thought passes my mind- so momentarily:
'Soon it will be me; that's for certain, surely.'
I wonder- if I'll know the luxury of being buried
or if the wilderness will feast upon my flesh.
I wonder- if my bits and pieces will be thresh-
ed into the damp soil beneath my corpse
by little teeth and a few heavy rainstorms.
At least I will feed the despised swarms
of maggots and resource recycler's of the world.
See- what else could this body be good for?

I, drunkenly, take a load off:

falling to the floor from
cancerous, crippling coughs.

Snow blankets my body.

"Was I ever good en-off (enough)?"

I stuff my mouth
full of moss-y fungus
& within minutes
my mind leaves my body.

Snow blankets my corpse.

Cravings for poison-
not eating much else.
Too far gone for tampering.
Darkness. Avoid all the noise and-
stare at the staggering elves.
Unflattering & always scampering.
Constant metamorphosis.
Turbulent cranial fortresses.

I do a lot of internalized talking:
into late hours of the night.
so I'm bound to stumble upon,
  (Surely, I just might!)
something substantial- sometime.

How I wish: that she were enthralled-
by the idea of spending time with me.

"This petulant peasant- this, so called,
man, or boy, who dreams of thee
before and after- he go to sleep!"

So calm- were her words-
when she said, "I'm going t'wards-
that vastly distant, eastern coast."
Thoughts of her now are that of ghosts-
or- of glistening lights that catch my eyes!
Without her, I may as well lay down and die;
and it would be such an inevitable death.
For- with my very last breath
I will let out a blood filled cough,
"I will miss you, my love!"
but- even still- she's off.

I haven't wrote a decent poem in months;
- I pick up my pen and flow along with a hunch
- and within three lines: it becomes the right time
- to crumple up my paper and open a bottle o' wine.

Why, oh why, must there be steel scraps in the sky
-whose sole purpose is to spy upon you and I?
It'd cause ancient astronomers to let out a sigh
-as they realize they can't see Mars, nor the stars,
-past all the junk put in place by tyrannical czar's.
Us peasants: we've beared cuts & are left with scars
-upon all o' our liberty, rights, and freedom.
Don't be fooled by whom ever succeeds him
-for it always ends up as, just, more treason.

A fierce an' blusterous wind blows 'round the snow;
- bringing with it - to many a-men : great woes.
It does, so, bring sorrow - an' it's hard to swallow :
- that bone-chilling, brisk breeze out o' thee west.
It blows in, determinedly, - as if it is on a quest;
- a bitter journey putting many a-men to the test.

Nay- there'll be no hunting, nor gathering, today;
- guess all we can do now : ration thee food an' pray.

What you want from life...
you don't know.
You tell me,
"We'll cross that bridge
  when the we meet the stream below."

Roll up a scroll of
that green sh*t that'll make the
weak ones produce drool.

One princess has headed west;
the other shall flee east.
&- of me, all that'll be left:
is a loveless, lonely beast.

I wish them both the best
before sipping upon distilled yeast
& hops. Then- I, drunkenly, flop
into my big, empty nest,
in an attempt to rest-
 this mind, so distressed .

You see? You are wise to escape the lies
of that grand and furious burning sun.
In it's rays, you would have had to stay;
for: it imprisons all who come- to visit.
I'll warn you though! Be careful of the moon:
for- it frequently sings a catchy tune
that, in fact, isn't quite the entire truth.
It did tantalize that little town's youth,
back on that winter evening in 1672;
& ever since then, those kids- have never been seen.
Perhaps- they made it to El Dorado
or maybe they made it to Colorado.
Regardless- the parents have missed
their children and wonder where they've been.

Two joints & a ball point
pen lie within my jean pockets.
The herbs are a sort of ointment
to these squeaky sprockets
within my mind.
Suddenly, my head begins to shake
& it's hard for me to stand up straight.
I need to get away from this place,
away from these people -
for a moment.

My cigarette smells of waffles and syrup..
and I cannot pinpoint- precisely- why.

Wow! Has it ever been such a long-
period of time since
I've tasted a pastry or pie?
As of late, I've just consumed fermented rye.

I ponder, my mind begins to stir up,
  thinking up some sort of reasoning:
  an explanation for the subtle scent.

"Dear, cigarette company;
    have you been seasoning
    your smokes with some sort of awful,
    syrup and waffle, flavoring?
   If you have, I've not been favoring-
    the taste in my lungs."

The sound of air being compressed
breaks his speeding train of thought.
His mind often ponders her- though,
this time, it's his own life: what a mess.

A scarlet liquid dripping-, ever, so gently
  unto the crisp, spring soil
  causes the most faint tapping sound -
  to occur.
   tap
     tap
He feels the life slipping-, ever, so swiftly.
In a puddle of blood, thick as oil,
   he finds himself a comfortable spot
   on the ground- to ensure
   that he doesn't feel the fall.
    tap
      tap
Things become a blur,
  as he smiles: remembering it all.
   The beauty of life, so pure.

Phillip O'Crowley has fallen down dead
- and I dread- the part that comes next.
Yes! It leaves me feeling quite perplexed;
- thinking it may be my soul- which parishes next.
I begin to build my bush covered, hidden home
-in a lovely, solace place that no one has ever known-
as their own. Yes! It shall be mine, and mine, alone.
A place where I'll grind down stones and bone
- in order to construct my magnificent throne.
Yes! It'll be more immaculate than Cologne- or Rome.
You see- I've just seemed to have outgrown
- this world.

Diamond an' sapphire stones
- is what I'd like to dress your bones
- in - but this salesman in Dublin
- wishes not to front me them
- not even - with ID - an' down payment.

The Creator scribbled out Gaia when she was young;
- she'd never expected what Earth would become.
I don't think she'd imagined the fists being swung
- and I don't believe she'd imagined all of the bombs
- exploding in markets: killing children & moms.
I'm sure she's not calm, looking on- at all she created.
She screams out, "No! No! It needs to be repainted
- with much more pleasant colors and moods!
I never thought my lovey sphere could get so crude;
- should I do nothing: all these species are *******!
I must act prud-ently."
Little does she know, she no longer has authority;
- her creation has began to breathe
- and has the ability to get up and leave.
All She can do now is grieve
- and wish that she never did believe
- she could create something pure
- in a universe so obscure.

I know exactly what's coming
- and I'm, oh- so very, afraid.
I cannot escape the humming
- that is drumming inside my brain.
As of late, I have been numbing
- my mind; I cannot contain
- all my troubles and my pain.

T'is a world full o' entrapment
- should you loathe the establishment;
- be weary with your communications
- for there may be implications
- when they spy on you and I.
Nay- nothing escapes their eyes!
They'll monitor each our calls;
- no matter, just, how small
- o' a talk it might, very well, be.
Yay- they do spy on me and thee!
Nay- nothing escapes their eyes
- but, even still, we must try, our best, to devise
- a quiet, fool proof strategy to see humanity rise.
For - if we fail : a free human kind will surely die.

I'm headed to take the St. Lazare pass,
to an empire of warm Silver beaches,
to an empire of greener growing grass,
to such an exquisitely calm region,
to the empire of Princess Cassandra.

To an empire where I would love to stay-
for, about, forever plus a few days.
To an empire where I would love to be-
for, about, an eternity plus three.

A place where thunder rolls over misty skies;
a place where I find myself lost- and found-
in her light brown eyes.

Eyes like: thee most fertile of all o' the soils-
& a touch of a beehive's sweetest o' honey.
Eyes that: shine like diamonds of the royals-
& couldn't be outshone by any amount o' money.

One where Sunshine reaches, so, far from east-
over the water- setting in a vibrant gleam;
leaving me with joy, happiness, and peace.

Surely- this isn't only an amazing daydream-
  leaving my heart with visions of apple trees.

So- here I sit, where the fire was lit,        
daydreaming about that ole' apple tree
- 'twas a September Ruby, I do believe    
-  if I've, correctly, remembered it.  -      

I'm hoping that with every coming moon:  
her highness will call on me- each 2nd of June
and allow me to shower her with affection.

Honestly- times with her are perfection.

They say I may
have a substance dependency,
I believe they're wrong, my friends!
  You see:
'P. Crowley' is simply a figment
  of my innermost imagination.
  And he writes so much more diligent
-ly when my mind is in elevation,
  puffing upon pipes.. rather high!
Why, in the hell, would I-
push halt to his inspiration?
  --
Not worrying about when he will die,
he cracks a cold beer.
Isn't it national beer day?
Cheers.
  --
Oh, how I wish the Wednesday Woes
would whisper (Not yell!) & pass.
All I wish to do, Lord only knows,
is lie motionless in the Thursday grass.

My body cracks
like the wind upon
the backs of old trees.
As I stand, begin to tremble,
violently,
do my knees.
One thing I will say
swiftly and with ease.
"Surely.. this world will live,
   laugh & love,
   much longer than
   you or me."
This, I know.

Oh- so very high up in thee eastern skyline,
- towering buildings glimmer in, such, a busy city;
- of a greed-filled utopia: they're gargantuan shrines
- an' in the people trapped beneath, I take, such, pity.

Spending forty hour, plus, a week working a **** job:
- just trying to find enough cents to pay rent
- for a **** apartment. It's nonstop: this plot
- that the elites an ' cronies have up and dreamt.

It'll torment the best of men, to see, ever so, clearly
- all o' thee sick acts that the elites'd like to do
- to you
- and me.

With my frail fingers entwined,
just- ever, so tight- so firmly,
upon this beloved bottle of wine,
I find the time to rhythmically rhyme
the things- thoughts- upon my mind.

The southern Sun has departed,
duely, beyond the heavens- horizon.
Though, I, merely, must know
that it will soon return.
I shan't remain this way eternally.
I do not feel- do not think- the gods 
wish to slay me down- ****** me.

"This world, surely, 
 has more is store, Crowley-
 for you- (You) have been through
a vast amount of distance 
& witnessed a grand number 
of events."

All the vile old men,
spitting fire at their peers,
are: (just) child poets
who've lost their pen,
over all (of) their miles and years.

I want to be occupied by her.
I want her to hang on my every word,
even if it's just a drunken ramble or slur.
Her beauty has my mind so blurred-
I can't think straight.
I want to spend time with her.
Til' eternity- I wait,
on a call from an angel.

Oh- you would not believe the things I've seen-
and you wouldn't believe the places I've been-
today. Yes- today!
Oh- you would not believe the things that I've learned
as I've walked towards the fiery sun and burnt- away-
today. Yes- today!
Oh- how the heat it stays- within my brain;
I'll never be able to fully escape the flames-
today. Yes- today!
No- you could not believe the times that I've tried-
to walk towards the super moon but died- on the way.
Oh- how I died- on the way!
and-- all of the monsters I have slayed,
that I have chopped down with the edge of my blade:
they'll never be seen. No- they'll never be seen!
Not today. Nope, not today!
But the pride-- it lives with me- and as far as my eyes can see-
I've won- I've won! I've become one-
with those thoughts that I hold dear.
Yes- the ones that I hold dear...
-ly: all the things that I have learned
and all the times that I have earned -
the privilege to live- within.
No- in history book, it'll never be written.
But I'll always remember-
the times that I was blue-
and all the things that I have been through-
today. Yes- today!

Would it be foolish, or silly, of me
- to purchase gemstones for thee
- when I know not how you feel
- an' I know not if they are real:
- all o' these feelings in my heart?

Nay- it would not be so smart
- for me to spend so much
- over this lust-filled hunch.
Though, - I think I'd do this much
- if only to feel your angelic touch.

Have I gone completely mad
- or am I attempting to clear a path
- which leads me into your hands?
These feelings are hard ta' understand.

To me,
prosperity seems improbable
in this frail and fleeting life.
How does one plan for a long future;
with hobbies like cashing **** bowls
& feeling the torque and thunder -
of a sports bike between the lower limbs?
Eventually we all end up six feet under
or burnt to fine ashes -
whatever it is you'd like.

Grand & Abundant
are thee amount of times
my wheels have traced this cities streets.
Of me, it seems quite incumbent,
to keep moving, & brewing up rhymes.
My voice hits with such heat..
it comes from the fire that is inside me.

Dearest Cassandra,
I'm very sorry for whom I've, lately, been
- and for the person that I will not ever be.
I, truly, wish that I could have, ever, seen
- whatever it is that you smile at in me.
I wish that I could see: why you crave a mess
- a mess as tragic as this- troubled mind.
You see: I see- myself as, very much, less
- than you see me with your eyes- so kind.
I have never seen what you- adore about me
- and, honestly, I likely never, ever, will.
When I look into the mirror, all that I can see
- is a man, or a boy, broken from all o' thee powders n' pills.

On top of the world
  slightly unsettled
   uncomfortable
    angst/anxious
        numb
       Repeat.

Nothing that I could, ever, write
- will change thee unfortunate plight
- of our dreary, controlled existence.
You see? No matter how hard the resistance:
- the elite's control is persistent and consistent.
A better future, for us peasants, is non-existent;
- & all of our children will, surely, be enslaved
- regardless of the way that we have behaved.
The elites will use everything against us
- simply to advance their gruesome agenda
- involving full control of the Earth and people;
- in massive poverty, we will all be equal.
If we're not "peaceful", we'll meet lethal
- forces- on this lovely Winter solstice.

There is a cigarette smoldering 
 amidst the early southern, Spring sun:
 firmly seized between these fingers 
 whose winter worries have,
seemingly, wept away.

Changing of seasons has begun unfolding
 and I still have yet to treat my lungs
to a vacation: from the smoke that lingers-
yes! they're crying for a bath:
obviously, ignored each day.

Fully knowing the winter worries 
are just stored away,
for a snowy day,
he attempts to enjoy
the grandeur of grass growing green. 

Skeptical, of course: awaiting flurries.
"Now, it'll be any day!"
    "Just you wait!"
I know the coldness will only,
my heat striken labor, come to destroy.

Oh, if only she were my Queen!
Then, things would be a dream!

With smoke hanging- no!- lingering,
upon his cracked and chafed lips:
he, blankly, gazed off into nothing.

Suddenly: he's wincing, possibly picturing-
no!- pondering the way life drips-
no!- dribbles by, and away, with everyday.

Into a slumber, he, gently, slips:
unto a place where no soul may infringe-
upon his right to dream about her rays.

"More magnificent than the creator, itself," they say.
Yes!- Beautiful as an old mountain range
when she sings out syllables with those lips
- ever so confident and casually.

If only in this slumber, he could stay:
to lie asleep and dream about her all day.
Alas, reality surely soon, forcefully, rips-
no!- tears him away from his desired place.

Oh! Wouldn't it be something- (beautiful)
to arise to her, blushing whilst, nudging-
his ribs with her fingers?

Such a beautiful script,
his dreams are avidly depicting;
it makes his real life seem, quite, sickening-
really.
But: he tries to stay optimistic about it.

A great an' immense amount o' pressure
- combined with, just, enough intense heat
- causes gems ta' grow, slow, in Gaia's cellar;
- they're ta' be mined an' sold, cheap, on the street.

It seems, ta' me, that this act, nay - this feat,
- will, always, be ta' cycle and repeat :
- for - we humans love things that're shiny.

But - do we, all, take into full account
- the true beauty o' these seas and these mount-
-ains - that cause gemstones ta' form underground?

Aye - at least they bring, to the buyer's life, glee;
- course' that's only if, "Yes," *is said - whilst on a knee.

I won't forget thee-
time in which we shared.
Please- don't regret me
& know that I always cared.
I cared enough to let you go..
Leave now, Cass; go out and show-
this world how strong you truly are.
Drive down that highway in your car
and seek something better for yourself.
For- I can, surely, be of no help- currently.
I will never make enough gross currency
to make an adequate lover for thyself.
Honestly- I'd rather be fully engulfed
by the trees that I've made my home from-
even if it means a life of lonesome- solitude.

Look- it's not that I'm ignoring you...
I am simply attempting to remo-
ve myself before I weigh you down.
I know that you wish I were around-
but I'm sure that it's better this way..
What more could I possibly say?
You will encounter someone- something-
& your lost love'll be the last thing you think -
of.

Oh, my spurn of this shallow swamp!
For: it is not extensive enough
to blanket my body, when I fall over,
clomp- ing through the mud so rough.

To, under starlit sky, be submerged-
fully- on a summer night-
a desperate attempt to purge-
this black matter from within my blood
and these negative emotions that do flood-
my mind from time to time,
these sinister thoughts of mine.

Under muddy waters,
all of my feelings absolve;
& under muddy waters,
the time on my watch comes to a halt.

It's truly tantalizing-
how all of my pety issues can be resolved:
with merely one immaculately deep breath
- of the muddiest water.

Under muddy waters,
the world's disarray fades off;
& under muddy waters,
I let out my last and final cough.

--

Where is the grandeur
in growing grey, without the girl
you're grateful god grew?

Do you understand how grand-
it would be to sleep, hand in hand, 
next to her while she is blanketed
in my old, ragged shirt?

Oh, the stupid smirks:
I would emit without command.

--

Unto these muddy waters,
my shadows follow.
Unto these muddy waters,
my soul has ran
- and fallen;
and into these muddy waters,
I will be swallowed.

--

Just have to drag out the garden hose first-
& run the faucet for a days worth - time. Then, and only then, shall my end- begin.
- Under muddy waters.

Love hurts? I think not!
Vanity may be painful,
though, love: it is not!

The vessels within these brown eyes
have burst many, a, times- before;
and- I'm sure that it shall continue
happening, regularly, in the future.

As I stumble, ******, down the avenue,
I come to grips with something! I realize:
that nothing in life is eternal- (for sure)
and we all, eventually, greet our demise.
  
(Will you be ready?)

The beauty of it all- is ever so pure!
  This life is a mere interlude!
(& there is more to come after the show!)  

  Do not, when I'm gone,
   release mournful cries.

For I- will be flying away from Eldorado-
with such magnificent magnitude!

(Don't get it misconstrued!)

I have not died!

(No!)

I am the hues of purple
across the wonderous Western skyline:
if that is where you chose to see me.

Feeling so empty;
I attempt to fill the void
with smoke of all varieties.

My addiction, very, may -
well cause all sorts of charades.

I hope you remember me..
Though I know it might be best
to forget me altogether..

Quite the broken and frail man --
but- supposedly- an amazing lover.

Is it unfair of me
to make your body quiver
knowing I won't be able to deliver
any of the long held dreams in your life?

I'd love to make you my wife
but it'd be unfair to you.

Essentially, you're a perfect ten..
& I'm a broken abacus.

I feel I must set you free
because I know you love anchors
but I do not wish to be one in your life.

What is there to say
at this stage?
I, too, hate certain aspects
of my personality.

& you're going to go far, kid.
I don't want to restrain your potential
with my addictive personality
and possibly bipolar brain.