your poems aren't art
God may as well be dead
your words don't fill me
and flowers have never sprung
from my mouth or yours
it's a ******* joke
and a sick lie
a poem never saved a life
because God laughed
and didn't make pain helpful
he made me sit down at the counter
at 2 am
to hit my fist again
and again
over a **** page
and even he knows
this poem isn't art

There's this inner rawness
That comes at night
Lawless in its flight
Not afraid to fight
Because it's honest
The innocence of it
But so naïve and so me
I'm the sum of all I've done
Minus all I've thought
Plus all I've fought
What I regret equals what I'm proud off
So I forget the past, move pass it
To prove my point and not disappoint
Grasp the tomorrow, forgoing the sorrows
And accepting my soul for what it is
My very flawed essence
God, I'm not God or even a sun
But a son on the run
Lost into the sprawl
Finding myself - alone
In the forest falls
On a star lit night, feeling unlit
Scratching at the surface for purpose
And despite my fright I still ask
Suppose we're alone
And the skies really are empty
Would it matter?
Either way I'm still here, alone
Looking up at the closest star
So far away
So I look down instead
I listen to my soul
Like quiet waves
Gently lapping at the shore
Within my very core
The tide resides but only to surge forward
I fall down only to get up
Regardless of everything
Because it's only me
Just me.

I have a rage inside me that cannot be measured
And a love inside me that is unfathomable
If I cannot indulge in one
I will fall into the other
Endlessly