Little boy locked up
Walled in by insecurities
chained down by his own
******* proclivities
too blinded by the darkness
to see himself in the honest
The coldness of the air
Is a little more then one should bear
and the dirt floor
brings more confort
then the few once adored

Little boy locked up
Walled in by insecurities
chained down by his own
******* proclivities
too blinded by the darkness
to see himself in the honest
The coldness of the air
Is a little more then one should bear
and the dirt floor
brings more confort
then the few once adored

crafting emotions on paper is difficult when your lost of words
frantically searching for a meaning to my scribble
but never finding any connection to them
it comes down like a death sentence when I write happy endings
I'm constantly trying to edit my mistakes
but always tearing away at the medium instead
it's like etching out a new existence and never living it
I'm not a man of many words so don't bother reading my mind
you'll blur your vision and you'll become lost in the pages
Just add a bookmark to me and come back another time
or leave me on the shelf to collect dust
because checking out was always a fiction

Pe'ahi


The emotions are rising
like an unbreakable wave
it is reaching its peak
do I dare to be brave?
I've tried to surf  this before
always knocked right back to the shore
swimming against the currents seems counter productive
so I'm searching for a flow that's more constructive
cause drowning is no way to breath
and the clear open water is not always what it seems
I'm jaded here
sitting and watching the sunset by the beach
but this stubbornness keeps the big waves out of reach

we paint a picture with dull colors
choking on the paint fumes
a dream piece turns into an nightmare
the time swings on its pendulum  
the coming of judgement
staring into the light
there was no vision to our sight
A insight,
we choose to live without passion
no tears of joy nor sorrow
unconsciously giving into
the night

locked in his mind
listening to  his own echos
bounce off the walls
he'd built up around him
was trying to keep the world out
must have left a crack somewhere
sunlight coming through
it makes him unconformable
his hands are getting shaky again
can't hold the shovel steady
to dig a deeper hole for himself
he begins to wonder what's
lurking for him outside his walls
they come crashing down around him
dust settles, he opens his eyes,
and with all his worries
it was a beautiful September morning.

The worst thing is not knowing
 how your going to feel in the morning
 a constant worry
 needing a new direction 
 not knowing were to go
 pretending often
 that I'm not bothered by my indecisiveness.
 Truthfully
 I have a hard time deciding if I really care at all.
 I know this makes me a burden,
 maybe a burden to much to bear ?