Jung Boulevard was the street that struck my chords.
The first time I saw her walking down the street,
her sisters were at her side.
I had them over for a "house warming" fire that night,
where the fire burnt out in twenty minutes,
and we all just sat in the cold with no words to share.

She knew she loved me in that moment,
and I knew I loved her.

Some nights her and I sat under the stars,
November cold kept us close.
We kept filling the air with empty words,
only begging to hear the lull of each voice.

The night we had *** in a candle lit room,
The time we came across the pack of dogs,
Waiting at the bus stop for you...
pieces of us.

The memory haunts me,
and I hope it haunts you too.

My biggest fear is driving next to motorcycles,
so I hold my breath each time I do.
I come from a city that goes to bed at 11 p.m.
Where poverty never really hit our town very hard.
The street lights flicker on -- to keep everyone safe --
and the glow feels like home.

This is a beautiful place I live,
I've never seen a friend die, or encountered danger.
Only my friends and I causing trouble --
is the only adrenaline rush I've had.
"Bored" is the best way to describe it, if you ask me --
but the adults beg to differ.

I don't know if any other place was meant for me,
white walls block the view of a foreseeable change.
I'll have to leave to see.
Maybe one day.

I ******* hated it.

I've lost hope in my own salvation.

The sun shines every morning.
I dread waking up to watch it most days.
I'd much rather be sleeping.
Admiring the fantasy most associate as dreams.
I feel trapped in my relationship.
I feel trapped in Naples.
Only being nineteen,
I should have went to a university and made something of myself.
Instead, I'm stuck in the same ritual.
Cigarette after cigarette-- counting my days.

The caged bird's whisper, white walls darken as the sun falls.
Carried myself across the hall, to watch another episode of family feud
like a typist ******* a keyboard.

Waking up to saliva on the denim couch
stumbling to my queen sized bed, wishing my sheets were less floral
another night spent
listening to the dusty box fan.

Today, the tress still swayed in the same direction.
Leafy palms, collectively natural shades of green.
The sun set in the same pattern of rise and fall,
yet still "playing god" over the scenery.

I lose myself when in the rain, closing my eyes to wake. Water pushing against my blood vessels, crying for the pressure to cease. Black rings surrounding my ocular cavity, collapsing in the sand. Waves crashing, clouds rolling. The oracle speaks a message...

To be honest, it's kind of a "blind distaste."
Resembling the last pill you swallow but gag on, for the simple fact it's "getting old."
It takes on the form of a psychological car crash,
no tame draw, only relentless disburse.
An art form content with an incomplete canvas.
Drunk nights, carrying a worn body down the hallway, stumbling over nothing.

Waking up in the morning, to face hallway lights beaming through cracks in my door.
It's 6 A.M. and nobody has to work.
The sun isn't up yet.
Insect repellent, dousing the floors of the house.
My shoes were where I left them, last night.

Look into your mirror,
bask in the essence of your aging body.
Notice yourself become more engulfed by your own life,
while becoming more and more detached,
from every one, and every thing around you.

Go to school and sit alone,
find the hallway in the isolated part,
just to eat lunch there.
Avoid your girlfriend's calls
and tell her "you've just been busy."

Become frustrated with everyday tasks,
and fall into a manic state of depression when you realize,
that you're the reason nobody comes around anymore.
Repeat the same song every day on your afternoon commute to work,
as the dreary humming of the melody carries each and every burden.

When people offer you help.
scoff at the idea and deny it.
Turn down every opportunity they throw your way,
shut out the world for a chance to finally be alone.
Fall absent of the world, conjure your body to glass.

Start to become infatuated with pretty faces,
and base your self-esteem on ****** expressions.
Smoke cigarettes on your walks down to the store,
then come home and write about how the cute clerk smiled at you
for just a single moment in time.

Buy a twelve pack every day,
sit on the same couch you placed in your dim apartment five years ago.
Drink every last beer until you're seeing double.
While you struggle to stand and slur every word you speak,
call your ex and tell her how leaving was "a mistake."

Cry beneath your blankets every night,
with the same pain in your chest you've had for ages and
lull yourself to sleep with the sweet whisper of inebriation.

Self-righteous desire to speak,
seeming impossible upon "genuine."
The overbearing stature of this burden,
bared like a cross, hearts and sleeves.
Behold, the nuisance choking graciously on falsetto cries.
locked within skull cavities.

Mutuality funding mindless self-indulgence.

That sun burning my **** skin.
Watching Gerod throw every last bit of trash on the ground,
seeing the rolls and plastic lie atop the pebbles.
and that **** sun.

We put together pieces,
carry the weight we don't want to,
and break our backs.
We live to see our kids grow,
hope to fall in love,
and pray to god we don't stop moving.
Take a look at the way things are,
and tell me it isn't breathtaking.
Peer through your neighbors window,
watch the heartache when the father dies,
behold a child's face when they say "where's dad?"
Watch their neighbor,
the struggling mother with three kids and no husband.
Witness the man winning the lottery,
the woman being made C.E.O.
Look at this world and tell me what you see isn't beautiful.
Watch this world fall apart and be built again.

Another day on the job.
The typical 7 to 3 I work, day in and day out.

Expressions to all here on this morning,
composed of stone.
A break in time, where the sun has yet to rise,
and we all gather, to watch the sky.

Porch sitting,
a cigarette lit between my index and middle,
as usual.
Safari sitting beside me,
unable to comprehend the world around fully,
startled by the noises that night carries on.

"Leave where you're at."
"No."
I commend the brave souls, who face this earth.
As for souls similar,
the screened in area at the back of the house, is home.

The moon's radiance shedding on the sky,
the crickets howling,
Safari, still scared.
Another night, with another cigarette.
The white wicker chair is still, home.

"Carry on, walk away."
"Never."
The heart lies in the grass,
five shades darker than five hours ago.
The soul carries this landscape.
The white concrete floor, home.

Haze,
speaking at me.
Beckoning forth a gift.
Tranquility.
Illusion.
Bellow out, cries of this wasteland,
caress the beat of my sleeping heart.
For I, accept the gift.

My sea of love had only been superficial words just as any other of the teenagers out there. Something that faded away with the lapse of a few seconds. I could keep the facade up to keep two people happy (myself and my significant) but why do such an empty thing when truly it means nothing to myself or the other. Sure at the moment it feels nice to be told you’re beautiful, but self doubt floods into the adolescent mind inevitably, due to weak individuality and self-assurance. This is why love is so short lived among us all. We depend on each others thought out contributions to make each other happy out of insecurity of the others unhappiness and dissatisfaction, rather than figuring out what we can do on our own without worry of them being happy.We push to the back of our minds the fact that knowing what we do naturally creates happiness.

Walk with me, dear? The world isn't a beautiful place,
take a glance through my lenses, for you need them as I need yours.
Lets climb the mountain, just to fall back down. Walk with me, and see the changes take us.

Can we even fix our problems?

You and I together, atop the cliff by the ocean.
"You'll leap with me."
Were you ready? Because I wasn't either.
But together we thought we would, even though together was the mistake we made, to hold to our hearts as close as we could.

Things aren't perfect and neither am I, so why did I take you while I lived my life?  
I could barely walk on my own two feet, and neither could you.  
We gave our all together,
just couldn't keep the flame alive.

Can I please rest and watch the shadows dance above,
or could you spare some quiet instead?
For I am exhausted of fighting for similar,
and the weight I carry's dead.
I've decorated my insides with toxicity,
and just brought this temple to the ground.
The fire snuffed in my eyes,
with water poured all around.

Acknowledge this plea, with the ears you were given.
As it is muffled by undertow from my revision.
There is no second sermon to this broken body's cry,
and god ******, there never will be because I couldn't hold myself up at that podium long enough to let loose one more breath.

God, I hold a lover's conviction as powerful as you,
but these bones too weren't meant for this world.
So is this the dilemma I must face,
while others keep pace beneath your shroud?
I don't know everything, and I know I never will.
But that's why I've gone up and won't go down.

I'll try to carry these burdens I hold,
but we all opt out at death,
Do you consider the things we think about, during our last breath?
So show me where you'll go and I'll show you where I go too,
because I don't know what's at the end, but I'm not going alone.
I am not alone.

Being miles below ground, I have become diamond.
Waited for a chance,
to shake the dirt from my back,
but it never happened, because I never decided.
Instead I chose to hold,
and let this weight take it's toll on me.

"I am Christ."
A sacrilegious conviction, caused from the facade "LSD" impends.
Years of compliant living,
complacence behind their backs,
resenting every holy being,
yet now you are "Christ."
"The Messiah Complex" heeds your statement,
along with "Delusions of Grandeur,"
and "Schizophrenia."

I've spent the last five years constructing a place to rest,
built to lay every piece of me.
It's rose wood, stained black and glossed.
I trimmed each edge with red,
and held it together with stainless steel, blood, sweat and tears.
Every condescending comment,
each lie told,
forgotten dreams,
and ambitions,
all structural foundation.
Blankets of black and blue hue placed inside,
were my mother's keepsakes to me.
Tar pit lungs and an old liver,
laid with so I could sleep.
Set me down,
and bury me with this coffin I built.

Leave me alone

Don't you think you've done enough,
damage on  your own?

I can't stand to look in your direction,
the shadow you cast is in vain.
your eyes scream "disappointment"
I hate hearing your name.

If words could describe,
how horrible you are,
everyone else will realize,
you're simply "sub-par".

I know that you're a mistake,
I never needed you anyway.

So leave me alone
let me go on my own
this is my home
I'll never step back into your unknown.

The smile that's plastered on your face,
is as fake as the life you lead.
Your goals are motivated by spite,
it blinds what  you perceive.

You're everything I ******* hate,
but I wish I could ignore,
the fact that you still exist,
and your "patronizing self-centered arrogance."

I took a step back yesterday and thought about nothing.

I know, the wind blows.
So walk with me my dear,
for I see clear,
once again.

We all, look away,
run from things,
scare ourselves,
to become,
different beings,
taking
advantage of everything.

I don't
want to
be apart of it
anymore

Cause its scary to see to see,
this world falling apart
in front of me,
in front of me.

Should we fight?
Should we flee?
Should we make peace?
or become evil beings?

We hold the answer,
no man,
can take that, away from me.
Cause I know, that this globe,
was meant to be
at peace
just like wind and trees.
like birds and bees,
like the way the tide moves,
when the moon takes what it needs.

Set me free
from the chains
that bound me
take off the weight I carry
and buy me a pizza.

For me,
hope is a Friday afternoon at 3:30,
leaving 25th on White Blvd,
unloading the air compressor,
putting back the last "tear off" shovel,
hoisting my *** on the black lawn chair,
in the shop of Blackburn Roofing,
examining the stench of J.W. Craft,
forcing itself upon me,
waiting for my uncle to arrive with my paycheck.

You see,

I'm a normal guy, who leads a normal life. But when we take a step back, we start to ask ourselves "what is normal?"

Defined by google, normal is to "conform to a standard."

But who makes this standard?
The Media.

See, through television, the radio, the internet, social media, etc. etc. we've been told that "This is what normal is, it doesn't change."

For a while this has been true, people of my generation especially. are aware but seem to still follow societal norms. They take in what the media has to say, and practically live by it. We have teenage girls starving themselves to be models, young men getting railed on ******* and alcohol, going out and being reckless, winding up dead, or hurting someone else, because of the media. We have these enabling parents, who all know that feeding this is wrong but still fall into it as well to make their kids happy.

There are people dying every day, but those who claim themselves as "men of god" living it up in a 3200sq ft home throwing their money away to the church. The best part about it, other people do it too, it isn't just some specific problem. We all do it, and we sleep like children at night.

Want to know what else is wrong?

The pharmaceutical industry, handing out "medication" like it's free.

Want to know what's worse?

Your child dying because of it.

Thanks, Mom.

A forced experience at my laptop, spent well wasted.

We are gathered here today,
in separate parts of the house,
taking part in some sort of mindless self indulgence,
not really gathered at all.

The repetition of foreign house music,
sun shining through what we call, "the blinds,"
and beer bottles scattered around the house from last night.
Four bodies, sick.

The laundry needed to be taken care of,
yet nobody had the drive,
nobody had the energy,
we were all sick.

100 Greatest Punk Songs of All Time,
the highlight of my night,
the soundtrack to my day.
Two people next to me,
going back and forth with one another,
making claims "I'm done" yet,
they still stick around.
"Savior"
we all need one.

this was the day I left.
Don't keep asking why, I told you why.
I'm sick of miscommunication,
insults,
pushing my absolute hardest just to please you,
and that isn't enough.
See, it drives me up the wall.
Makes me want to scream.
That's why,
not because I hate you,
or don't love you.
No.
I just can't handle the way things were,
and I will not,
ever,
stick around for that.
I can't.

Music, all it ever did for me was help me feel.

Her mind was that of a lost child.
She never really knew where exactly she were to be placed.
But, that was when I knew her.
That was when I had no idea what I wanted either.
I loved her though.
She always seemed to give off this sort of,
graceful radiance.
She was absolutely magnificent.
But that was when I knew her.
That was before she knew her place,
and before I knew my own.
That was before she found the many things I still search for.
Friends,
beliefs,
love.
Where she may be today,
and where she may be ever,
I wish the most beautiful fruit from her life.
The very life, she worked years for.
The one she spent countless hours fighting for.
I just wish for her to be happy.
Just as I am, in this lost world.

I see your car everywhere,
and I don't mean every once in a while.
Literally every time I drive,
I look around and there you are.
Not you.
But, what should have been you.
I always ask myself why you left,
analyzing each and every encounter to see where I went wrong.
But I wasn't in the wrong.
I did my very best to make things work,
to make you happy,
to just let the stars align in the right way.
But the opposing force was you,
you weren't dedicated ever,
you let go the day we set sail,
and you gave up a chance at being happy.
Not me.

I'm past it now, but there is still that part that wonders what was going on in your mind during the whole escapade.

I had been stripped of my clothing.
Every part of me, bare.
Left feeling vulnerable,
like cattle,
stuck on some wide range.
The cold nipped at every part of my body,
turning the veins blue,
separating me from my extremities.

I could feel the frost bite.

I understood the barren wasteland.

I finally got past it.

There seems to be such lack for others well being in this world,
I watch as my friends,
go about,
and put themselves before the people who need to be first.
It really sickens me.
Even though I've been guilty of it.
Putting my pleasures first,
guilt free.
Why do I do that?
Why does anyone do that?
Is it ego?
I don't know, but what I do know,
is that we all deserve a place of comfort,
where people help each other out.
Because the way we are taught to live now,
to come first and put everyone else last,
is sickening wrong...

I just heard a couple fight.
I don't like to hear things of the nature.
See, I deal with it on a daily.
But who am I?
The guy who also does it too.
But we can't help it.
Can we?
Hell if I know.
I'm not trying to be deep,
I'm just angry.
Not at anyone, or myself.
I'm mad for no good reason.
Maybe it's my setting.
Or the Eminem-looking ****, across  from me giving me looks.
But then again I'm not upset at anyone.
I'd never hurt that guy, he just seems misunderstood.

Am I ******* insane?

I'm not just alone here.
But I'm alone.
The landscape, dreary.
Slow songs from that indie band, nobody has ever heard of in their lives.
Life brought me here,
for what reason? I'll never know.
At this very moment,
as the slaves take orders.
I sit and write this....

Aware that the world moves even when I dont.
I feel sympathy for our world.
So, possessive.
Casting reign, arguing with a bitter tongue.
I feel empathy for those like me, looking for solutions, leading by example, and finding nothing.

Whomever finds life outside this trap,
finds where their heart should be...

What really damaged me?
How about all the neglect?
My father walking away?
The divorce on Christmas?
The genetics that gave me so much trouble?
What about my mother's issues?
The dysfunctional family?
No, what damaged me was letting all these things become my own excuse.

I never considered myself anything significant.
Instead, I brought myself down.
Never letting up, and dragging everyone with me.
But the point of it all was unclear.
It seems to me now,
that I had wasted so much time.
But for what?
I'll never have an answer.
It could have been the drugs,
the overwhelming ego I had,
or just the sensation of suffering.
But I wasted my time.

Screams,
flood my ears.
Blood stained hands,
as the dust rises.
Combustion, the causation.
And for what?
Oil?
Money?
Land?
No, greed.

Visual projections, cast through my eyes.
Demons,
The ******,
Criminals,
Slaves of all nature,
Broken Individuals,
Torn families,
Victims...

All in my back yard.

The best gift you can ever give is to yourself,
this gift is the ever lasting knowledge, that you can feel.
Every emotion, to it's fullest extent.

She left, and didn't come back.

At this hour/ the streetlights have a tune/ all their own.
The shimmering light bends as the cascading particles illuminates with a sense of urgency.
A record on repeat/ the majority retire/ the ladder lack homes.

Does she sleep as much as me?
Does she spend as much time alone as I do?
Does she even think of me anymore?
Does she recall the moments on her bed?
Does she recall the first date?
Does she think about how much I miss her?
Does she even miss me?
Does she know that I go to sleep every night in pain?
Does she know that she's the one causing the pain?
Does she know that every time I see her I hold back tears?
Does she know that as much as I want to give up, I can't?
Does she know that I can't carry on like this?
Does she even care about me?
Does she even sleep anymore?
Does she look up at her ceiling and watch the days pass?
Does she wake up, as depressed as I am?
Does she remember that I'd give her my everything?
Does she simply block me out now?
Does she know that I can't live in this world?
Does she know she'll be in that suicide note?
She doesn't.

It slips between the fingers, like grains of sand.
Time, becomes lost once dedicated to the catastrophe called responsibility.
Do we ever seem to catch up with it, or does it simply catch us?
Perhaps, just perhaps, time is an assailant, a provider, and a blessing.
Disappearing right before your eyes, fading into something close to if not exactly, nothingness.

To those who cared, I cant help but apologize for the lack of communication on my end of the spectrum. I can't help but grieve the loss of myself in the sense that the way I walk this earth no longer intrigues me. I can't help but give the utmost attention to the fact that I lost many years fighting for it to all boil down to nothingness. My condolences go to those who had done everything to assist me, they reach out to those who had ever hurt me, they reach out to the world, the unknown, and the known world of which I had stepped foot on. Sure, I could go on forever about how I hurt and how my life seems to be shambles but we all know that already, we all know that I can't live in a manner in which I can't help bring myself up, I can live in a way which corrupts. No longer, should I be whole, no longer should I try to keep on. Sweet dreams to those who kept it together, sweet dreams to those who made something out of themselves, sweet dreams, sweet world.

To my family, I care about nobody but myself.
But in my own mind, I am not mentally sound enough to make a decision and realize the weight behind it. I do care, I care about whether they sleep well at night, whether the weight of my decisions falls into their laps, and whether or not I can do things for them in the long run. I can't leave my past behind and I can't move forward when the past sits in my lap. How do I wake up? How do I come to terms with myself? How do I keep myself from just giving up and throwing my body from the office window? I don't know, but maybe time does. Just maybe.

I made it,
nobody can take what I have earned,
nobody can strip me of these last years,
nobody can tell me I didn't make it.