In the silence,
she kept his good bye.

No books in my shelves.
No songs in my head.
No hearts in my heart.

There are not enough drugs for the pressure to ease.
The struggle to feel baby, nothing can release me.
Highs always come crashing down.
Every bridge burns to the ground.

A chest with no toys.
A board with no pieces.
You tore me to pieces.
Stealing all my peace.

Hurricane winds and messy minds.
My thighs around your waist, nothing can ease me.
Night loving never seems to ease me.

I am a ghost of who I'm not.
Just a person filling this slot.
Emotionless robot bracing for a fall.

All just leading to no healing.
Wrapped around your heart.
I am just another knot you cut off.

Dropping to the floor.
The fire burned me.
There is no fight left in me.

Nothing I can do to make it right.
Take my armor and, put my sword right through me.
Leave me to die, there's nothing good left in me.

I'm sorry but, I'm leaving me.
Put a peace sign up.
Nothing can come from me.

Like wild oats
the lonesome poets
grow in the ditches
alongside back roads
and when it rains
they drink too much
like the low cotton
in dry fields forgotten
by dirt poor farmers
whose wives run off
with the first stranger
who wipes his shoes
on the porch before
selling her a pretty pair
of green lace underwear
like a bird sick of its tree
dreaming of new leaves.

A smile for a while
A grin for a time
A laugh, one chuckle
No money for a rhyme-----
D
O
W
N
B
  E
L
  O
W
A poet goes
Hoping to get just one
View---- a poet is born
By the millisecond
A window of
opportune.
Some poets dream
Of Mars
Some the stars, sun and moon.
Some are rich and some are poor-----
Some have houses
Yet no money for a bedroom door
Some poets write with pens
Others write with their teeth,
Other poet's write with pain and excite
Some poets write rapping streets
Some poets write of amor, some write of drug use
Of their future's in store.
Some poets write for fun and play
Some write of their deaths
Some in June and may
Some poet's change their lives
As others write sweet lullaby's
Some poets are me and you
The someone's are somebody's
That someone is you.

Within the centre of your being
May you find peace
Every act of unconditional love
Echoes in eternity
Spread your wings and dance
Dreams into reality
If your situation  won't change
Then change yourself
The optimist is often as wrong
As the pessimist
But he is far far happier
Choose happiness

Sometimes it
Takes a
Cut or
A burn
To remember
It's reality
Around the
Corner
Making way
To your turn,
Making way
To your
Urn,
As actuality
Hit's you-
The saying
(Ashes to ashes)
(Dust to dust)
Though after
I remember that
Line--- I remember again
Our bodies are just crab shell's
For the crux
Inside of us.

A diary filled with dark pages
A diary filled with painfull emotions.