21.
Legal.
Sanctuary.

Coffee and tea at the cafe of Christ
The Bible for breakfast
Slurping stories from ***** and Samuel
To Ezekial and Ezra.
Start your day the holy way with Christ chex.
Ahh. The breakfast of champions

Legs shake
Jitters, excitement, anxiety
"I've moved heaven and earth to get this,"
Festive for Rome
"Group one," she announces
"In the beginning," I think.
Let the story commence.
Flock goes the sheep
What is foreign to some
Is native to others
Airport fun

Trust.
Takes years to build and seconds to destroy.
This is the most honest thing I've posted on this
computer. I honestly think I trust my computer
more than the people around me. I don't know whose
******* with me or not anymore.
Trust.

Hello. Welcome. Sit down. Get comfortable.
Let me introduce myself.
I’m a man of the finer things in life.
I’ve been here for a long while.
Captured, lured, seduced, and wooed many the heart and mind.

You hear about that Jesus Christ?
All that trouble for uncertainty.
Well as for Pilate
Thought he could get away clean.
I couldn’t be happier
Hearing people fight for years
Over false prophets they made.

It is a pleasure to meet you.
Hope you guess my name.
Perplexing?
I was made this way.

Did you hear about St. Petersburg?
Revolution!
Killed the czar and his ministers.
Anastasia screamed to me.
I was plastered on the walls of Auschwitz.
Smelled the hot flesh burn.
For ten decades.  

It is a pleasure to meet you.
Hope you guess my name.
Perplexed?
I was made this way.

Just as the innocent are corrupt
The corrupt are innocent.
As black is white.
As up is down.
Some call me Lucifer.
I can smell it on you.
Someone please hold me back.  

But if we meet.
Be polite.
Have some pity and charm
Use all your manners.
Or kiss your *** goodbye.

It is a pleasure to meet you.
I’ll say this once it’s your fault.  
Perplexing?
I was made this way.

Absinthe, San Miguel
Learning Italian
How to eat,pray, love
She's into me
I know the signs.
I compliment her bracelet
"It's from Africa," she says
I pull her hair
She laughs
"Stupid American boy," she snaps
"Stupid Italian girl," I retort
My name for the night is Giovani
Now Vice. How fitting?
Delisioso
I'm getting drunker

It's Friday night.
The drunks are at play.
Is that fun? What they do?
Black out.
I tried it.
Failed.
"Get it yourself."
They shouted at me.
As I asked for water.
While in a docile state.
And yet.
I still want to join them.
Their comraderie.
Its life.

I'm a cool cat
Who likes to ****
The smooth jazz
That dances off my pen
Compliments
The 'garette I smoke

The dance of pen to pad
The movement
The shake
Rumble
Makes my fingers snap
And my feet tap.

Cocoon. Gloom. Womb. Doom. Room.
Don’t!
For most, words doth froth forms.

Oh, foolproof.  
Lord John, Jov, Thor, Job.
Lord John knows Thor's job

Now. Photoshop. School Of Rock.
Tomorrow. Hop On Pop.
Zorro Snorro.

Who?
Wrong!
Whom?
Mr. Roboto; old clown of Oslo won’t.

Yolo. Boom!

What is the number one cause of major depression?
Death of a parent before the age of ten.
A youtube video told me that.
Which means I'm ******.
My dad died when I was 5.
Leukemia.
He had fought valiantly for years.
And when they thought it was gone it came back.
That was 15 years ago.
I still miss him.
I wrote this for him.
I always will love him.

I hate nature sometimes.
Like sugar plum fairies
We dance
Around each other
Waiting for something to happen
Over power. Over woman.
Falling to our primal instincts
We are better than that
We are more than that
I hate it.
The way we are stubborn.
We are too busy fighting.
Fighting time
Fighting fear
Fighting death
Fighting each other
The hands of the clock ticks away
Death wraps its warm arms around us
But that I suppose is why we dance

Dear snooze button,
You are the devil.

Life is a drug so ingest responsibly.
Absorb the colors, the sounds,
the world around,
the sights, the smells,
experience galore
because when you get old
that is what you will remember.

I will never know this man
This Single Serving Friend
To quote Fight Club
He is the same.
They are all the same
"Fabriano," he tells me his name
I raise my orange juice to him
"Cheers,"
We are the all singing, all dancing crap of the world.
Hovering thousands of feet in the air
In this aluminum tube
Oops, I broke the first two rules

Porchetta sizzling.
Calzone's oozing
Pizza the size of your face
Pizzano's!
I'm home.
I can die in peace

I see it in your eyes.
Your fear.
A fear of the unknown.
A fear of taking risks.
A lack of success.
A lack of effort.
A lack of motivation.
A lack of going for your dreams.
A frustration.
The dry threats.
"I'm gonna come down there and kick your ***," you say.
Like dry heaves.
It's wretching.
The nectar of youth slithering away.
Your trying to grasp, clamp so tight.
You are lost.
Taking your frustrations out on others.
"You are such a **** up," you snap.
You've given up on yourself.
You're drowning.  
I love you.  But I can't help you.

You kiss me with your frothy lips.
I taste you on my tongue.
It’s sweet, sensual and comforting.

You’ve always been there for me.
I feel I owe you.
You’ve been there for the highs.
And lows.

I wake up dizzy from your love.
A night of passion blurred.
Subtle you are with a bite.
I love you the more.

The hardest part about this all.
Is giving you up.
When your most intimate counterpart
Is a bottle.

That is why today.
I check myself into AA.

Stranger in a strange land
Roaming the halls.
Lost between the feet of giants.
Outnumbered. Outmatched.

The lunchroom.
Already?
Where to sit? Who to talk to?
Salisbury steak. Yes.
Always analyzing.

Sitting with seniors.
How’d that happen?
Their excitement is my fear.
A friend. Finally.
Becky.

Yellow vehicle of safety.
Home.
I made it.
Only 719 more days to go.

I see pictures in my head.
Me with a magnet embedded in my stomach.
Repelling or attracting certain types of people.
A man walking the New York streets
Concerned over his ****** addicted brother.
I see viking ships sailing to protect their homeland
From dragons and crop plight.

Oh internet. How wonderful you are.
Providing a community for all.
It does not matter if you have
the weirdest hobbies. There may
be a group out there who
you can join with.

We wants to wring his fat little neck.
You taunt us being with him.
We have to put on a mask.
We will take it in the end.  

It’s like he’s invisible.
Putting you on.
He thinks he can escape.
He stole you from us.
Your ours! Ours! My love.

We’ve killed for you before.
He doesn’t understand.
We can do it again.
Stupid little man.  

I’ll bash his head in with a rock.
I’ll bit his finger off.
To be with you again.
My precious. My love.

Kids.
They are my biggest fear.
And my most passionate love.
And the only place they are real is in my head.

They are a figment of my imagination.
The things we will do.
The things we could do.

But watching them grow up.
Is scarier to me than actually having them.
With kids comes worry.

Watching them grow up means that I am growing older.
Watching them grow up means I'm that much closer to death.
Watching them grow up means asking yourself
"What have I done with my life"?

So my final thought is
Kids. Beautiful disasters.

Lies.
We all lie at some point.
It's a must.

The orange prescription bottle.
The word Buproprion
On the white label.
I think to myself
I'm taking a pokemon for a drug.
Well here it goes.

Have you ever woken up and felt that the world is against you?
Even your family? Even your "friends"?
That noone is on your side.
That you are your only friend.

Have you ever wondered if your family is really there to help you?
Or are they sitting on a high horse.
Waiting to watch you crash and burn.

Have you ever felt a distance between you and the world?
A disconnect? A void?
Empty but full.

Have you ever felt the world say "you can't" or "you're not good enough"?
Have you ever believed it?

Have you ever felt like shoving those words back down their throat?
To stick the ******* up and say "*******".

I am afraid of the night.
Of the darkness.
And what that darkness represents.
Inside both me and others.

The demonic, evil creatures
Venture from my inner sanctom,
Wriggle and squirm in the cracks
Only to appear powerful.
Only to lurk in the shadows.

The anger of not knowing the unknown.
What some find thrilling
Causes anxiety.
Controlling. Paralyzing.

It is a fear really.
That carries over into the day.
It's a mask.
That only I wear.

An alcoholic struggles to find inner peace.
His seat curved to his figure.
Beer and buffalo wings plaster the walls with their aroma.
The lights are dim. Intimate.
A quiet understanding is there amongst patrons.
Life is a disease cured by a drink.

I've named him Peter or Paul
I can't pick
Purposefully picking pigeon names is preposterous
It's perfectly possible though
He's my pal
Peter or Paul
We met at the Pantheon
He prattled, pranced
Up toward my position
I wanted to pet my pigeon Peter or Paul
Put him in my pristine apartment
Perhaps Patrick?

I feel vulnerable yet invincible.
Strong yet weak.
Drunk yet sober.
High yet grounded.
Stable yet chaotic.
This girl makes me fall to my knees.
But raises me up.
Time speeds up. 
I love the way your blonde curls bounce ever so
The way it should be.
This is for you.

Right by the house with the samurai wearing the green swim goggles.
You passed out
Right by Beach Ave
Happened three weeks ago today.
Your still wearing the hospital bracelet.

I've learned that happiness
cannot be found in the form of a little
purple capsule.
I've learned that Pisa will have to wait until next time.
I've learned that the third mushroom
held in my sweaty palm was not as
big a deal compared to the other two opening my mind.
I've learned that a part of me
died that night where we ****** in a
room with no furniture.
I've learned that life is work and that
the molotov cocktail of Dubrah and eay mac
that came spewing from me left an orange tang
upon the floor.
I've learned that pain is better than numbness
and that jabbing a sewing needle repeatedly in my arm
was an educated decision.
Most importantly I've learned that together we are better than alone.

Here we are
Trying to bring the dead back to life
Ovid, Horace, Homer
Down the cobblestone streets to Ospedale
Down the narrow packed streets
Walking until we meet our ancestors
Walking until we reach the River Styx
Virgil be thy guide
To meet Poe, Keats, Frost
Fighting the day the fates cut our string
Here lies death, ashes and nothing

It
took me
losing everything
to finally realize how
much something as small
as a scrambled egg could make  
a difference in the way
you look at people,
nature, things,
even joy
Fin.

Shopping.
Relaxing?
That's new.
Batman shirt. Pow! Wham!
You get the Superman one.
Cream skinny jeans? Yes.

Silence.
Silence is one of the most underappreciated things.
Silence is powerful.
Silence is the difference between comedy and tragedy.
Silence brings the soul to rest.

Right now I'm sitting in silence.
In a dorm room. On a couch.
Listening.
The concrete walls are selphane to the chatter next door.
Drunken fallacies fall to the floor and fail.
The dangling words shout for help.
And when it all comes to an end and it comes crashing down.
Silence.

One door. One window.
One desk. One bed.
Alone. A single.

He’s there.
I know he’s there.
He’s always there.
I’m not paranoid.

Watching me with those eyes.
He has no eyes.
But I know he’s watching me.
He’s there in the mirror.

He knows my thoughts before I do.
He knows my actions before I do.

He controls me.
I am merely a puppet.

His door. His window.
His desk. His bed.
Alone.

Today the rain is falling,
It looks so dark and bad.
For today the clouds are calling.

I think that God is bawling
It really is quiet sad
Today the rain is falling

Lighting outside is striking
Nature seems real mad
For today the clouds are calling

It couldn't be more boring
Stuck inside in bed
Today the rain is falling.

The birds have stopped their chriping
I should probably add
For today the clouds are calling

So as I sit here watching
It isn't a new fad
Today the rain is falling

Who are my characters? John Prat or Marvin Prat. John Ector or Marvin Ector. Then there is Mrs. Valdez and Autumn. Who are they in relation to John and Marvin? What do you want your characters to show? Who are they? Are they funny? Comical? Tragic? What? What do they want? I want them showing me. I want them as extensions of me. I want to take everything I have learned and put them into my characters. They are facets of my imagination combined into one giant ball, clusterfuck and **** of people that is my life. I want them to display my hatred. My disheveled hair. My looks. I want them to be oddly reminiscent of my family and my personal life. I want them to ignore their own feelings and not be happy. I want them to be happy. I want them to love and cry and weep and feel pain. I want the world to hate them and I want them to hate themselves, I want the world to love them and I want them to love themselves. I want them to fall from grace. I want them to fall down so many times and be on the verge of not picking themselves up. To say **** this  I'm done with it all. I want them rejected and rejected and rejected and keep losing. I want them to win. I want them to destroy themselves. I want them to create themselves. I want them to create their own world filled with imagination. I want to **** them. I want them bleeding and bruised. I want them to end up homeless on the street with nowhere to go with needles sticking out of their veins. I want them to find god. I want them crawling through a river of **** and coming out clean on the other side. I want them to enjoy the little things and hate the little things. I want them to come to life. But ultimately I want them to make me cry. I want them to touch something inside of me that laid dormant for years. I want them to understand and feel my pain and empathize with me like no one has. I want myself in these pages. These sticky pages that combine to make a story.

First there is the prep.
The roommate.
Wearing salmon colored pants.  
He has Shaggy from ****** Doo
On his left thigh.
The alcoholic.
She has a drinking problem.
She is in denial of her drinking problem.
She hangs out with the loners.
The loners.
Unkempt, unattractive and fat in all the wrong places.
The blond looks like Tom Petty.
The one with dark hair, glasses and braces
They live next door.
Living together but segregated. 
Wild cards.
All of us.

©Gambit '13

Dear Prudence, Julia, Michelle, Mr. Moonlight, Eleanor Rigby, Dizzy Miss Lizzy, Lady Madonna, Lovely Rita, Rocky Racoon, Lucille, **** Sadie, Clarabella, Her Majesty, Nowhere Man, Penny Lane, Carol, Long Tall Sally, Maggie Mae, Johnny B. Goode, Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds, Moonlight Boy, Martha My Dear,

You Like Me Too Much. It’s All Too Much. I’m So Tired. The Night Before Yesterday Memphis, Tennessee, I Saw Her Standing There. Polythene Pam.
Not A Second Time She Said She Said “Hey Bulldog. I Want To Hold Your Hand. Why Don’t We Do It In The Road. Here, There and Everywhere. Something.”
I Want To Tell You I Should Have Known Better.  “Wait. Slow Down. I Just Don’t Understand. Tell Me Why.”
“Because I’m Down. I’m Happy Just To Dance With You. Hold Me Tight”
“I’ll Be On My Way”
“Please Please Me”
“Get Back. Help!”


And I Love Her
All My Loving,
Mean Mr. Mustard
P.S I Love You

Time is our most finite item.
Time and truth are siblings.
Because when your time is up.
And even then do you know.

Time is your enemy and friend.
If you know how to use it.
Live passionately.
Love passionately.

And remember you only get
one chance...in this world.

We don’t take in the best parts.
Never satisfied,
Never being enough.

We don’t take time to observe.
Pausing
Only for a moment.

We don’t spend time enjoying,
Little things.

We don’t allow them to consume us.
Fill us up.
Breathe them in.
Take us over.
Control over every move.

I know,
Because I’m the worst offender.

He opens his Star Wars: A New Hope lunch box
Inside a hippies dream.
**** in baggies that have the superman symbol
And Batman symbol on them
Tabs of LSD
And molly.
Hunter S. Thompson would have a field day

©Gambit '13

I recently got fired from a job. I was working at a summer camp with the 8 year old's. And one day one of Satan's soul ******* descendent's got on my nerves so I snapped. I said "Ok. You need to stop right now you little walking abortion". You would be mad too if he kept hitting you with his crutches.

This poem is dedicated to you.
You are the  best.
Silence. The most powerful of all nature.
There would be no comedy.
There would be no tragedy.
Stillness.
Imagine a world where we lived in silence.
No one spoke. Only body language.
Nature in its glory. Freedom
You are the best.
This poem is dedicated to you.

"You can't".
The two most hurtful words.
"You can't" are fear words.

They are used by people afraid that you can.
That you have the courage to do.
To be everything that they are not.

The problem arises when you believe in their ****.
You fall into a self defeating trap.
You beat yourself up.

Constantly asking yourself "What if they are right?"
"What if I'm not good enough."
You analyze, reanalyze and anaylze again.
Thinking that you can change things that are out of your control.
The situations don't change.

To the people who say "You can't"
You can.