Deformed and slapped together, Dr. Leonardo Frankenstein was father.

Against science and god I am birthed from the rubble and chaos of a pop culture gate that split the two worlds.

My soul is old yet I'm a child in a body of middle age, I am stuck halfway between mortal and divine, I am conflicted about my inner workings because I fully understand them yet I understand them to know they cannot be fully understood, father says I am perfect and in his perfection he has found flaws, so I am perfectly flawed.

Halfway between a friend a threat, I resent all yet I do not repent.

I am the Godchild of Man's love of self, I am art and therefor can be sold.

To market I go, scrap my pieces and build a better creation.

I am flawed and so I was made out of a perfect image, the funhouse mirror reveals the truth, a distorted freak dressed in human clothes, I can talk like you, think like you, yet I'm a hodgepodge of humanity.

I am the atom bomb of humanity, ready to explode and take it all with me.

I lit a joint and finally sat down, the sweat ran from my forehead as the heat cooked the street. I was saved by the voice on the radio.

Her voice led me to light
Like a child I was wondering through the day and cowering in the night.

I heard her prayer on the radio and I was able to rest, searched for so long I forgot what I was looking for, the devil was in the details and she cleared up the red tape.

Kissed my forehead and cast me into sleep, kept me safe.

The journey of life had reached it's end. I was a good soldier and did my part, now I rest.

I took a drink and closed my eyes, feet up on the desk as the sun hung high over head- whatever happens tomorrow is a different day but right now I could bask in whatever peace I deserved.

Her voice was a prayer in the dark, an in the dark I had worked enough.

She kissed my forehead and with it I was blessed another day.

Mistress Mistress skin my back and teach me to sin

Mistress Mistress take me to your whim and control I grant you.

Cure my heart of pain, for the world at large is one of torment, I am the fool, I am the fool for you. I lick your boots and give you my skin.

Control is love and I am out of both, I am a skinsack of lust and greed, nothing more than a vessel for your control.

Angel of my fear, collect my tears as holy water so you can baptize me a saint of sin, the dark heart bleeds on a cross of latex.

Desire burns like a wildfire, one I fueled under cover and hidden away from the dark, the waking world I walked away from as there was nothing left for me.

Pictures hung on the wall
they laid in a photo album
stuck in a wallet
uploaded to a computer

We had the memories of yesterday, looking back we were young, we were wild and reckless.

One for all and all for one and through fire and fury, through hell and highwater, we fought back to back.

Weddings and funerals of the days gone by, but we've got the pictures to prove we have the scars, yet the older we get brighter those black and whites seem.

Every night if it's a nightmare in technicolor, I glance to the past and know that you too have those nightmares and then I remember I'm not alone and sleep becomes easier.

Five years turned to twenty-five turned to fifty and old age consumed us, and we burned like stars in the night sky.

We lost touch but we keep the pictures alive and well so we know who we were.

And no one can take that away.

Leather and lace and in ******* we trust, for trust is where we find each other.

Words of affirmation lead to gifts of temptation, time spent together revealed trust in one another and respect hand in hand.

Birds of a fountain pen write together and bonded words scrawled in blood on stone, time runs through sand and we are not alone.

Hourglass.

sand over sand equals time and time again, thick and thin means better or worse and any port in a storm, safe harbor from the soft words that would fall apart from lesser men who would woo you to unsuccessful avail, and ivory towers high above shelter from the storm that was.

What was is past and what is shall be and together through bonded hearts and a future paved in uncertainty but together hand in hand we become sand.

Time and time again

I could so easily close my eyes and call this day and end, and yet like a child I fight it.

No fancy words, no reasons or witty rhymes, just true exhaustion.

The sun never sets on those people who can make their own lighthouses.

Fading fast to the grips of sleep, claws circle and bind...goodnight

Random words running through a tired mind.
Video killed the radio star and that's the day the music and laughter died.

Theater passed the torch to radio plays and the radio laid down at the feet of the silver screen, we're hi on our hi-fi wifi now **** your old media because it's outdated even before it comes out.

Eyes fight to stay awake as I fall asleep in front of the words and my mind auto pilots the thought out.

In spray paint font on a neon billboard full of lies it reads "Media killed art, we all just watched"

I never should have stopped drinking says the old artist, for his glory days are behind him and while he's respected he's got nothing left and at the end of the day- what's in a name to make it stay?

Nail me to cross and cut out my heart.

Let me hang, leave me to dry.

There are a million more like me, a million more have died before and after, baking in the sun drenched blood fields of conflicts far and wide.

This heart you've faced before, we kneel not.
Take the sword over chains, if life is the measure of self then cut my line short here for I'd rather die free than under your law.

I've taken hit after hit, loss after loss, I've been heart broken, bloodied, bruised, I've been lied to, stolen from and gotten my *** handed back to me.

I stand here still holding my ground because you can't take it all and that way I never lose.

You are of paper, burning under my flame.
You are of wax, resolve melting compared to me.

I am of time, of stone, of fire, I am of soul and heart, of passion and art. I am of steel, of blood.

Your victories are small but many while I have the important battles under my belt, so take your wins while you can because overtime you're fighting an army you can't win.

And so we honor the dead
A thousand unsaid words spoken too late
The field of death marked by flowers and so we grow pretty, oh so pretty in the dirt.

The death takes us and rots us and as we rot from the world we are forgot.

Death takes its toll and so we go into the earth, pretty living things out of pretty dead things.

The piped piper taking rats to the sea, stealing children and watch them drown, for hopes go with the youth.

Dead down on silent docks as bleak waters kiss the shore, quote like Poe and the whispers "nevermore"

Nevermore and Neverwas, and just like the the hopes are dashed and so go the youth so go the hopes, down into the deep blue where rolling waves smother and crush the lungs of those who try to gasp for air.

Piped piper piping down the lane, dragging with him those of faith and those insane, piped piper playing a song, some for pay some entertain.

I walk the world in search of sight but losing touch is just too much.

I am man, the first of my kind, I walk the line between sin and divine.

Drink  of waters from the spring, mother earth takes care of me for I am man, the first of my kind. I am clay feet in hell and heaven in mind.

Lights go down in cityscapes as the fire inside is stoked by the winds of change

Coin flip my luck for I am the first of the a line, blood lines and family feuds. But there's a light somewhere in there and in the darkest times it shines, lighthouse guiding me back to solid foundation.

Solid foundation where I'm circling the space station, day dreamer tripping over his lucid self, i am the first of my kind I walk the line of sin and divine.

I can teach you how to bleed, how to cheat, lie and stael, I can teach you how to kneel, how to sin, how love to and do it again.

I am flawed perfection and mother earth takes care of me, I drink of her spring waters while her moonlight lulls me to sleep.

I am a creature of destruction, of instruction, I am fleshmade machine.

Somewhere in this darkness there is a lighthouse with a light just for me, just for me to know that I'm not a lost cause, neon lights telling me who saves, while stars shine bright but my guiding light points me home and keeps me where I need to be.

Let's talk for a moment about free speech.

Hello Poet, say what you will for art is free speech and expression of the soul.

Hello poet, think what you will because thoughts are free and through thought we become more and strive for greater heights.

So, I am torn and here is why.

Censorship in art?

The word *****- a female dog.
The word ****- a term for a rooster.
The word ***- a British term for a cigarette.

Offensive words yet being offended is a one to one ratio.

To censor words and art is a step backward in the artistic community, that being said this is a public site who have advertisers and marketable money making devices set in place to keep this site running...so art vs commerce...

Who chooses what gets the starred dots and under what guidelines, is it context? Is it all no matter what?

What if the offensive part of the piece isn't a word what about the topic?

The open discussion isn't to be found it's hid behind stars where meaning and emotion are often blurred.

So I can't say FcK fair enough, I'd have to say Sx or making love,  but I can't really say I got made love out of a job or I got scred out of a job.

Is there no place for raw language that is ugly and unflattering? So all art must be clean and pristine so it does not offend the mass population?

Do you know how the population got to be so big? A lot of lve making, Oh because what if someone finds that word offenve?

Do we spe* around the iue* now?

finds what *?

If is a ***** word then isn't language lost?

Words alone are not offensive, the subjective nature of the word to the individual makes them offensive, now clearly there is a time and a place for these things...you shouldn't say * in church, you shouldn't call a ....sorry a human younger than a toddler an *.

But this is an art site, a website devoted to art and free thinking, yet the advertisers who support and fund this site say that some words may offend the public and so those words must be banned...so are we * more * * *?

*

I am torn because in a place where thoughts should be free, where art and ideas are expressly told to be free and stand out, now in some way the voice of anger, the voice of radical emotions are now muted, yet at the same time...someone has to pay for this site to keep it running, and a platform to stand is better than no platform at all...but if you're going to censor the words where does it stop?

Everyone is offended by something all it takes is one loud good complaint and a word, an image, a book, a movie, a song...they get burned, deleted, blocked, censored...

I am torn.

Strange trip through time as the music I hear comes from when I was in highschool.

Currently I am 31, Korn are now an old band, smoking has been replaced by the juul and I find myself thinking when did I no longer have my finger on the pulse of society?

Do teenagers know that their culture is created by 30 and 40 year olds who know them so well that they can target their individuality and make a profit out of them?

Did I?

I was rocking out to The Cure and The *** Pistols in highschool while everyone around me was listening to the black eyed peas and slipknot and somehow I still see the irony of it all.

How detached am I?

Is youth the key to being in touch with whats happening unless you find yourself as an influencer?  

Another social term that only existed in fashion magazines when I was in highschool now we focus on Instagrams and snapchats to tell us what's what and what fashion to follow.

I'm trending on my younger self and what we call **** riding or *** kissing is now called stanning... Am I losing touch?

is this what age does or does society simply become more marketable and I fall for less the older I get?

At what point do I walk away and become old and just simply don't get it?

Age sneaks up on us and soon we forget and lose track of what's happening and soon we have a group of highschool wannabe punk *** kids laughing at us as we stand in line at the mall, wired, tired and exhausted from work but we've only got a few hours to get this last minute gift for our friend or for a babyshower and we make under what we deserve because we bust our *** and yet the house payment racks up and our manager who is younger than us by a year somehow thinks they're better than us, so we have to see these hoodie wearing smirking *** teenage brats mock us, meanwhile we can outdrink, outparty, outfuck and out run them because no matter how hard they think they are, we've got the experience to support us.

Age sneaks up and soon those punk *** whiny instastars become 30 year olds who say the same **** we do because when we're young everyone lives forever and hindsight is 3030 or 4040 but this is part bitter, part better, its part knowledge and part wisdom, it's part jaded and part self aware.

At the end of the day it's all just signs of age.

And in some ironic twist of fate, we saw each other from across the hall, it could've have been days or years- it wouldn't have mattered.

When two people who have been through as much as we have come to a mutual understanding, words are simply pointless, her eyes sparkled and we stood there and just stared at each other, the slightest sound from either of us would have sent the other into a fit, so we smiled.


Here is where we parted ways for the final time, she turned to her date as I turned my back and left through the side exit.

Something like pride stung me, but I held it back and in so I could savor my sweet wallowing and pity, I am never the victim and when I get to play the part I may as well play it as well as I can. I keep it to myself so that I alone can sup on the sweet juices of self pity, and yet I know that it wont last long.

I caught a ride to the edge of town
I took a breath and said goodbye home town, hello world.

I was getting out to get out. I was getting lost to get lost so that I could find myself, I was sick of being sick in the same place, the same town, the same faces and people, so I caught a ride to the edge of town, took a breath and said goodbye.

Feeling used for too long, feeling tired of the it all, so I vanish to the road to make a point, that life is more than what we see in front of us every day, and it's easy to forget.

I packed my bags and hit the road, losing myself so I can discover who I am and where I belong, maybe I don't belong anywhere- but at least I know where I stand.

Standing on two firm feet is better than wading through the muck and not seeing what you stand on or being so caught in a haze you can't see where you are.

When they find out I'm gone they'll see a knife stuck a wall with a note expressing my feelings and thoughts, it'll be misunderstood but by then I'll be long gone and off the grid in another city finding myself in a new job, finding out whatever I didn't know before.

Not a drifter or a sifter, not a drunk or a ***, not a hippy or running from my problems, just doing what I need to- to find out who I am.

By the time they notice I'm gone I'll be back with a new lease on life, we don't belong anywhere. We exist wherever we are, existing however we can.

Hoping tomorrow will be better.

Another sleepless night because of the break up.
I wanted to cry but I was too angry, at the same time I was just numb and a small part, some small part of me was glad that it was over.

Will I ever be enough?

Another ***** in the armor, another nic in the blade, another memory left on the field as I trudge forward without a choice.

These kind of fights could **** a lesser man- that's dramatic.
We've all been there,

Another sleepless night.

Another sting to the pride, another memory, another love gone to the wayside, wishing I was enough (for her) now I'm left fishing for love while I sit out of luck again.

It's one more battle, one more fight, it's one more bruise on a pretty battered heart, and yet it beats as strong as ever.

The river I've cried is something I cross and sometimes it's still waters while the rapids rage inside, even if I could take out my anger, what would be the point? Sore hands on a punching bag? And what if I drowned my sorrows? I'd be drunk and angry?

What if  I wrote a poem? Drove really fast? Tried to clear my head?

Would any of it help?
These emotional fire fights keep coming, it's part of being alive, it's part of being human and when we're born we sign a contract that this is just all part of the ride.

Lone soldier on the battle field of romance.

I've got one more fight in me after another fight, one more love gone to the wayside.

One down, a million down,a million more to go. This is the fight we choose and we cast our lot because it's all part of what we signed up for.

I'll leave a cross on the field for the memory and as much as it pains me I'll walk away and with every step that memory becomes a picture in a frame on the wall of my mind- summer to winter 2018-2019.

Modern romance burns hot but it burns out, and in a candle wick flicker it snuffs out.

I take a deep breath and say goodbye, I've got one more fight after this, and after that one I'll still have one more fight, until one day the fight stops and I leave the field and settle down with her who dropped her sword first and took off my armor to reveal the man.

I've got one more fight and one more fight after that.

I'm a superstar
a new god in your eyes and tv control from my remote
my every move is on your newsfeed,
I've got a star with my name on it, I've got cameras following my every step, I walk through traffic jams to make my way to your car radio, stereo, music streaming can't escape my name.

I'm a superstar.

Jaded, faded and immature,
I'm a superstar and you're obsessed so you want me more.

Give the fans what they want, feed the beast so it can become bigger.
Lights and cameras, cameras and lights and flash.

My ****** partners are endless and slapped over the front page of every magazine you see, I whisper alone in a room and the echo sends shockwaves across the world.

I orbit myself and admire me from afar as I look up to the sky and see me and a million more.

Twinkling bight, guiding you.

Monkey see, Star do.

I make your money and live the life you want but don't deserve, I have the talent and the chops to cut it where you're just average and I'm far beyond your reach, so you wish upon me at night hoping I bless with you my light and shine it on you.

Papercut
Now I write red words, for it flows so freely.

I write therefor I am.

I bleed, therefor I can- express.
Unhygienic paper printed to the masses
Infection, Sentimentally Transmitted Document.
Infection.

Papercut, I cut the paper and turn it into a paper plane,
Crane- origami
spitball gun.
A sleeping paper tiger in the field factory of spiral bound notebooks.

Papercut.

I draw blood and let it pool in my hand so I can fingerprint my autograph on the declaration.

As John Hancock, so shall I.

They've tried for years to express themselves and as the art has shown, they've only caught a few over the decades.

Voices dying on the wind, written off by the time and the population had named them "weird art"

The freak show is in town tonight and again they try, for every body felled by the wayside there's one right behind to pick up the torch and reignite the flames.

Bullet proof prophets made of theory and ideas driving trains of thought off the track so they can crash into your homes and lives.

Train wreck train wreck.

Where there's smoke there's a wildfire heart burning with passion holding a match to a powder keg.

Suicide by design, killing ourselves for relatability.

We're sick so suicide missionaries we stand side by side.
Fighting off the chains of restrictive thought and walls built by a society of the lying, cheating, scared population who would hang free thinkers as witches, on trial just as some words have been banned.

Everyone is a critic and so we can't speak freely, free speech has become hate speech.

Context be ******.

The dying breed sit behind the fence and starve as we're picked off by the carrion thought eaters and those who run are arrested by the thought police.

Can't say this, can't think that. Careful not to offend.

Everyone wants to say everything but no one wants to feel offended, gotta play it safe because we're so fragile we're of glass.

Everything gives a disease because no one gets ***** anymore in case we catch something, we've killed our anti bodies and our systems aren't so immune anymore, thank god we've got the pills to help boost whatever we need.

Poppin pills like pez out of dispensers that take notes, bills, ***, headaches, stomachaches, spells of dizziness, dry mouth, restless leg syndrome, homicidal thoughts, suicidal thoughts, being too hungry, not being hungry enough, back pain, hand pain, toothache, and a million other issues that probably could be solved with a little bit of effort but nope, pills and an arm and a leg Dr. bill are the cure.

Paying way too much attention to celebrities while everything burns. Then when the fire reaches you it's time to worry.
You're just the newest sapling in the fire that's swallowed by the flames of drama, gossip and *******.

A million dead artists their bodies all point to the way, the treasure of art, soul and comedy, tragedy, drama, political and social commentary- all with points to make, yet YOU don't like what they had to say, so you censor the words you don't like, you twist the meaning to fit your offense then crucify the speaker and "expose" them for all they are.

**** that.

People cuss, people hate other people, people say words and think thoughts you may not like, they may have different ideas, they may write or song or act in ways you don't approve.

Deal with it.

The world still spins, you still grow and go on, there are important matters to attend to if you could just pull your head out of your *** for two seconds.

No matter how much you try to clean up the act, the dirt under still remains. The world is not some clean, pristine, air tight seal where you will get your way, don't like what's on tv? Change the channel, don't like what's in the book? Don't read it.

Don't like the song, the food, the people, the color of their skin, the way they talk, the politics- left or right. Then walk away.

It's their world too and you have to share it.

Sit down, strap in and deal.

Tourniquets and razor blades, and in the end Jesus saves
but charlatans make faith look like charades as they perform in cheap parades,
did it have to be this way?

Did you carry my cross for me?
Did you bend on ****** knee?

Or was it all just for show, because you had nowhere else to go,
so you became a crucifistar.

I am awash in color
I am blank canvas no more

I am painted perfect by the artist who saw the beauty in me
and so I am born.

With every brush stroke I felt my heart beat as I crawled out from the blank, and as I fell to the cold stone floor I knew love, from the hands of the creator that held me.

I am awash in color
Blank canvas no more.
I am created perfection
formless no more.
I am art and beauty, I am peace and unity.
I am self.

And so I weep at the grave
Into the hole love goes and with it, the final tears I will ever cry.

With her goes my heart and my passion, with her goes my creative fire and urge.

She was my muse and my compassion, she was the best of me and without her I no longer need to hold onto the best parts of me, for she is not here to light my way.

Lighthouse no more, into the dark I sail.

Dressed in black I sit and stare at the cold dirt and know that no matter what we do or who we are, we end up here. Bones and all.

Dressed in black we weep together for some lost a friend, some lost a daughter and sister, I lost more than a lover in her.

My guiding star burned out and now I care not what happens for without her I am the shadow of a man before I met her.

When a man is powerless, send him a woman, and when you take the woman away- you break the man. No one is an island so I shall sink to the bottom of that cold, crushing ocean.

Let me drown,
let me drown,
let me down.

In my sorrows.
I care not for the sunrise or tomorrow.

Now I don't wanna do what they say, wanna create and destroy and do it my way.

And I don't wanna follow the rules they play, make believe my own game and win it my way.

Art heart
Bleeding Starts
where to start- I don't know where it stopped.

Stopped at the top
Bottom back again- I'm welcomed back and back at it again.

Now I tried to play and follow their rules,
Ending up acting like a fool
So I carved myself out of stone, sat on a tree stump and called it a throne.

I burn the forest down to bring new life from the underground,
force those above to run for the hills

They pop pretension like  intolerance pills.

Parody.
Comedy and tragedy and I forget the point-
I write to express myself and almost got lost in the unknown approval of the past that I have had.

Parody, for I gave in almost too quickly but if I almost gave in- isn't it the same thing?

Chasing fame like a savage dog I nip the heels trying to get a taste of that which I have never known- the lesson is learned.

I am not beyond the ego. I let myself slip and almost forgot the important thing- expressions- I shocked myself.

Humbled again, I'm sure I will forget again.

I write because I have the urge to write, it is not a choice, not a hobby, not a distraction, it's a very real bite that gnaws at me and so I wear its teeth down and quell the noise in my head.

Chasing fame does nothing but block out the real expressions and thus I feel no satisfaction.

The work comes first.

The world's most expensive paper shredder.
When we try to market art we must beware of the artists who swim in the dark waters.

We got Banksy'd again- and it was beautiful.

A room of shocked faces and silent groans, fear and disgust filled the room as the well-to-do- watched value turn to art and art into a story.

It's no longer a thing that is, but a thing that was- and was should be the way art is.

Art is a free thing- and yet the artist must sell their art to survive and thrive, yet how can we justify selling the thing we claim to be free, is it only in pretentious tongues?

The value of art is not what it sells for, but more of what it means to the crowd before it.

In for a penny in a for a pound, destroy the value and create something more, bring art back to its roots so that we may admire it for what it is.

"The urge to destroy is also the urge to create"- Banksy- Picasso- Bakunin. "

The words we leave behind the loved ones- things we never said.
If only for a moment an "I love you" could've saved it all.
"I miss you" "I'm sorry"
These are the phrases that haunt us and yet everyone has them.
We're really not so different if we feel the same and leave the same phrases unspoken.
Regret is a mask we all seem to wear and so we all look the same, sheep in a herd of wolves when they come out to speak their mind and utter the phrases we only want to say.

The words we leave behind grit the path and allow those after us to venture further than we had the strength to.

If I could I say I'm sorry, would it have even mattered?
Maybe it's better that I leave the words unsaid, the unknown future is as unknown if the words are said or not, outcomes may differ but does it matter?

Hindsight is twenty-twenty but since I can never see the other outcomes, do they matter anyway?

Sometimes allowing things to fall is the only way to rebuild.

I speak like a slave to remind those who have forgotten that in their chosen lack of memory we can find those who still live in chains.

I speak like to a king to show those who believe that they are not of class that money and birth do not dictate what we become.

I speak in tongues to show those who lack faith that sometimes having it simply means trusting it.

I speak like a child when I need to convey my playfulness, and when I am scorn or anger I become the parent speech.

Lacking the knowledge to bridge the gaps of social and human connection, I find myself speaking a language that everyone seems to have forgotten.

When the milk of human kindness turns sour so does our spit to venom as we sink our fangs into one another hoping to survive the pack and sit atop the bone pile.

I find myself speaking a language I did not know until I knew what it was called, and by that point I was already jaded to my fellow humans.

Language, I inked it on stone as I gave up and walked away, leaving everything to understand how I was speaking for the next linguist to uncover.

You saved me one day.

You didn't even know it, you came out of nowhere and showed it was two against the world.

I was born an only child but you became a brother by blood, as we aged together I stood as the best man at your wedding, you were there when my mother passed.

I became godfather to your child. You became my oldest friend.

When you told me you were sick and she had left you because the bills were too much, I helped you as much as I could.

When you wanted to feel like the old you again, I brought out the poker chips and turned the music on.

The virus was spreading and all I could do was standby and watch,
Watch you wither away.

I picked your kid up from school, took her to the mall, took her to ice cream and to see her mother.

She asked about you and her words sounded bitter.

My girlfriend and I would always stop by just to see how you were doing, pizza, movies, anything to try and act like you weren't fading.

The day you died is the day I lost a brother and became an old child again, and now the leaves fall on you grave and I stop by once a month to keep you updated.

Your little girl like animals, she wants to be a zoo keeper, your ex regrets leaving and not being strong enough to stick around.

Now that you're gone we all feel the absence of your laugh, the sting of your wit.

You saved me one day, and when you needed to be saved I could only watch you wither away.

**** cancer.

What lurks beneath the visible waves.

The teeth graze me, the tentacles envelop me.

I am drowned, cast away, I am adrift in the big blue sea without land.

The sun mocks me, I am parody. I am anxiety.

Fear of the unknown and crushing sorrow, the ferryman knows this sea for he lurks beneath and travels the rivers and undercurrents of those unlucky enough to find themselves lost on rogue waves.

Sanity wears thin as I drift along that silent and demanding void.

What lurks beneath those waves, mirrors of my own future for the unknown is just that.

The not knowing is the worst part.

And from the dirt I return,
Masked up and on

Dead men tell no tales so I had to reach back into the well with my shovel and bring out the bones of the poets before me who spoke too little, they remain silent heroes with low book sales.

The pen is mightier than the sword, I went Out for Blood and spilled as much of my own as anyone else, the battlefield was littered with bodies and thoughts, ghosts of the unlucky.

We grow or die, adapt or survive. The Jester mask- I wear it with it pride.

This is the resurrection of a thousand dead thinkers who got lost to time,
Some had their work plagiarized, that’s what’s known as a crime.
I ring the bell for who it tolls cast their names on my list, I drink to remember and to forget.

I say a prayer before their names, unmarked talent in a shallow grave.

Bring out your dead because the hacks, fakes and plagiarists need to see some skin before they try to take more flesh again.
They pose art, I recreate crime scenes, they have a new book on the burner cooking, I’ll Hannibal them as I roast them over the open fires of creativity.

You think this is easy?

You want the fashion, fame, money and house?
What about start realistic, one light on, a cup of forty-nine cent Wendy’s chili and a rent check that’s overdue.

While people bleed, sweat and carve their art out, you come along and pick it apart, then take what you want and call it “art”
You’re a hackjob wackjob whose too busy jacking off, I wish artists had a Mafia so you could get Whacked off.

You stole the words right from out of my mouth, I think its time to show all these “artists” what a bleeding heart is all about.
Mel Brooks said “everyone steals, you just have to know what to steal” he didn’t mean ruin someone else by taking their core ideas and sticking your name all over it, it’s soulless ***** like you that make me sick, as I go to cough I let the leash the slip and the hounds rush out to junk the bodies of the soulless majority who make a living off of someone else’s paycheck.

It’s work, it’s real, it takes time, effort, energy and dedication and then you come along and steal, I get it. You want what you can’t have, problem is- you can’t recreate it so you’re a one trick pony with a lame leg who hasn’t got a clue. Your autograph reads “Elmer” because you get turned to glue.

We’re not the polite socialite artists who stand around and blow smoke up each other’s *****, we’re too busy to hang around and wax whimsical, we need to know where our next meal is coming from, you just wanna talk Kafka, flash cash like Hoffa, the Jester is here to show you the way to your coffin.

I Spray Paint the Manifesto in your town.

In the right light I have angels wings and a golden halo, but the mirror behind me shows the devil horns and spiked tail, duality in man hyding in plain sight, I flipped the coin and you lost the toss, now you’re dragged out of sight.
Out of sight and out of mind, the lack of you doesn’t hurt the community, when one hack fades another one takes their place but they all look the same so don’t worry about the continuity.

We used to roll together

We used to stay up all night just crusin around the dead quiet towns listening to whatever mixtapes we had in the car

Now we're just memories on a facebook feed, we instagramly regret it but I secretly miss it.

I remember you were a little hip hop and I was a little punk, together we would play the underground tracks that we'd mix together on our Spotify playlist collection.

That was then and this is now and now it seems so long ago that we used to be something solid.

Now like air  we can't see each other but we know we're out there- somewhere.

And I fall
And so I shatter
I am glass and clay I return to simple matter.

I am the cog that turns the big gear
I am turning as I should and if I rust oil me and let me return.

And I fall
And so I shatter

I live vicariously and so i live many lives in a day
The mayfly inside me turns and dies and as it does like a maggot I worm away until I change again.

Host me for I am a virus, I am clay, mold me.
Mold me, hold me, drop me

And I fall
And so I shatter

To the floor I am the jigsaw you made me, the jigsaw I am because I can't be something without a blueprint telling me to be.

I exist to exist and I copycat and clone those around me for I am frail and of glass.

I am entropy's trophy

And I fall
And so I shatter.

Broken promises and broken homes make for happy typical teenage rebellion.

When the revolution starts you'll probably snitch to the closet cop trying to save yourself from any kind of risky change.

While some create wildfires in the mind, while they create art or inspire the culture, you feed off the hype and try to play along like you're not a victim of fashion.

When the **** hits the fan you'll be the first to blog about the wave of crazies making life hard for everyone else while wearing a *** Pistols shirt and a bobblehead of Che Guevara waves in your stylized room.

You speak of Kafka while coughin on the name brand cigarettes you call depression.

You're a bi-polar baby using the newest app to transmit the **** you force us all to swallow and yet you wonder why everyone grows tired of you.

Chalk outline in the inner city and a candlelit vigil makes for a nice twitter post but it takes a twit like that to stand on the graves of the dead and talk about politics because a few hundred die but what matters is your opinion in the public eye.

You're the reason why Ziggy broke the band up. A freak of culture with a connection to the internet. When the revolution starts you'll be late to the party and you'll miss the bus but lie about how you were there in the front line- but tell me cupcake how can you support civil unrest when you sleep 8 hours a night and take a nap during the day?

Entice us with the future
Move to the music

Livin in the past is done and gone now I want somethin new

You call it eclectic
I say that's it electric
Aint got time to lie and hate that's why imma get elected.

Weekend doesn't end when you with the crew-
Hit the street, cruise the strip and let the air in your lungs.

This is the life you always want and but never took, the one you always bordered
I say its just what the doctor ordered.

Bull by the horns
Aint got no time to get caught up in the thorns.

Movin past you, movin up this quality of life
I left the traffic now you late to work
History is written by the winners
its sad for you that you're still missin them chicken dinners.

I move on authority that's how I was raised just to keep
individuality.

The week is here and home is where the heart is,
its why I march to my own drum much like Tommy Lee is .

I spray paint freedom on a wall
make a mural out of self expression
only way to fight through this depression.

Left the mark sayin Kilroy was here
Expressionist like Klee
Marxist like Groucho
I don't wanna rant so I''ll leave that to Harpo.

Now I see you through you like you were made of glass
Our time together burned short but hot
like a candle like a candle
we made love and burned our wick down
passions down in flames
emotions up in smoke
like a candle like a candle
I've got a wax heart that you warm until I melted
Now I see it was only a thin frail lie
and I see through you like you were made of glass
If we could turn back time we wouldn't change a thing
as unhappy as we were we were only happy because we had each other
and the words unsaid left a hole in floor where the fire burned through
like a candle like a candle

The return of the wolf-
Apex predator back on these streets, all these fat little pigs rockin bad words with dusty thoughts- writing loud like their Stephen King elites.
That's a work of fanfiction, you write shallow and brag deep but deep down your soul is only surface level.
I came back to my roots to check up on the place, came back to find a million fake poets tryin to run things like the topics they write cause heat.
You're lukewarm at best and I know you can't think this fast so I won't wait for a reply.
While you're dyin to rhyme I'm dying while trying to produce something new to me.
While you live in your comfort zone and write about the troubles of the world from the safety of your home- you want to impress but don't want to offend, no wonder all your thoughts have been said before by better.
You wanna be down with the street, you wanna be the thinker o the block- problem is you're just a little read writing in this hood.
Out in the deep woods where the words run thick apex thinkers act like scavengers to stay hungry so we don't lose edge.

Pigs get fed, hogs get slaughtered. I'd rather be a truth speaker and free thinker than a fat cat who soul'd out to the biggest fish on the market.

You've heard the stories, seen the plays.
Felt the love and loss of these stories we sell for pennies everyday.

Romeo and Juliet, young and tragic, bound by blood, a tale as old as time and a reason to care, to cry, to love, to fight for and come back to.

You can sell these stories to tabloid trash on a Friday for the nightly entertainment. You can sell these stories to your family and friends because everyone loves a good underdog story.

I've heard this story before, I've watched it on the silver screen and I often wonder if that'll be me someday. Someday any day, any day but today- or at least she says so.

Carved names on a tree for a hundred years and a hundred years before, the dates speak true and now here as a mark that this story is as old as the trees themselves.

You've lived these stories.

From the bubbling cauldron of mankind I crawl out of the muck.

Below the sewer and gunk, the mud and sewage we crawled to the top of the bubbling stew and slid over the lip.

I am mankind, of divinity.

I am the first vampire, trading ***, blood and lives for one or another.

In me I trust, I crawled form the soup and learned to craft, I learned to stand and speak.

I am the first lion. Controlling my pride and overseeing my land.

Of the stars we were forged, of luck and God, of Mother and Father, of Earth and mythology so we rose.

Our towers of Babel, our Skyscrapers and low hanging gardens of Babblespeak.

I am the first clone.

I teach the leech to drain

I teach the leech to take all it can, so what do I expect when the mouth I feed bites back?

Instruments and devices of our own destruction and downfall- we create them. Students pass the master and now the master relearns how to be humble.

Our own falls marked by our student no longer needing the skills we can teach or already knowing the lessons we know.

We know our time has come.

I taught the leech to survive on its own, I fed it until it could survive alone and now it thrives in ways I never could.

Jack and Jill went up the hill to pop a pack of pills,
Jack went laughing boy and Jill came down after,
Party boy and Party girl drinking the kool-aid.

******* Jill was what she was known as while Jack was Jillin around,these two made a mess and both came down after the other.

They got so high that they came, went and came again.

Jack and Jill went up the hill to pop a pack of pills and ended up blowing their load all over town, left their samples in parkside restrooms, brain sugar and high cavity.

Jack and Jill ****** off in the alley way behind the racist pharmacist, they made a right mess.

Jack got jacked and Jill got off, the come down burns.

Divas with a baseball bat,
Smeared make-up buttercup, ball busting ******* flirting with the fools and hard-ons in the alleyway.

These girls don't run from trouble, they cause it, **** it, break it, they define it.

Killer queens, savage pretties, beauty queens with baseball bats and brass knuckles kisses left you speechless and broke wondering what the hell happened to you.

These girls in the drop top with their tops down play men like fiddles, they treat em like clowns. These girls on the street can take what they give and they don't break.
Tattooed, short skirts, low tops, high heels and contraband in the back seat these girls are the kinda girls society warned you about.

These are the women of the world who bite back before they get bit because they know the wild side of life is the only way to live, so keep up and roll the dice because boy, these girls toss em hard and live fast.

We'll do it live,
All out or none at all,
Roll the dice and take a risk- or so they said.
So they said.

We'll entertain the lights, the stage, the people, we'll dance, sing, cry, we'll rock the roof, shake the floor and stampede the door.

Lights on, lights off- we'll do it Live.

I run on hard drugs and live for the lights, my name in them spells "STAR."

I burn bright because I won't burn long.

So I am the animated, I am the rising sun on which the papers and tabloids write about.

Live and let live, live and let die- I'm worth a million dollars and counting, who tells my story after I pass gets the prize just as my story and fame goes to the highest bidder.

I look like a saint, I **** like a sinner, I'm looking cool as long as I'm thinner.

Lights on, lights off- we're better in action, so roll the camera and we'll be the attraction.

And so I laid my life down unwillingly in the high school hallway as the disgruntled kid blew off steam.

I became a symbol.

I found myself in a strange land with other people much like me, we were well armed and had matching uniforms fighting against people we thought of as strange.

I became a hero.

I found myself with a choice to leave her to love her.

I became a father.

I found myself without option or hope, I found myself in the gutter, I found myself with no life to live.

I became a statistic.

I found a cause in which I would fight and die for, a cause which would jail me and forget me, a cause with I would be judged for me.

I become a martyr.  

I found a political voice in which I thought had weight.

I became a joke.

I found myself at the edge of the world repeating all my mistakes and actions without learning the lessons.

I became insane.

I found myself looking in the mirror.

I became self conscious.

I found myself starved for affection.

I became a ****.

I found myself starved of personality.

I became boring.

I found myself in the lost and found.

Now I can become.

Light a flash and the magic starts,
To the stage, to the crowd, to the person you play nightly.

Dance and sing to the colored lights.  Now watch our tricks, now watch our trade, we're live and every night is a new sight of wonder and you wonder how we do what we do.

We're entertainers who work with smoke, mirror and shadow to create the spectacles of light and sound, high flyers and fire breathers, so welcome to the show and take a seat number crunchers and daydreamers.

We are the way to release, we provide you with the escape you want, you need, you're afraid to let go. So let us let go for you.

Come one, come all. Come big, come tall, come short, come small. Bring your smiles, bring your dreams, bring your family, friends and loves.

Moment to moment, watch our movements and watch what we do because while we do what we do and we do it for you, we do it for us because no one else will.

Entertainers entertaining the ideas that you dream of, that exist in your mind and dreams.

Are freaks electric?
Do they shock you? Do they put a fear into you? Are the oddities that odd in the light of the day?

Are freaks taboo?
Do they deserve they shadow hand? The second hand citizenship of fellow country men? the shun of woman and the mockery of the children?

Are freaks limited?
A rare breed, something fresh and new, something strange and beautiful. Are freaks uncommon to your life? To your world?

Are freaks diseased?
Riddled with the plague? Cursed with disability? Are freaks inhuman?

Are freaks freaks?
If respect is odd, if simply civility has gone, if that is so strange and we are paranoid of one another then mayhaps we are freaks in our own way. Just because the body lacks deformity does not mean the mind does.

Does not mean the spirit or intent does.
The worst freaks look like humans, they learn how to speak like us, to walk, talk and dress like us. All the while the dark intent lies behind the smile and jokes, behind the kind gesture.

Joesph Merrick was not an animal. Ted Bundy was.

I stood by the bay and cast my problems away.
Into the shifting sands went my life, sand castles of dreams and hopes- the life of a younger man I did see wash away into the sea.

These old eyes have seen too much and learned too little far too late.

I have heard the call of battle far off from another room and as I turned off the T.V. I had another voice call out for me- changing rooms and places with each other- we're as fickle as the waves.

So the hourglass drains from one end to the other and no one to flip it, this is how we run out of time.

With age comes wrinkles and worry, with age comes debt.

So I stand by the bay and wait for the waves to wash me away. Sand castle life, King of the beach.

I'd rather sleep than die
I feel like my wings have been ripped from my back;
I am the fly.

I am the voice inside of my own head,
I am the headache that I try to kick back with pills as I drown them with water and hope that it sinks.

Sleep at my fingers tips yet I can't get a grip.
I'm losing control now but somehow I still have enough to type these words.

I am the man in the mirror who believes I can cross over if I stare into my reflection long enough.

Now I lay thee down to sleep- is a joke at best.
But allow me to digress, surely I jest.
Word play is the new flirtation and  an argument with myself may as well be *******.

I speak in tongues that I can only say when I'm sleep deprived and half dazed.

Come now with the sun to try and bring clarity, I close my eyes and ignore the message, unfazed I remain.

A name in lights
Stageshow acts, a real freak and geekshow.
So leave your conventions at the door, hang your hat and check your coat because you're going to want to stay awhile.

The stage of lights is built and the stage is set for your entertainment.
Twinkle twinkle Hollywoodland
Your name in lights and fame right in your hands.

Another day in paradise and I'm falling for the lies again, the beauty and tragedy of stories, a city of the lost and found.

A name in lights twinkle twinkle Hollywoodland.

There’s a man with a mask and a plan and a dream and although he’s just a man he’s far more than he seems.

The man puts on the mask and the magic starts, the goal is simple. To capture your hearts.

I want to light the fires of your passions, want to inspire your desire, look at the lights and the fashion.

If we are the artists and this is the art, then you are living it as we create it. You are a part of it.
We present you with the strange, we show you the sideshows of the past in modern flare.
This is vaudeville this is show this is an indulgence. So runaway from reality into the Shadow Show because our doors are open and we’re ready to entertain.

Trust the man in the mask because you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain
everything you’ve seen so far is just the beginning, the rest is clawing at the door just waiting to show itself.

So, trust the Jester because I haven’t told you a lie you haven’t liked. He’s an honest charlatan, everything you see before you is as real as you want it to be. So surely you jest because we’re the best at what we do and what we do is to bring the strange, odd and wonderful to you.

Let us inspire your desire. Let the real world go- if even for a night.
You’re living art while we live this life. It’s who we are and what we do. Our blood on the stage our dreams hang overheard, to make you smile to make you scream. It’s a little scary and that’s the tightrope we walk, dancing on the edge of a knife.
So, we trust you to trust us and we trust the Jester.
If only for one night you walk into our world we’ll pluck the stars from the sky and burn brighter than any light you’ve known. If only for one night you want to let go, let us take you on a journey you have only dreamed of

And it may not be the easiest thing but it definitely isn't the hardest.
I'm packing my bags because we've run our course and of course we ran the race as hard and as long as we could, but all good things must come to an end.
The fun stopped when the love went, and the love went when we both stopped trying, now we love what we love and we love what we remember so we're chasing a memory, loving the past and who we we were but who we are now isn't what we wanted and it both shows.

It may not be the easiest thing but it definitely isn't the hardest thing, so walking away is better than living the lie of love that we both remember, emotions lost and time spent well.