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.

I left a rose on your bedside when you were taken away,
I'll never forget the look in your eyes as we sat in silence;
Sharing stares as the tick of the clock kept ticking away the moments.

The moments I had with you now memories I have of you,
The doctors gave you the news, and as the family choked back tears;
All you did was smile and silently accept that you had had good years.

If I could be as brave as you then maybe I could learn to live as you did.
Unafraid in the face of defining moments.

Now some of us were bitter,
We felt cheated and robbed,
How could such a thing happen to someone so undeserving?

Others felt sad and wounded,
The end was quickly coming and with it you understood.

As we all took turns spending time with you,
It was to me you gave your greatest gift.

The words of the elder and time beyond time;
Now spoken from the dying.

You said;
Nothing is trivial and I love you.

I was the last to see you that day having been the last to show up,
In the night you closed your eyes knowing you'd never wake back up.

To this day it haunts me;
Your face in those final moments,
When most of us see the end we worry and fret, we're scared of the end.
But you,
All you did was accept it and smile.

And for that kind of strength,
I thank you.

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

What would you die for?
The perfect war?
The end result of peace once the blood shed stops?

What would you live for?
Tomorrow, if you knew tomorrow was a long way away?

Living a life walking on glass makes you tread carefully,
The glass ceiling has cracks that begin to form;
Spiderweb tracks caused by the weight of sobering thoughts.

Would you die for the perfect day?
Would you sacrifice for tomorrow if you knew tomorrow was a long way away.

Would you give all you are now so that futures you'll never see would thrive?

What would you die for?
What would you stand for?

Spent a year walking in someone's shoes
Only to have forgotten who you were before the journey even started.

Homeward bound and out again, watching the world pass you by.

The crime rate keeps moving as the nation teeters on the verge of social change.

Where do you stand?

How do you fight?

Would you die if you knew the future would be secured?
Are you selfless in death?
Are you more than yourself, can you muster the courage to move beyond?

What would you die for?

Are you the martyr of today?

What would you stand for?
Where is the line that you draw?

Would you die, if you knew tomorrow would be bright?

Would you die for the perfect war?

Would you live for the way things are now?

We do this everyday, we've sailed the seas and climbed mountains.
We've bloodied fields and came under cannon fire, for us this was Tuesday, but these people..this is a defining moment.

This night as they celebrate, as they cheer and mourn the dead, as they look ahead to a bright future, we sit and drink and smoke in silence, what else can be done?

Come sun rise these people will have to rebuild, they'll take ashes and dirt and make it into history, they shape their story and truth and their kids and kids of kids will hear the stories of those who bravely died for this bright new future, but for us....this is just one small note in our ledger.

So make merry while you can, drink and live as you will, because it all goes too soon.

Liberated people should be liberated, but for us- this is just a duty.

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.

It's not that hard to stay in place
It's not that hard to be in one in one space.

Find your books, find your movies, find your games, at home work out routines, find your hobby, learn a skill, start to cook, start to learn a second language. find time for yourself now.

We must work to eat and eat to live, and all this is being taken care of by men and women who make a thousand more choices and who have far more pressure on them, than most of us will ever know.

Allow time to take it's time and in time it'll all work out. We live in a third world country posing as first world winners. We won't starve and if we do then it's clear we had problems from the start.

We won't go homeless, and if we do it's clear we had problems from the start.

If you have a fear of losing it all, it means that you didn't care what happens in the rest of the world, if you have a sudden fear about a virus and staying home you've never thought about Africa, You've never seen poverty and true starvation.

If living in America suddenly has you worried it's simply because you've never had faith in what you preach and now you see America isn't that great.

To all the homeless people you've suggested "just get a job" or all the times you've said "being homeless is a choice" for every time you've looked down on someone for being hungry or said that illness wasn't that bad, you now find yourself in panic.

I've no sympathy for you. As you have written off so many for where they live, as you have written off so many for the uncontrollable factors in the masses lives, I hope this virus drives you insane and maybe lessons learned will turn your conservative hate into progressive help.

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.

Dirt and mud,
I dig through the blood.

Buried bones of the unnamed artist.

Commit ******, floorboard secrets
Hidden in the walls of the house
inbetween the pages of a storyboard fairy tale life.

I shovel through the muck and mire, I sweat and bleed and hide my work.

Selfish desire.

Digging for truth, digging a hole deep to bury the secrets and with the corpses and the secrets they keep.

Look inside and you shall find what you seek,
Desire.

I shovel the dirt, cracked soil and ****** ground
Oil and gold hidden in rock and earth

Bury the bones on which I wrote a story for the ages

A human time capsule, ****** was the way only way.

I watch her wither away.
I watch her cough blood and wheeze for air.

I am powerless.

She goes to where olive trees grow and die, she rests where the skies are blue and flowers will spring out from her grave.

I am powerless.

I held her hand every step of the way. I made her smile and I hid the tears for when she went to sleep.

They tell me it's ok. They say sorry. They say everything you'd expect and just like you'd expect it doesn't make me miss her any less.

I saw her in the best of times, I saw her in the worst of times, I wasn't ready to say goodbye.

Now I notice the lack of songbirds, I notice the lack of her. I notice my heavy heart and close my eyes wishing she'd come back. Wishing that something would fix this. Wishing I had her, wishing for things that were and can't be anymore.

I live on powerless. Powerless without her, knowing how'd she want me to be. Knowing I'm not the man she loved, too bitter, too cold and ill humored. She made me the man I was because she deserved better. The best. Now without her I want to slip away into the sleep coma and forgot everything.

Some of you survived this.

Some of you made it to the other side.

You saw your friends, your family, your loved ones and total strangers die along the way, you fought over blood, bodies and political ******* to get where we are now...for you this is a huge victory. For you this is a huge defining moment, for me...this is Tuesday.

Look I'm not demeaning or belittling whatever happened here, whatever victory no matter how big or small, you won. The scars that you can't see...those will wake you up at night, could be every night, it could be in fifty years, you'll be asleep and for no reason you'll wake up in a cold dead sweat with your heart pounding out of chest and you'll think back to this moment...that's about as poetic as this gets.

It's hard to think of this as a victory now considering what has happened and for better or worse, what's going to happen, but hey...take the W because it's not everyday you win like this.

As for me...I'm going to light this cigarette, turn up this song, close my eyes for a moment and by the time the song ends and I discard the remains of this trash smoke..I'll move on to some other group, to some other person, to some other town, city or problem...

Now I know what you think...I'm not some avenging angel, I'm not some white knight hero who comes in to save the day. In truth I'm angry, anger is an energy and rather than turn it inwards I turn it into something useful to help other people. I do this because the only other option is self destruction, now you call that unhappy, I call it motivation.

So go celebrate, go make merry because as soon as the sun comes up, the real work starts. The coming dawn brings new laws, it brings new hope, new life, it brings new chances and new freedom.

Enjoy this moment because history has seen a million moments exactly like this. So when you wake up in the pool of sweat and think back to this moment, and you think of me, you can rest easy knowing that you weren't the first and nowhere near the last of people who were willing to stand up to the fascists, it's not easy, it's not pretty and it ***** sometimes, but no one ever said victory was easy.

Silver screens  what we remember,
The magic of the show, the faces of the silver screen.

The stars on the street span far and wide,
Their names etched in stone with a star to show how high they went.

Success and Fame walk hand in hand, and some you know by face, others by name.

As the bright silver turned to colors, we were able to almost touch it,
The worlds which made us smile, or cry.

Alas, time goes on and so does it, the names fade into history, save one boulevard.

If we're all dreamers, if all the worlds' a stage, ad if we are all stars of our own shows, then those names on those stars are the masters of the craft.

When the screen blacks, our lives return to normal.
But the celluloid stars are just around the corner,
The golden of age of fame, before gossip and self shame.

In an age I even now romanticize, even the dark history seems to shine.

So while we love our HD and our 3D Real D blockbuster hits,
Let's not forget the names who set the standards.  

So while stars burn out bright, some burn forever if you know where to look.

Before our flashy flicks, we had the black and white generation,
It taught us to love, it taught us to cry, it taught us to shine and stand as we were.

Before the media became pure entertainment;
It was a piece of work, the moving art.

Silver screens may be a relic of the past;
but they still strong.

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.

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?

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

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.

It has been said that life is too short to spend in social trenches.

The No-man's land of daily civil warfare.
We want to be liked, we want to be understood, we want to be edgy without offending.
We want approval of the masses, we want to be desired and chased.
Validation.

Validation.

We want the want, the fame, the love, the praise, the opinions and ideas.
The winning side.

We wake up everyday and look out across the social media minefields,

The front line Social Justice Warriors, the Alternative Right guerillas.

The mass armies of the Left and Right.

The Anarchists now sip tea with the Libertarians.

Topic to topic we send our troops to fight over hill over dale!
We try, we pick our battles, we fight on all fronts.
The winning side seems so clear yet the shells never stop.
Dropping alongside, bombs carpet or drone.

We have the thousand yard pseudo thought.

Plant your feet firmly on the ground, we need boots on the air,
We need planes in the sky and ships sending reinforcements.

Modern day field intel from a not so secret spy social network.
Mid level cluster bombs of thought and quick bit pieces of food rations for thought.

Mustard gas conversations that choke the throats of some while others inhale and laugh.

Drone strike incoming, retreat from the view of public, scorched earth policy.

Some wave the white flag out of exhaustion only to go fight another battle on some far away topic.

Neutral ground hard to find, teetering on the edge of a war, always ready to fight.  
The cycle repeats and yet those who have learn’ed now pick and choose when to fight.
They sit on the sidelines and wait for the right time to strike, there may not a way to retreat all the way but there is a way to cause the most effective change in the lease of painless ways.

Life is too short to spend in social trenches, it is too short to jump from battle to battle, it is not worth the energy spent fighting the endless armies day in and day out and let life go by because you get lost in the fog of war.

To quote Douglas Adams “I’d rather be happy than right”.

Strong words that should be said more.

What the hell did we fight for?
Did we drop our helmets at the door?
At the door?
Just like the Romans, The British, The Soviets before, now we died in the desert, just like the forces before.
Forces before.

When the sun shone high we pulled the troops and brought em back home to Yankee Doodle land, while we sacrificed the women to the Taliban. You can kiss education, hope and civil rights goodbye.

The sun has set once again so, so long Siagon and Goodbye agan Afghanistan.

Now the citizen fled to the airports trying to hitch a ride on the outside of a plane, gripping that cold metal to their chest and hoping they fall over Afghanistan, rather be dead from a fall than alive over there again.

It's a sad state of affairs when we start a war and skip out on the check, Vietnam springs to mind, so let's hang our head and give thanks to
Bush
Obama
Trump
Biden
I hope it was worth it?
Was it really ******* worth it?
I don't think so
Not at all.

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.

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?

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.

Starman taking off, over Venus and to Mars, I get lost up in the stars.

Command has their doubts but I have an urge, so into the black above I travel, explorer of the unknown. Countdown to history.

Looking back down to something I knew, something now far beyond my reach as I reach to the stars and go home.

Home beyond the void and here we go, Sail into dreams, sail into dust.

Stardust and red dwarf and here we go, mission control gets cut off, we're in charge now, doing what we do going home, leaving the blue behind as we head into the void, each wearing their pride on a sleeve of Red White and Blue.

Light a cigarette, final time to say goodbye, and I'm gone.

In these hallowed halls of time gone by- I remember you.

You remember me in the worst of times- being at my best.

You remember the nights we shared together- your head on my chest.

Moving past each other, nameless in our crowd as we have years gone bye.

You remember me at my worst- during our best.

The mirror broke just like the promise.

Seven years bad luck- hard break.

Another punk writing words like there's some point.

Is this art? A rant?

It's free speech of the lowest kind, ******* in time.

Every-thing-can be a poem
if you speak
like-this; pointless.

Leslie Knope.

Art split a million times, we're James McAvoying our opinions on talent and taste.

I cut the cost and cut the cord so unmic'd and raw, since the dawn of verbalization we've used words as tools and weapons, sounds of love and panic, of joy and rage

Now we use it to fake it until enough of us make it to call it art.

Little bit of bitter then add the sweet to take the sting away,
Life is, and no spoonful of medicine can lessen it;
Mary Poppins pills to make the pain go away now.

Self medicate and try to keep it down;
Barbie and Ken, with detachable black eye and whiskey bottle.

Another household horrorshow right outside my window but if it's not on the media, how can I tweet at ya, to show you how much I care and how much I support the police at least until it's the hounds released at me.

More bad news and the death rate increases but by a show of support I can get my heart rate down to walk by my ex;  jealous with his new "*****" or so I call her.

This is the new addiction, we're all showing we to care to care and an equal sign that means peace,
safety pin it to our shirts to show we're there.

The only safety I need is on my gun, now I got a box for my son because he shot his mother in the head, I should've stressed gun safety to him, he'll get the hang of it when he starts school next year. Now the boy is a soldier, fighting for peace, some love him, some hate him. I just want him alive, but if he dies, he'll die like a hero and if he washes out early- I have no son.

Intent doesn't matter, only actions show character. That's what I call a disgrace, which is why I wear a mask, to show my true face. Hiding in plain sight is the best kind of disguise, but you can tell a storied life from the depth of my eyes.

So Mary Poppins pills and it's just the way, a little bit of salt and sugar to start my day.

If you are the healer lay your hands on me, I am diseased you can set me free. If you have the will I have the desire, if you collect ashes send me into the fire.

If you are the liar then I am the fool, I wanna hurt myself by being close to you.

So catapult me into the sun and I'll burn baby burn, catapult me into the sun and I'll burn just for you.

If you are the liar I am the fool I will survive to be used as your tool.

Ten pence piece lays heavy on the heart, loose change love affair that's falling apart.

so catapult me into he sun and I'll burn baby burn, catapult me into the sun and I'll burn just for you.

Breakdowns and shakedowns got me bruised by your heart, it wasn't the words it was action from the start! You are the seducer I am the user together we feed off of each other.

so catapult me into the sun and I'll burn baby burn, yes catapult me into the sun and I'll burn just for you.

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.

I love you, so said the words on the letter.
He cast it into the fire and up into the air went the promise of forever.

Today a heart broke.

Today rings left hands and final vows were took.

Thrashed by the side, groom left the bride, son left his dad, mother sold the daughter

hearts left by the wayside.

Today a promise was made, a life was saved, a vow was taken.
Today a lie was spoken, a heart was woken, a fire was stoked and a the fated lovers joked of their ill future fates.

Sealed with a kiss, deceit on the lips.

We're only together so we don't have to be alone, we're only alone so we don't have to commit, we don't have to commit so we don't let ourselves down, we don't let ourselves down so we don't end up alone.

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.

"I stare out of this blasted window to see the city and hear it's wretched heartbeat.

What would you have me do? Not pull the very soul out of the dirt and muck that fills the caps between paving stones?

That is what you do! You add to the muck, to the noise, the sound, the horror in life that people seem so hellbent on creating for themselves!

I toil away and waste away as the sounds wreak havoc in my mind! You ask for silence, yet I have never known the meaning of the word!
I have mimicked the voice of Angels with my violin,
I have caused Satan himself to tremble at my horns;
I am the very bridge between human soul and the almighty!

I cannot rest until this music is out of me,
I cannot sleep until I have purged myself and shown you all what noises I hear!

Even now by the look on your face, you seem timid; like that of a rabbit.

I assure you rabbit, I am the wolf.

I can shake this residence to the ground with the noises in my head.

The beauty and divine, the dirt and grime of humanity.

You seek shelter from the storm? I AM THE STORM!

I have not slept once since the age of youth,
Haunted by these tones and sounds;
They are my gifted curse, for you see I must create in order to find peace;
Which only becomes replaced by another piece!  

Let the coffee go cold, **** your eyes and your placid mind,
Go about and do whatever it is you do!
Pester me no more with your simple understandings!

I am creating things you can only dream of;
To you they are the Absinthe Dream.
To me, they are divinity channeled down from the high heavens and low hells.

I will bring forth the sounds of the soul and force them on you.

So no, I don't care for a walk, nor female company. Let the food rot.
Pester me no longer,
Rejoin the grime and muck from which you came;
For while you create ****,
I bleed fame!"

There is a cost at which my soul comes.

Inside me lurks a fire, a beast, a demon.
I was born to control, I was born to dominate the world and bend natural order to my will.

I know for most of you this seems self indulgent. I assure you, you will bend to my will.

There are those who do and those who exist and those are the only two true kinds of people.

Your childlike relationships to this land, your 'home" have left you weak, your superstitions and traditions have become antiquated, you are dreamers who are finally waking and before you- I stand

Wide eyed and well aware of the future.

I don't need you to like me, I don't need you to understand me and if I'm being honest, your support means very little to my plans.

For when I walk, I walk as God.
For when I speak, I speak as finality.

Long before me there were apes and now in my time I see cavemen, god knows what will become of society when I finally rest.

There is a cost to my will, it comes at the price of silence.
The price of blood, of guilt and shame.
I know none of it.

My will is law and my law is absolute.

I have paid in blood and flesh to have what I have, while you deal in silvers, golds, gem stones and cold hard paper cash, I deal in something far greater and more valuable.

While your wealth comes and goes I am transcend the living rock, the thousand year root, the jellyfish immortal.

In this age of men, I alone am God, for God is dead and I sit on his throne, while you sit there slack jawed, wide eyed and impressionable.

The cost of this power came at self expense and now you are left to pick up the check.

Well the heart keeps on pumping
The blood feels heavy as I feel it flowing.

I find myself stumbling through life;
Hey Captain; where are we going  now?

The wind hasn't blown for a time,
The water is running dry and the food is stale.

If we're to be stranded in the midpoint of life
Give me a sign the best years happened and I didn't miss them.

Missed them, I waved goodbye not even knowing.

Hey Captain, where are we going?

I can feel my heart pound but the blood's not flowing.

The early fog made it hard to see.

No port in a storm, no shelter, just stuck at sea.

The ship's been taking water, and we're beginning to wonder;
Do we just wander?

Hey Captain, where are we going now?

Dark skies and broken hearts fill my journal pages as I sit down and write a lasting letter to whoever finds it.

I'm tried. I've been fighting for so long now....fighting for food, for sanity, for money, for validation and for love.

Once more into the breach for the love of love. Battle chinked armor, bloodied hands, scared face, full blooded urban soldier.

My piano is this pen, my songbook is the journal with "Kilroy was here"

I bend down and pray to myself which is how I know God watches my back.

This is another battle, another fight, another trudge through the minefield of emotion, of work, of heart, of soul.

I'm tired of being tried, I'm tried of fighting, but we don't retire into the quiet.

Johnny get yer gun, grab the sword, find your marks.

Muscle up soldier, we have one more fight.

One more battle.

I've said before in a poem that I had one last fight in me and one more after that, and several more. As long as I can stand it seems I'm in some form of combat.

I sacrifice my body for this because it's a personal victory, or loss...at this point I can't tell the ups from the downs anymore and it's simply because I don't care to look.

It's nothing I haven't done before, nothing I haven't seen, nothing I haven't done, it's old hat to me but that doesn't make it easier, it doesn't make it something that gets easier to cope with over time.

I grab my bottle, I climb to the top of my ivory tower of self isolation and I take my throne.

It has been said that when one does something right, you won't know they've done anything at all, this is our gift and curse, this is the chain we've wrapped around our necks and hung ourselves by.

So yes, one more battle- and a million more. Alone because no one else can, or will and someone has to hold back the high hell waters.

One must sit at the gate and make sure it operates correctly, one must fight until they die from it. Until they exhaust from it. Until they burn out from it.

From the top of this tower, from the bottom of my heart, I give all I have in every fight because that's whats required, I rebuild myself because I'm just that strong, because someone has to be, because when everyone falls to pieces, some must pick themselves up and dust themselves off, wipe the blood from the mouth, pick the shrapnel out, look in the mirror and do it again.

When you've got nothing to do and you can't do anything, you do what you can because it's what's required of you. Most of the time no one asks, no one steps up because it's not needed but the void must be filled and so we fill it.

a million dead hearts left behind, so we pick up what we can and move onward. Onward into the fight.

The last vulture feeding off bones and blood of the remainder, the carrion carrying on.

Like a virus it swept through our towns, cities, states, boarders, nation by nation fell and as it did the buzzards ate the virus flesh.

Consumed the disease and with it so the curtain was drawn across the world.

Humans fell to their knees, we fell apart fast.

No Z day, no Mad Max, No Fallout was had, we were Walking Mad if anything, dead inside and panic buying everything we could.
Dark days and black skies, no amount of social distancing can save what is already dammed.

Panic, we did it to ourselves.

Who would have though Facebook and misinformation would have been the little embers that stoked our fear and whipped us into the frenzy state we find ourselves in now.

The Grim Reaper came calling and we named it Covid-19.

Animals fear lightning and fire and all we had to see was the smallest spark to send us running.

Cholera, Spanish Flu, Typhoid, they're laughing now from the pages of history as the dead townships look upon us and see us believe that our doors and windows will keep us safe, we're the biggest danger to ourselves, we could have stayed calm, we could have taken small simple steps to secure and remain safe.

We're nothing but dumb, wild, savage, scared little animals.

The vulture knows.

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

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.

Ugly is beautiful, ugly is under the pretty skin and colors we wear.

When one thinks of art and the beauty of words it must always sound nice, it must follow and follow traditional laws of language;
**** that.

Art is an expression of self and soul is it not?
Humans don’t all have beauty in them, humans don’t always have some wonderful soul or righteous heart, so why should all art show the beauty of life?

Why not mock the beauty? Why not admit that sometimes we’re ugly, sometimes we’re crass, cold and vile?
Are we not all we are? Do our life experiences not shape and make us?

Life is not perfect and we all have pitfalls, everyone is flawed yet when it comes to art we deny the fact and mask it by saying “art reflects the tragedy” or “I use art to express my pain” and in that way, we make it romantic, but what if, we just showed it as it is.
What if we just said exactly what we’re feeling, what we’re thinking, what we want?

Must we use the beauty of words and paint and rock to hide our shame, or fear, to mask our greed and lust?
Sometimes people aren’t pretty, sometimes they have no soul, so what if some art was ugly?

What if I didn’t use proper words or language
Or started to; break up words by what-ever means I saw fit for the piece?

It would confuse, it would anger, it would look bad.
But that would be closer to human than always trying to turn some act of woe into some poetic moment.
For a moment reject the beauty, reject the urge to be clever or pristine, smear some mud across the page, ugly can be beautiful in itself because ugly is just that.

You are not the best, you are not the best looking, the fastest, the strongest, smartest, you do not know everything- so it would make sense that art at times should be flawed, that art should be ugly and broken, that art should offend you at times.
There is a humbleness to be found in ugly art, in art that is raw and exposed.
Once you take away the fluff that people are attracted to, once you strip her down and expose what she is, you may find that while some art is a flawless figure in her **** skin- other art may be torn, ripped and festering with disease but she’s not hiding anything in that moment- and on top of that. She doesn’t care.
Why should every poem sound nice?
Why should art have rules and laws?

Of course, we must have laws and standards, of course we must have laws and rules HOWEVER in times and for somethings- breaking that mold, stepping outside of the box, that is needed.
I say ugly art hides nothing and shows everything, pure surface value with no hidden meaning or deeper philosophy, which won’t do for some people.

Some people will rip art apart to understand its meaning refusing to believe in face value because they can’t understand the face value of ugly, they have to have something pretty, they have to have something clever or witty or something they can cling to as being elite as if that somehow places them above the social stature at which they reside.

Trust in ugly art, trust in unpoetic words, trust in blemished statues, trust in unpolished raw music, trust in ugly from time to time.

There is a long, dark well and at the bottom lies a million words and phrases that have never been said or paired together, it is a wellspring of thought and form, it is a natural deposit of untouched visuals and emotion.

It haunts us as we can only gather bits and pieces and as we carry them to the light of day to express them, sometimes they get lost in transport or they don’t come out right.

We climb down the well and from the sides and bottom we scrape and grab, we collect and mine, we do all we can to harvest the words of which we try and make a living.
We stake a claim and hope its not too close to anyone else’s claim, there no allowances when words are in the mix, theft of thought is theft of a high order.

We sweat, we bleed, we slam our heads and hearts against the well and look up to the sky, but we now we can’t return yet. We cant return until we have our piece, until we have a enough to make the lack of sleep, the lack of food, the lack of interaction worth it.
The take must outway the work, the effort must always be smaller than the reward.

Sometimes that’s easy, sometimes we strike a vein and follow the trail of thought and words until we drain it dry, on those days the work is small compared to the reward, the reverse is that sometimes we will sit in hours and weeks in the word pit, sifting through pebbles and thought trying to salvage something, trying to show something for our efforts.

The word pit has been and always will be, they can be found in every country, in every heart break, in every coming of age, romance, death, tragedy, comedy, in every story or event, every person has a word pit that they can climb into it and all it requires are some proper tools and the right skill set.

Caution for the gas won’t **** you, you needn’t a canary for this pit, however you will need to be mindful of yourself, be aware of your actions and be aware of what you handle and reveal, the power of words has prompted people to take radical action, it has prompted lies and sin, it has prompted fear and envy.

Words have as much power as the induvial would allow them, some inspire, some create, some work and drive because of them, so be mindful of the words and how they are presented;
For when you delve into the word pit, you are no longer just a person with thoughts- you become a person with the power to express those thoughts in such a way that they can far reach the seas and mountain tops- and in that journey, in that power of range, ideas can become so much more.

It starts in the well.

Ode to master and king.
Hail god and leader.

Our faith misplaced by shiny crowns and golden rings on hands who ring necks of the nonbelievers.

To the slave pit with them and silence the voices, for in my court there is no equal.

Ode to master and king
Hail god and leader

Granted rule and law by holy sword or divine word from the stars,
there is no equal in my land.

These are quarantine times and with that comes the stir crazy of the truly unhinged.

All those would be social butterflies are really just wasps with pretty colors, they go so far to put themselves out there and now they cling to the fear and walls of their own homes.

No one can tell them what to do or how to live, they must spread their influence into the world, no matter the cost.

This is social suicide, mass poisoning on a misinformation trail.

You refuse to stay inside and believe that this virus is a hoax, account for the bodies then.

You seem so civil when the world is fine, you speak of end times with your shelter and food, you speak of survival of the fittest, yet now in the wake of a practice run, you run from yourselves, you cannot be detained, you will not shelter.

You are the living parasite who brings the plagues. The modern rat wears stars and bars and MAGA hats for you are the herald of pestilence.

You allowed yourself to be lead down the road by your pied piper with bullhorn in hand. You didn't know that the piper was the rat king himself, dressing as humans do to sneak among the worst of us and drag you into the sea with him.

When sanity has returned to these worried times and the calm sets in you'll have to face the fact that you are not as strong as you thought. You are not as prepared as you hoped.

When something worse then Covid-19 sweeps through the land, you'll have to look out to the world and admit that you are the sheep in wolves clothes.

Crosses and prayer,
the holy man let down his hair.

Bended ***** knee, cracked hands and fear for all to see.

Holy man, say your peace then let it rest.

Holy man, say your prayers and deliver us from our sins.
Deliver us from whatever you may deliver us, a message from the beyond telling us that time spent here wasn't spent wasting on and on.

Crosses and prayers and thoughts and hopes, holy water to ******.

Count the beads on a the rosary, Sinners, aren't we all?

I am divided between the devil inside and the angel I show the world.
If both are me, am I divinely wicked or wickedly innocent?

I cast myself down and do not cover my head, for I fear no wrath of the judgement, I am who I am and I live how I live, for freedom is my first choice.

Looking down you cast your gaze on me,

I cast the role on your shoulder and gave you a burden you didn't ask for.

I molded you in my mind to fit what I needed;
I made you a god out of human clay and thus started your legend.

I spent my youth looking up to you;
I wanted to be cool like you,
I case the role on you that was far beyond your reach,
Unattainable were you.

From your own lips you said I should not place you in the clouds.
Now you look down on me as if I drove the nails in.

I gave you my money and put the faith in you,
You couldn't walk on water,
You were too far gone and when you came back you were swimming in addiction.

While I chased your legend, you chased the dragon.

Now we both fell on bended knee,
Rose our hands to the sky and asked for somebody to "save me"

Trying to swim but I'm drowning in the shallow end
No deep water for this first timer
You set a goal and cried a river which never ended, now it's an ocean and I'm an island.
Set sail sailor
Now the ship sunk and I'm watching the waters lap higher and higher, here I sink.
I say a prayer under my breath and tip my hat to the sea before me.
She finally got the best of me.
No matter the time, no matter the work, I feel like I failed, like I let you down.
Now take to the lifeboats, I added to these turbulent waves so with the ship I go.
The waters taking me, so here I sit and with the ship I go.

Some is rich and some is poor and that's a fact you can't change;
Working all day to break your back and give it to the company store.

Now I was told to work smarter not harder, but when you're the smartest one in the welfare line even work horses have to laugh at you.

Now I don't sleep under this bridge for fun;
It keeps me dry when the storms come.

I stand, unbroken by weather.
Complete I am, I stand still against all, I stand against all.
Unmotivated by money, money I am unmotivated by you.

I stand, stand unbroken by time.
I am unmoved by love, love does not fuel me.

I am complete.
I am completely unbroken.

Unbroken, I am.

Someday this will pass and someday we'll look back and laugh.
Someday we'll know this was just small bumps in the road.

Someday we'll hold hands and walk down the high roads of memory lane, and when we walk down the lowest of lows, we'll be wiser with our time.

All things pass, good, the bad, and the ugly.

We live in the wild west- but do we ever learn?

What makes a person learn? How many times do we have to get burned before we learn fire hurts, how many times must we be gored before we understand the bull has horns?

I stumble and you know, I watch you cross icy roads as you slip and slide and yet this all just another human thing.

Just another human thing, just another human being.

We grow and someday when this all behind us, we can share a laugh.

Waste away someday
Waste away with me
Skeletal dance- in a wasteland in which the sand strips us away.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust or so they say.
What happens when shiny new turns to rust?

So why bother trying, waste away with me.

Waste away someday, we're already wasting away.

Where olive trees wither, so does my body.
The spirit of  fight has left me alone.

The rot from the dirt has tainted the roots and now all that grows is self doubt and pity.

Where apple and pumpkin rot in the sun, where grape and pear shrivel, there is no life left in these dead barren lands, save for I.

Save for I.

On dying tree bark I have told the tale of life before the fall and now all I can remember is after the fall having given my memory to the dying trees.

Where the soul withers away and the blood runs dry, I am the king of the rot.

Where olive trees wither I leave a sun dried wilted corpse as a reminder that life once was and shall be again- in time.

You got me caught between a heart and a hard place.

I can't run to you without hurting someone else.
I'm single, what harm could it do?

Now I've got three women all looking at me like I'm taken.

Wined one
Dined two
Literally just talked with the third.

They got me caught between a heart and a hard place.

I was rejected by one- a year go.
I told one I wasn't ready (for a relationship)
The third we're just friends.

But now it's getting awkward and so I'm stuck between a heart and a hard place.

Any choice is gonna hurt, and I've never lied to anyone.

So *******, they got tied me and sinking fast, gotta cut the cord and hope I can catch some air soon.

They put the weight of the world on my shoulders and I was blindsided.

Now I'm in something I didn't even want- it's not that I wasn't clear, it's just that now they all wanted something more and didn't think I was serious.

So now if I back out no matter what- it's gonna hurt someone.

Right now they got me caught between a heart and a hard place.

Dragging me down into the waters of uncertainty and I'm trying to keep above the water line.

Who sits before you, in this ****** white shirt.
Busted nose, black eye, possible cracked rib.

You look at me and think I've been through hell, what if I told you this was a typical Monday for me.

I wear my scars on my body to show just how much I can handle, they may as well be medals, I am not made of glass.

I am not fragile.

You want to sit around and cry and whine and ***** about the wicked world, well let me assure you, I don't care about whatever you think is wrong with you.

You hide your scars, not because they're too ugly or too deep, not because it's too painful to remember, it's because they're not real scars.

You wound yourself in the mess tent then request a purple heart, you walk on the backs of everyone else and when you cross the finish line you think you've really made something of yourself.

At best you're a hack.

So here I sit, you can yell, scream and shout
it'll do no good.

I am not glass and you are not stone.

You a phantom of power, a specter of strength.

I'm warm blooded and couldn't care less about you.