Its hard to stay focused with all these ******* distractions.
theres been too much hangin out,  
but i promise you , I'll slip not
still, its hard to find traction.
Mr. Self medicated
Mr. overly dedicated
Mr. Highly underestimated
Mr. Highly eleveated.
look man , Im just trying to make my dreams full screen,
but when i double i make a fool of myself ,
Am I full of myself or am i foolin myself?
I wonder if the life i want come in my size.
I wonder my future wife would be able to see the pain in my eyes.
When I gotta tell her to myself , I lied,
cause it seem like **** be just beyond my reach.

remember
the days spent under the sun
nestled between the boughs of the oaks
disturbing the woods
with our cries of joy?
you'd brandish a stick
call it a sword
and we'd dance our dance
to the tune of competition.
we'd skip to the creek
I'd tell you not to sit on the log
that rested precariously on the banks.
you'd laugh
and to show off you'd make me worry.
we'd skip stones,
flat ones,
pretty ones,
that I'd stow away in my pockets,
until mother made us throw them away.
dusk and dawn we'd live in the woods,
a pair of ragtag kids with nothing to do

Empty wine glass
Stale pizza
Cold naked toes
Sun left me lightless

Fridge is road-trip distance
Further to the sock drawer
Light switch is moons away
Remote earns its name

Where is my alacrity,
my willingness,
my zeal?

I’ve misplaced all my fervour,
ardour,
gusto,
warmth,
and spark

My promptness
and avidity
are now in
blue lividity

No relish,
bright celerity,
or genial rapidity

Just me
and stale pizza
--lamenting

Gone too soon
My lost sparkle

Autumn's last few days
leaves silently fall on ground
flight of birds homewards

I’ve left the oven on
for years.
Somewhere between metaphor and meaning,
something’s always been burning.

But no one’s eaten in a while.

They called it voice.
I called it
a slow confession wrapped in rhyme.
A sugarcoated breakdown.
Something easy to swallow
if you didn’t read too carefully.

They wanted brevity.
I brought blood.
They wanted truth.
I brought formatting errors
and a whisper shaped like static.

Do you remember the one
with the anti-light?
No?

Of course not.
You don’t remember the one who screamed last.
You remember the one who rhymed "heart" with "start"
and got 200 likes for it.

Now my name is on the box
but it’s spelled wrong
and the font is smiling too hard.

The cookies still crumble
but no one eats the edges.
That’s where the poison is.
That’s where I lived.

So I’ve folded the apron.
Swallowed the last word
before it could become a quote.

Let the gods of good taste keep their ovens.
Let the algorithm rot.

I’ve got shoeboxes full of unsent stanzas
and no more hunger
for applause shaped like echo.

my veins are on fire
my blood is straight whiskey
you were an alcoholic prior,
and i know you like it risky

succumbing to the temptation of pain
hand me a sacred image
and i'll turn it into a game
never a love i had to hide either,
never had a love for the theatres