how many sad love stories
does it take to make a heart
as thick and black as tar?
how can they take a lover's
plea like it never betrayed
anyone before?

I stare at the young bloods,
the vibrant reds,
the fresh mouths,
the holy bathed genitals
and they all make
me wonder. . .

what will cause them to become like me?

out of fuel, the writer will disassemble the machine
and he,
the writer himself
will become the machine
with the rawest of wills
out he goes
out he writes
out he fails
out he lives

and the doves will finally
bond with the ravens

the last prisoner
free

the narcissists' pub
will run out of business
and narcissists

the rich whites along
with the upper class
will consider ***
with the lesser kind;
the bums will rejoice
as the politicians
and the oligarchs
take their place

and the grieving drunks
will no longer grieve
as they continue on
drinking for the rest
of their entire
lives

and the women
who left,
never existed
at all.

the fire of life in me can be compared to a dying light bulb.
ain’t that a bad comparison?
the days were like the days when we still don’t care
about the things we say again
but we’re just fooling ourselves
---

good that you have a drink in your hand
don’t you have work tomorrow?
it feels like the strings are getting cut
whenever you ditch a day doesn’t it?
well it’s that feeling that drains
take my words, i’m not putting you down
here with me,
listen, you don’t understand that
at this age you shouldn’t be forcing
what’s not there anymore
and you’ve been diagnosed with the disease
since you age
everybody does, no exceptions
i hate to be the bringer of  bad news
but it’s the truth buddy.

---

you don’t have to state the obvious,
it’s everywhere, over you, over me, everywhere
i just want to pretend that the day’s
going to be great once in a while
don’t you think that it’s not bad to
shed your own skin for a breather huh?
i mean, it gets tiring, i want to put the
mad dog face down for at least today
and i don’t know... maybe go to
a place where the ****’s not as bad
as what we got here

---

where?

---

ugh ****.. i feel lazy...
listen, let’s just
smoke this blunt in my room while
we listen to your playlist
i hope you have morrissey

---

sounds like a plan...

we are not gonna fit into
those holes because
we are not used to change,
afraid of change,
always burying within
the confines of self comfort.

tell me, why I am not designed
for this and that's perfectly fine,
convince me that
it's completely okay to be
emotional;
it's just that they don't acknowledge
it like they used to in the
old days.

it's not alright to feel
this way all the time and
we've tried almost everything
but the problem is that it's just
us, wanting to always
feel in the rain
while smoking cigarettes
in a dark 6am morning
where the stillness
doesn't say much
and the rain completes
what we couldn't.

maybe Real Friends
is right,
this place
is the same and we're just
changing.

maybe Dan Campbell
really is Aaron West,
my, I sure hope not.

maybe the boys from
Modern Baseball
just needs
to take a break;
Brendan, Jake, if you
read this,
know that I feel
the same way too
about
mental health
and depression
and the people who have
'em really needs help.

i wish we have
all the lines
and
all the time
but we don't and
we can only hope
for things to get better
any time soon. .

a humid night stills.
there are no stars
no signals
just motions for
the steady notions.

i have changed.
everybody does.
but there are some
moments i want to relive
that i can’t seem to
get a grasp of.
looking at my trails,
i do not seem to get that far,
i’ve been running in circles
for days.
i can only look back
and i can’t get past
the thick glass separating
the present and the days
of my youth.

i wanted to break the glass
but it resides within the
deepest chambers
of which i can no longer
retrieve

and

the beer in front of me
is getting warm by the
hour.

it’s another day of work
tomorrow.

as much as i wanted to
force the insanity
through words,
the writer is long gone

what remains
are the howls of its
former self

only the beggars
and the cigarette
street vendors
can be excluded from
the numbness of the world. . .

vacation photos
shopping bags
thousand followers
and friends
fine dining
fame
fancy cars
a hundred year old champagne
political correctness
the rewarding feeling
the attention. .

we (they) have evolved
to a lesser being
with no purpose

and for when my direction
hits theirs (yours)
it would only cause
an exhausting and meaningless
bout of words to which
they (you) delusionalize
themselves with as to
an stimulating debate

i'm sorry. .
i guess i am as tired
as those exclusive school
graduates-activists
whenever there's
really nothing
to protest about
for the time being

whatever the rebut is,
"sure" comes in handy;
saves you all the trouble

i'll stop now..