There's death everywhere.
Why is that a bad thing?
Death is natural.
Our reactions to it are not.
I'm back in the shadows
Where I belong.
Once again,
I shave the weakness from my skin.
If a warrior can sharpen his blade,
Then the blade can sharpen the warrior.
There's nothing wrong with that.

Every brushstroke
A scream
Every sentence
A body
We hide our anger
Our frustration
Our catharsis
In pretty colors
And euphamisms.
Better to misdirect
Than to act.

I'm free.
I should feel better after 21 days.
But it's all the same.
The walls aren't off-white.
There isn't double-pane glass everywhere.
There aren't nurses to ask about
"Suicidal Ideation".
But it's all the same.
I'm not free.
Not when my mind follows me
Wherever I go.

We are born
And then thrown
Into a hole.
Expected to know
From the beginning
How to survive.
They'll ask you:
"What will you
Do with the
Life you have?"
The only answer
They will detain
Hate and berate
You for speaking
Is: "End it."

It may be a finite resource,
But it's most precious.
Rich with iron,
The only ****** fluid with
Which you can smith
A sword.
You know I've always
Felt more at home
In the dark.
Treading water
Is sometimes
Too much.
And I'll return to
The dirt when
It's my time
To do so.
The only thing that
I know for sure
Is that pain doesn't
Feel real
Unless it comes from within.

That means something
Very different
To both of us.
The rushing water
May work as your filter
But we both know
That to purge
I need pain
Blood
To force out the hurt.

What, then
Do you recommend
For reverberation
Of the soul?
When nature
In all her glory
Decides instead
To turn the heavens
Into an assault.
Pouring thunder,
Lightning
Down my throat
As I pour the dark
Sludge of resentment
From my ears
In return.

A fair point,
But you know me.
I've never been good
At drawing my own map.
There's too many
Straight lines.
Besides, my hands shake
Too much.

It's impossible to
Build something
Worth the effort
If the pieces
Won't go back
Together

No, not always.
Without oxygen
Or sufficient fuel
The flames will die.
Though I will be honest,
There are flames I thought
Had been extinguished,
That I now think
I make have been
Mistaken about.
I don't think gasoline would help.
It tends to explode,
And I'm already in so many peices.

I wouldn't call it normal.
I drink until I'm numb
Trying to suppress
The same shadows
I used to be so proud of.
A half measure
Not entirely effective
But it's the only thing
I have that helps.
I'd rather find sanctuary
In someone else.
Someone who understands,
Who helps me to feel.
The problem with fire
Is that it will always burn out,
And every song has an ending.
They help for a while
But they always go away.

It doesn't hurt
When they leave
Only because
I know it's
Going to happen.
I'm used to
Self medicating.
If I hurt when they leave
My medicine cabinet
Is fully stocked anyway.

Sometimes lust
Is preferable.
To feel wanted
For even a short time.
For two bodies to move in rhythm.
Even as strangers.
In a symphony of sweat,
Of flexing muscles.
As I said,
Sometimes lust is preferable.
Because when they leave,
It doesn't hurt.

I've never been partial to sound.
I do enjoy a sweeping melody
Though not near as much
As a carress.
An affectionate embrace.
To merge souls through skin.
Temptation is fleeting
Though I've been too weak
In the past.
Except when I was too strong.
Yet the times I was tempted most
Was when the temptress
Would not look my way.

I grew accustomed
To the rust.
To the scales of putrid orange,
Decaying green across my skin.
My cracking lips,
The metallic taste
As much from the rust
As the blood.
I never listened to the birds much anyway.
I didn't feel welcome,
As if intruding on the melody.
As far as temptation goes,
I still regret those I resisted,
As well as those I surrendered to.

I know what you mean.
It seems my waking thoughts
As well as my supposed home
Are littered with reminders.
The dull glint of brass across the floor,
Shelves littered with empty bottles.
When the silver fled
I turned to liquor and smoke
To drown my sorrow
In bourbon and tar.
I couldn't afford to
Touch up the chrome,
So I washed it out,
Leaving no trace.
I imagine if I'd
Started with bourbon.
I doubt I would have ever
Given Silver a chance.

For sure
Bronze has stronger draw
Than silver.
Though silver
Made me who I am.
It started at the tip of my tongue
Coaxed it's way down my throat
And coated my lungs
Sweeter than honey
Yet sharper than steel.
It recoiled, however
Returning to nothing
So I thought nothing more
Of the things that shine in this world.
Silver was what I chose
Because silver was pure.
Silver cannot be blamed
For the sin that passes the lips.
For whatever alloy
Coated my airways
The message
Would have been
The same.
The only alteration
In the delivery.
Our past is shameful,
Mine especially,
Yet they have no bearing
On our future.
As the choice in metal
Has no bearing
On the words spoken.

All I told you
Was that I needed
More of your time.
Time to feel appreciated
To feel wanted.
You said
"I'm choosing not to."

I'd like to return there
To tiptoe between the cracked hulls
Gilded with rust as if golden pillars.
Our faces reflected
In the puddles on the floor
Uncharacteristically happy
For though we were soaked
With despair
We were warmed
By an exchange of emotion.
It's true,
Passage of time dulled the shine
As honeyed words grew bitter
Yet inspiration always returns.
The boards can be fixed.
Remember, it is never too late
To chase dreams.
They are difficult to chase,
As fireflies on a moonlit night
Just follow the tangled line,
See where it leads.
I admit my eyes
Have also wandered the heavens
Pondering the outcomes
Of a million variants
Of choices made.
Just as it is never too late
To chase dreams,
It is never too late to set sail.
We may need to mend the sails
Perhaps patch the bilge,
By tomorrow we could
Be letting the water lead us
Where we are supposed to be.

I miss the simple joy.
My fingers painting maniacally
As my mind drifts through
The possibilities.
I miss being the hero
From the stories I read
As I grew.
I miss the new friends
The ones I knew well
From the places I created.

We could have been immense
Writhing bodies
Singing souls
The headliner seething
Because we, the opener
Stole the show each night.

I miss being different
From the rest.
Uninterested
In their petty squabbles.

I made my mistakes
As you made yours
But the waters rushed
Under the bridge.
The only things
That matters now are
Where to go
What to do
What to see
Who to be
And how to live
My friend.

The slightest cant
The smallest alteration
To the angle
Can distort
Any image
Change them
Make them
Horrifying

I never claimed to be a prophet
Nor an intellectual.
I simply sought to see things
To interpret them as I could.
The line between poetry
And mediocrity is muddy.
I admit to creating both.
But to know that a single
One of my writings was ever enjoyed
Brings me peace.

He stood at the water's edge.
The waves pounced endlessly upon themselves
As he tucked a tattered slip of paper
Into the mouth of a glass bottle.
He knelt slowly
And plugged it with rolled leaves.
One look in all directions
At the endless ocean.
He sent the bottle on its way
Half hoping
Half dreading
What he would receive in return.

The clock reads 5:26
First light is peeking through the ozone.
I stand at the back door
Holding a lit cigarette through the crack
Stopping occasionally to take a drag.
Mist rolls cautiously over the distant hills
As if it could spring away at any moment.
The weeds in the yard dance in the wind
Rejoicing in the new day.
My body is heavy, my eyes glazed
From sitting in the pitch black basement.
I don't sleep much anymore.
I dread the dreams as I dread the day.
There is no lesser evil.

I must be honest,
I miss the way things were.
It was easy to love,
Almost second nature,
And even pain acted
As a teacher.
I miss herding shadows,
And the ******* the stage.
I regret our story was never finished.
I miss roaming the woods,
Hugging the shadows
With the rest of my pack.
I miss Mr. Mystery,
And how he changed
My self image.
It's been a very interesting
Couple of years.
I didn't always make
The right decisions,
But then, who does?
I'd like to thank you,
Yes, you!
For making these
Memories with me.
And I'd like to ask you,
Yes, you!
How many of these things
Do you remember?
-Mike-

I see the way they glare,
As if throwing daggers through the windows.
Their faces obscured from the nose down.
They walk this place with constant paranoia,
Staying on guard for something they can't see.
I don't understand why such animosity comes my way.
I'm simply doing my job.
I park my truck, I pump the fuel, I leave.
It's not that hard.
Then I realize, Oh ****.
I'm not wearing a mask.
Oh well. I work alone in a truck all day.
I have zero contact with any other human beings.
If they don't like it, **** them.

I sit in the dark.
If they want to come for mine,
They should make sure
They can protect their own.

I take a deep breath,
Feel it invade my lungs.
I will it to push deeper,
To force itself farther.
Yet it still doesn't spread
To fill the cavity in my chest.
My heart continues to beat,
And it feels hollow.

I am their rock,
But
The little ones
Are my legacy

The problem is that
I'm not a long term thinker.
I've been telling myself for years
That if I'm not dead by 30,
I'll bite a bullet.
I'm still not convinced that's changed.

I should be sleeping.
The clock reads 0220,
She's snoring softly next to me.
But all I can think about
Is what's happened before.
Instead of what should happen
Next.

It's the clink of a bottle
On a hardwood table,
And the hiss of a cigarette
Being ground out.
It's the numbing warmth
Of just enough,
And the jagged,
Fuzzy edges
Of a little too much.
It's the things that keep me whole.
The things I was warned against
When I was growing up.
But they never tell you that
The things that are bad for you
Might be the only way
To keep your sanity.

I take it back.
The dead don't lie.
They exist in truth.
The living could learn from them.

I'm tired of writing about
Things that are above me.
I can't speak for the Gods
When they won't speak to me
In the first place.

The click of a lighter,
The tap of a can,
The rustle of a pack.

The nicotine keeps me sane.

A long drag,
A heavy exhale,
A purse of the lips,
Saliva on the pavement.

It rushes to my head.

Gives me the courage to debate,
Am I doing the right thing?
Is it all a mistake?
If I'm doing my best,
Why do I need to cope?

Stop thinking.

Inhale.
Exhale.

Let it wash away.
Let smoke and tar cleanse me.
So that I can keep fighting,
Another day.

After forever
Yet all too soon
We have forgotten
That we did not weave
The flags that we wave
We simply inherited them

There's no point
In telling people what they
Want to hear.
What they really want
Is a reason to strike back
At a world they imagine
Has wronged them.

Rain and tears fall
As the flame climbs,
The wick turns to dust,
And the candle burns out.

There's nothing else to say
Except that,
I've never felt like more of a stranger
Than I do in my own home.

I stopped today,
Wading in the ripples
As time flowed around me
In all directions.

And I understood.

We are all alone,
Yet together.
Our existence and isolation
Bind us infinitely.
Our experience and ignorance
Bring us empathy and apathy.
Our love brings happiness.
Our hatred brings violence.

We are all together in that
We are all human.
We are the same
For we are unique.

The light burns
As the realization hits.
All things end.
Be it sun or storm,
Wind or rain,
Love or pain.
The only option
Is to persevere.
To shoulder the weight
And march on.
All will do their best
But only the strong will survive
Though none emerge unscathed.

It seems to get harder
To find the right words.
The older I get,
The more my silver tongue corrodes.
I remember days,
Not so long ago,
When I would write anthems,
When I would weave legends of intrigue
And my words would steady
The hopeless,
And help them to fight on.
But I've realized,
I saw only what I wanted to.
I saw an empty library as a battlefield,
And the scattered patrons as soldiers.
I saw myself as an Angel,
When I was nothing but delusional.
My words have touched but a few,
And made no difference.
My legacy is nonexistent.
My words worth only their weight
In well wishes.
Completely worthless.

Dreams are just that.
Meanderings of mind,
Willful yet unconscious distraction.
Something to fill the darker hours
As we float around inside our heads
Falsely fulfilling a fantasy.
Whether romance or ******
Remains to be seen.
There are no heroes,
Just self righteous warriors
Waving their banners
And yelling over each other,
To try to drown out your doubts
About their intentions.

So many
Broken things
In this world,
Bones, hearts, dreams,
Promises,
Yet we still
Search for love,
Redemption,
Victory.

And let the dead men lie
As the living have done more
Than their fair share

The flowers will die
This is the truth
But they will not leave
Because they wanted to
Hold tight to the Earth
They will bloom again
'Tis a matter of time
Until they return, My Friend
Take heed and rejoice
They stayed while they could
They gave you your comfort
They tried and did good
You should blame the blooms
That gave up too fast
Drowned themselves in their hate
And then turned to ash.
They turned a blind eye
To the good in this world
To the shadows, the angels
To the song, to the girl
She sits on her stage
Hides her face 'neath a mask
While the boy who bred shadows
Watches behind glass
We all lose our flowers
But do keep in mind
They will bloom again
It just takes some time

It can't rain all the time
Says the sun as it rests
Nestled above the pulsing clouds
While wave by wave of shining silver
Give a cool respite to the world below

The time spent
Watching your blood
Pump
Through the veins
In your eyelids
As the wind rattles
The windows
And you sink into
A comfortable sleep

Sometimes we try too hard,
Sometimes not hard enough.
Its difficult to find the air of
Effortless perfection that
We wordsmiths hold so dear.

Two peices,
Curved edges,
Sharp corners,
Yet when lined up,
The connection is visible.
Two people,
So different,
Yet the same,
And we just clicked.