So it's been awhile,
dear keyboard of mine.
Wait,
I suppose you aren't mine.
Just a little piece of plastic,
that takes up my time.
Do you even understand the words that come out?
I know I don't, but the bottles uncapped.
I give up all the worrying,
the shame.
I give up wondering, if any one will know my name.

Dear keyboard are you playing the same game.
You're in this as much as I am.
You're half as responsible,
and you don't seem to care.

Keyboard, I love you.
For something that has no feelings,
I feel you love me too.

I'm drunk.
Not from intoxication, the lingering inebriation of love.
I'll choke.
Not from asphyxiation, but from the smoke.

I call out, but He never answers.
I hear his thundering drums in the black of night,
Who is he speaking to?
Why is it not me?

We'll fly to space, just to see who can hold their breath longest.
Throw away our lives as if there was ever a chance,

disperse our thoughts and dismiss others, cold grows powerful in an
everlasting winter, and heat dwindles with the frost.

Our hearts grow rigid, and men grow sour.
Life turns grey, color joins the fray.
Such a mad, mad plane.

What meaning do I wish to portray?
What ideas can I concisely convey?
To a mass who sees no benefit in abstract fidelity.
To a god with no pity
For rulers whose prime concerns lay not with the city
(only in wealth)

These days are a dormant tree
So powerful, rich with meaning.
Yet dormant and still.

A blank page with streaks of black,
enough I hope to mend a world's breaking back
Oh, I'm seeing stars.....

Anarchy boils beneath the porcelain veneer,
the flames lick at the feet of the iron heel,
it is left untainted, but it's hot as hell within,
the breath's coming out cloudy and black,
we're all coughing up slime
it isn't ours,
but the premise is something we've
all thought up.
So say your pledge and dream it all up,
for the day of reckoning that's yet to come,
the day that doesn't exist.
Praying to the god none of us believe in,
but we still beg of it.
Give us something more, the days the
the devil abhors.

i'm broke, and it's funny
success is weighed in stones
i'm insane, at least that's what
i'm told
pinning my coffin for works of literature
and it's funny who it's coming from
the ones hammering the nails in the boards.

you;re already ahead, you are alive
nothing is clawing for your eyes and your heart still beats
all with eternal time
but yours is so, so short.
a simile for a sunrise
so why not call it quits, smile with the sun dear child

because money isn't what the world is about
in fact
it scoffs at the idea.
don't give an inch to the grabbers, the thief's who don't give you
the inch

they all play for keeps, and nothing is worth keeping
why not call it quits
and smile with the sun, it wont be there forever
even though it may burn long while you're past.
call it quits and live ******, there's nothing else to do.

You can fight
You can scratch,
and for ***** sake you can bleed for it.
but it wont bleed for you, and sometimes you need to bleed
for the idol, to feel the empathy for all the souls, that run amok.
It's all about the fight, life always has been.
sincerity is all that bleeds for you,
so if you want to bleed, let us bleed for each other.
Call it quits ******, and think what few have dared to think.
run wild with the wolves, you're instinct is what we need.
not another lawyer, not another marketer, not another politician.
God knows there are too many, and maybe the world doesn't need another poet.

The words just feel too good to pass up.
At least we're all dreamers, in an unsolicited land.  
If I failed to convey a point, all I mean is how beautiful we are in our absurdity, running amok, to portray serenity.