Poetry grabs my attention; where so much else fails.
Visceral wordplay take my mind to a tranquil garden, that
no
one
knows
exists
The tremble in my veins, the quiver in my skin
It all means nothing; yet, strangely all seems gained
The simple power of poetry, and what a dead man's
whispers really mean; carry legends in your pocket, for
you never know when a simple man will need a
strange day

There it went, right with summer
into the hinterlands, and the snow kissed peaks
I chased it like cigarette smoke after my last one
I longed for it as the a glass of water in the deserts;

I've noticed how quickly it goes from 6 to 12
when I want just a little bit more time
How love goes to complacency in a
single blink of an eye;

It's the days that drag on that get to me
When the only warmth I'm feeling is
the street lamps as I'm roaming
Insomnia is calling, and she's got my name;

My souls reflecting in the mirror what's
been gone for so **** long
My child like ecstasies
My deepest desires of love are
all gone

If you could find it for me, I happen
to have a silver dollar
Perhaps if that's your price
you could go on the hunt;

Where do you go, once you've lost the scent
That carries you on home?
Where do you go, when the arms of yesterday
are no longer embracing?

When strangers are stone
When your mind is blank
to avoid all the pain
Where do you go?
I've a got a silver dollar, if that's your price
per chance could you give me some advice?

They found the contours of my fingerprints, that led them to letters of a name that I don’t go by.
My heart beats flat lining, the blood still carries the lightning of my spirit,
hitherto which was lost in the dark fog of the forest.
Faces disfigured upon the bark of the trees,
laughing at my stiletto, and my shadow laughing right
along with them.
It mustn’t take long for these sleeping giants to wake,
before they look upon the mundane, and decide chaos is what the world
needs.  

My lungs are black as midnight on a moonless night, the cigarette smoke is always calling out my name, the ink runs black & red down my ivory skin; depicting universes untold. It’s been a long while since I’ve put words to paper, the paper shies away from the pen like a knife.
I’m sick, in my body and mind; I’m losing all I’ve fought for, pouring out of my ears, like waterfalls of knowledge that I need to know. My mind is laughing at itself, with no where to run I must confront my own ideas. I must fill in the blanks, because nothing or no one will fill them in for me. I must constantly ask myself why?, why, why, why. Why is all of this? Why am I? Why are you? Why...
I’m constantly reading that “you must make it happen”, but I’m in a state of disorientation upon the matter. What is there to make happen? Can I change the scope of the world, just for it to change in another generation or the one after that, when they look back upon our barbaric ways and weep for us. I could have fun? Be a joyous individual whose whole life is about the laugh, the flash of gum and teeth and saliva. Should I be solemn, and force my beliefs upon others and scare them with tales of a fiery pit below the earth where all bad souls and non believers go? Or should I sit, should I wait for my demise. Where I do neither good nor harm, where neutrality bores into my soul. I am neither evil nor good, I live for the world, and I die for it as well. I’m alive to simply perish; and it’s a beautiful concept. Ying and yang, temporary and forever.

I drive all day,
with brahms in the passenger seat, and
cool beer in the back
Through neighborhoods that have
seen better, and people who
believe in the better

They call me babyface killer, because my face is
clean, I’m not drooping at
the seams quite yet. It’s all aesthetics, because my mind
feels like a century old; I don’t talk much
Cause there’s nothing to say about
football or the people, who carry on about the weather

I’ve noticed in the mornings, I don’t quite understand I’m
in control of my time, that I carry it, it doesn’t carry
me.
You’ll notice one day too
You’re not the one, who picks and chooses
when the sun rises.

There’s days I don’t understand why I’m alive,
I sit with my glass of insomnia and ponder,
why, oh why?
Then there’s the days, I even give up asking why
I sit around with pale eyes, fixed on the
tree’s shade
Then I happen to glance up above, to the
april spring skies
It all of a sudden sticks together like glue;
I’m here for all the beauty; and believe me when
I say I’m here
to stay.

stay strange my
friends
for it's the only
way
once you're
normal
you've been
had
beat by those who
say
they're in charge of it
all