I've seen boys turn into men
   hands full of grenades
made of anger, of hurt of
cold
hard
beer
and smiles that could light-
no ignite
This cold heart of mine

I've known boys so steady
so calm
so sure
But they ended up dragging me-
along the cold hard pavement floor
Until I was nothing but a tattered corpse

They let me go
Like children do balloons
When my burdens grew too heavy
For the both of us to bare

I've seen boy's
-no men
With eyes so bright
so happy
so full of
life
I've known kids
so
so hollow
so empty

That even a rhyme couldn't describe
And I tell them to sit
sit down
and write it all out
But the paper grows damp
From the tears of their pens
And their poems unstructured
Their names but a blur

So now I know
I know
You can't tame all wild things
You cannot confine
Pain
To paper
As Pen to paper

Sitting around, no work today
Try pacing to keep awake
Laying around, no school today
Just drink until the clock has circled all the way
It is late afternoon
as you walk through the rooms
of a house that is quiet
except for unanswered telephones
You stand near the sink
while you're mixing a drink
You think you don't want to pass out
where your roommates will find you again
Stumble around the neighborhood with nothing to do
You're always looking for something
to sniff, to smoke, or swallow
Calling over next door to see what they got
but you would settle for anything
that would make your brain slow down or stop
Break this circle of thoughts you chase
before they catch up back with you
and your parents noticed your thinning face
all the weight you lost
You said, "I'm done feeling like a skeleton,
no more sleep walking dead."
You're going to wake from this coma
You're going to crawl from this bed you have made
and stop counting on that camera
that hangs around your neck
because it won't ever remember
what you choose to forget
as you try to find some source of light
Try to name one thing you like
You used to have such a longer list
and light you never had to look for it
But now it's so easy to second guess everything you do
until all you want is to finish this half-empty glass
before the ice melts away
The feeling always used to pass
but seems like it's everyday
Seems like it's every night now

The world doesn't ******* revolve around you

I knew a man once who could read the trees
He'd stand in a field with nothing on
And look at them for hours
(He couldn't talk to flowers)
But he would pour over every branch
Trace every knot and feel their bark
He translated a sycamore for me once
But oaks and beeches were his favourite
He said he just preferred their type.
The elbow bends told him of seasons
The trunk's tilt told the prevailing winds
Their denseness in relation to their neighbours
Told him all manner of gossipy things.
The colours and the hues told of the soil
The moulds and lichens the local fashions
He'd tell you if they'd ever been frightened
By hippies, chainsaws, axes or lightening.
And as I looked on, I realised something
As I read his naked body with no clothes
This man was obviously a stark raving lunatic.