Most of these choices
evolved from
random thoughts.
The learned way had
been abandoned.

The air held hostility
and the peoples
minds were
polluted
with a threatening view
of the world.

There was still trust
in the talking heads
and trust in the
Novocaine.

I found I could
drink and use
and be able to
stay cool while
everyone else
was panicking.

A radio played
and the lyrics rang true.
"Trust in me and fall
as well."

The pigeons sat on
wires in groups like
gray clouds full of
anxiety and doubt.

Stray dogs shared
negative thoughts
and ran the streets
with pink tongues
swinging from
in between
stained and bloodied
canines.

The moon took
flight and produced a new
era of paranoia.
A Fleeting feeling of
worry and reasons
blew in with the
wind.

I closed the door and
thought out loud.

Why risk it all
and step out
into the world when
I look around and
listen hard and find
so many reasons
to avoid it.

She asked me if
I felt bad about what
I had done.
If I was Fearful
of the sin I had
committed.

I told her
that I felt bad
all of the time.
So why should this
change anything.

I sat on the
edge of the bed and
watched her
watching me.
She paced
the room again
then sat down on the
cheap pressed wood
backed chair without
ever taking her
eyes off of me.

She looked directly into
my heavy
blood shot eyes as if
she was trying
to look inside my head.

I stared back at her
then said
In order to sin
you must fear sin.
How can I fear
something that
I don't believe in.

She asked me if
I had done this
type of
thing before.

I asked her
Why can you tell?

Tears welled up
in her gentle gray
tinted eye's.
A look
of utter
disappointment
and sorrow
shadowed her
tear streaked face.
She turned
away from
me before
she said,
Not until now...

Bring it on
I'll take it.
Live through it
all.
I've come this far.
This is all
I
got to
go
back to
now.

I lived through
the seclusion,
the torture.

I'll be the one that
they lost while
you be the one
who has won.

In order to perfect
you must fail.
I'll be the failure.
Not everyone is meant
for success.
You succeed
I'll regress.

You be the one
to give them
'grandchildren
and a perfect
story to
tell their friends.

I"ll be the secret
that's avoided.
The tragic story
about the one they
lost.
The story
no one 's
brave enough
to tell.

You go ahead and
hate me.
Let me be the let down
in your life.

I'll still Love you.
Look up to you
from a distance.

It's meant to
be this way.
I got all that
I've been through
coming.

Funny thing
is I'd probably make
it in your shoes
but you
could never
make it
in mine.

I deserve all
of this and
I need to keep
it this way.

So go ,
be all that
I never could.
I wouldn't have
it any other
way.

The nights have
always been the worst.
Sitting alone
with a drink
and some drugs.

Close to the
open window,
listening to
the sounds of
the night.

Passing cars and sirens,
a couple arguing
somewhere down the alley,
a whistle set loose
by one of the young
whose turn it
is now to
own the same
night that I
once did.

That slow and
lonely fog horn
sounding it's
warning every 45
seconds a quarter
mile out.

The mind filing through
the days events.
The failures
and the progressions
that weren't really
any type of
real progress at all.

Flipping through it all
in search of a reason.
Images flashing,
the infants smile
or that girls manicured
fingertips gently
along your face.
Magicly guiding
you into a kiss that you
knew meant nothing
to her at all.

Still drinking,
still using,
still counting the
seconds between the fog horns
sounds of the night.

Still trying to keep it all intact.
Mind,
Heart,
Body,
and Muse.

Waiting on a word,
a line.
Something to put
down and save
for the ages.

The nights are
the hardest,
that they've
always been.
But the night
is usually when
this magic
appears.

I once spent an
entire summer with
a black eye.
Proving the fact that
I was young and willing to
try.

We drank hard in those
days.
Back when it all was used to
enjoy.
When the alcohol was a social
thing and the
drugs were just a little late
night activity among the
chosen few.

We don't move in packs
like that anymore.
And those of us who still
indulge do it alone
or in order to cope.

I'm trying to pin point
that moment,
that final event,
that final failure that turned it
all so bad.
So destructive.

I'm feeling the effects of the
abuse.
That missing chapter.
The surgeries.
The fact that it took so much
to finally realize
the price I've paid
for my own
self inflicted,
blameless,
foolish
ways.

I concentrate
not on my
thoughts.
Nor feel with my
emotions.

I do not
react to that
chatterbox
within my
head.

It's the silence
in between
the pull
that captures
my attention.

I am the
Fox.

And these
Demons
are the
hounds.

Their pursuit
is endless.

And my
need to flee is
my wanting
to survive.