She was so
far gone that
the Gods themselves
had
forgotten her name.
She had this
strange ability
to stay beautiful
no matter
how hard
she ran.

She depended on
other peoples
pills,
ate only
when she was
hungry
and once
sliced a girls
cheek with
a razor she
pulled from her
teeth.

She did
all of her
shopping
at the liquor
store and
when she
shared a stolen
bottle of *****
with me,
I knew we had
become more
than just
friends.

Counting all the
flaws I see
like trash
along the
beach.

Remembering all the
dreams I saw,
most of which
I'll never
reach.

Believing
lies I
heard before
never counted on
deceit.

Blew all
my
illusions into
the wind
denying all
defeat.

Made my
way
through
all the storms,
living longer
than expected.

Happiness I
long
to see
misery I've
perfected.

It was the form of her
breast that rose
beneath
a paisley print shirt
that caught my attention.
Her blue jeans
hugged at
her hips as if fitted
by the
Gods themselves.

She laughed and
we drank,
she caressed my
arm as if it
was a massive
display of
muscle.

For the slightest
of seconds
the look in her eyes
changed
as she stroked my
skinny arm.
Her eyes said she knew
that my form
was not that of
a muscular man.

She continued
to smile and that
look of disappointment
had gone from her
eyes as she stayed
and played
out the
fantasy anyway.

I'll say after a
good amount of
searching and reading,
conversating and listening.
That maybe its the mad ones
who sit like statues on the steps
facing Beacon street,
who may be the only
ones who really
know the truth.

There's that way we
are all supposed to be
and that cruel myth that is
happiness.
The tales they
tell as truths keep
me seeking out the
whys while beating
back the reasons.

Material joys can
numb it,
but its the drugs
that **** the pain,
new cars don't.

Let the masses look
to their religions
let it act as their ******.
For my gods are
closest when danger
is near.

There's not enough answers,
just as there are no
real Saints in
San Pedro.
As far as I can
tell.

Friends may come and go
but it's the addictions
who remain reliable.
Where people hurt
drugs comfort.

Put me in charge
of this destiny,
I've guided it thus far
through the foggy mornings
and forgotten nights.
The short lived happy times
and the hardest of times
that always outshine
them all
on paper.

Allow me a little
control of
this destiny,
however short lived
that destiny
may become.

The cruelty and
the lack of compassion
is what captures
my attention.

Ever see a group
of men
laugh a child's
laughter at the
death of another.

The cold capped face
of the reaper in the tower
whose aim is true.
Whose eyes
are always watching.
Always waiting
for a reason to
test his skills.

Pools of blood,
broken bodies that
lay like discarded
rags are ignored
and at times stepped
over like droppings
left by dogs.

Most flit through
life without ever
witnessing
the rage,the brutal
viscous form
of man that has helped
him become the top
predator he is today.

Once you have
lived with
the ******,
fought with the
sinners and been
apart of the hunt
without losing
your sanity
or  your soul.

Everything else is
digested
with less effort.
Accepted alot easier
and ignored with an
unsettling
kind of ease.