He laid in the sun
    like he ruled the earth,
    he held onto the
wine bottle
     with a hand heavily scared
      with the marks
of suffering.

    He toasted the
sea and the surf,
    cursed the
gulls and the gnats.

     Then brought the bottle
to his dried and
cracked
lips and drank
as if the
    last grape
     of the world had
let its blood
     into his bottle.

     He laughed at
a memory
     then yelled at
the sun and
       everyone around
him was a peasant.

    His lips bled red
as he gulped mouth
fulls of wine.
The memory of
her along this very beach
caused his inner
rage to drum forth.

     He gripped handfuls
of sand as he silently
Dammed the serpents
all to Hell.

  He mumbled drunken
thanks to
    Minerva, Osiris, Hera
     and Anu.

      The shadowed world
looked down upon him
     and the feral cats adored him.
     He lived like true royalty,
drunk and alone.

Care free and forgotten
he had become once
he had awoke to it all.
Ridiculed and labeled CRAZY
for his ability to see
it all for what it really
was,for what it really
still is.

She left this page
on a Saturday as he
slept on a chair
beside her hospital bed.
He buried her
on a Tuesday,
then set about to
drinking.

He broke free
of it all,
detached himself
from this farce
and
set about to wonder.
Now free of the
pollution they call society,
he waited only
on the next life,
on that next page.

Where she had promised him
they'd meet again...

Steer clear,
curve wide your ways
upon the artist,
the poet,
and the deliverer
of the inside view.

Unwelcome am I
upon your marble steps.
And unwelcome
are those with trained
thoughts within
these guarded walls
of the
City of the Heart.

Dare not tainted ones
cross my plains.

For my poetry and
my art will tear at
your flesh with an
Obsidian knife.
Whose only made purpose
is to ****.

I cast my shine
far back into the
darkest of times.

I'm looking for
the reason,
a word,
the moment that
will complete
this next line.

I'm rummaging
like a wino in
the trash for
something worth
salvaging.

I'll pull out a
worthy memory
like a rabbit
by the ears.
Lay it all out
letter by
let down by
shinning moment.

That feeling which
is this hole
in my
chest where love
once lived begins
to fill
with every line
completed.

I began to smile
and soon feel
whole.

Each one completed
is another one
ended.
And once again
I began to
panic.

Give me one reason to
grin and I'll
give you ten reasons to
frown.
Show me something
to cherish
and I'll throw
the rest of
this stash
away.

Offer me another
chance and I'll
probably take it.

Prove to me
none of it was
worth it and
I'll force
myself to agree.

Explain to me once more
how they walk around,
drive around,
fly around so blind
to it all and I
still won't
understand.

Present to me
the reasoning
of my past.
Justify my suffering,
and I'll write you
a tragedy full of
realness,
and beauty.

If I was to
awake to more
than just a
foggy,hungover,
shadow of a memory
of that girl I know
was here the night
before.
Would I feel less
alone throughout the day?
If there was to be more
than just the water stained
ceiling and the
yellow, faded,
dust dressed lamp
shade to rest
my eyes upon
as the night time
drug laced,hungover
haze falls
from my view.
Would my days
appear brighter?

I always sense
the slightest smell
of her cigarettes and
the taste of stale  *****
in the mornings after .
How I secretly
long for
her pouty lips
that always
seem to carry
that bitter ***** Martini
taste.

All that is left
of her until
the next late
night hour,
unannounced drunken
visit,
is the lip
stick stained cigarette
butts in the abalone
shell.
The indentation
left by her hips and her
shoulder in the down.
And the slightest scent
of her cheap perfume
that always sticks around
for days after
shes gone.

These shadows left
behind by her
curves
and her wit
constantly
reminding me of
how empty this
place truly
is without her presence .

We both apparently
agree
that  its
better this way,
cheap and discreet,
never promised and
always unannounced.
I secretly and simply
go along with
her suggestion.

This soul survives
on hope
alone.
Chained up and
burning.
tear stained and
laughing.

Shut out this version
of living and
blackout the time.
Artificial lighting
brightens nothing.

This unemotional winter
remains as unforgiving
as a vengeful heart.

I'm in the
midst of Dantes
version.
Chattering teeth,
blue black numbing
digits.

Curl into the corner
and pour it all
out in words.
Yesterdays thoughts
documented for a
better day.

Mutilated as
Van Gogh,
troubled as the
artist.
I'm aggressive with
this,
I have no other
choice but to
remain honest.

Accepted
the association
with failure.
Long to be
remembered
for this.

Again the uneasiness
snuck upon me,
like an empty shadow
on a darken street,
it devoured me.

I was wasting time ,
wasting away.

I sat
parked on some
numbered street with
too many lights and
not enough trees.
I guarded a warm beer
between my legs
and watched
as lost souls haunted  the
city streets in the night.

The car held that  resiny aroma
that only *** can leave behind
in an enclosed area.
I pulled from the beer
and felt the alcohol
wash away a bit
of the plague that insisted
I play host to.

I looked down upon
the pistol,
it laid on the empty
passenger seat wrapped
in a grease stained towel.
It reminded me of a Mexican
baby strapped to its  mothers back,
snug and secure.

That's how I used to feel when I
was alone walking darkened streets
with only the pistol to rely on.
Secure.
I have a hard time remembering
when it was or what it was to
be  secure about anything at all.

Lately my time is spent living
with this sense of dread
accompanied by a nauseating unease.
I turn away from the talking
heads on the programmed box,
I've lived enough horrors,
I don't need to hear their tales.

I looked again to the pistol,
the pistol was bored with me.
I didn't show it enough action,
It laughed at me through the
blackness of the barrel.

In the mornings the
pistol hummed
as I fixed and washed
the nightmares
from my eyes.

And when the sun would set
the pistol would  yawn.
Another mocking gesture
just to show me  how done
with me it had truly become.

This something of
a doctor once
asked me to
write a list.
He leaned back
in his squeaking,
worn leather
chair.
Entwined his fingers
behind
his greasy
half balding head.
Exposing the
wet stains on the
arm pits of
his creased button
shirt as if they weren't
there.

He thought he was so
smart ,so superior
with his framed
accomplishments
littered all
over his institutional
colored office walls.


I sat across from
him degreeless and
self educated,
therefore a failure
in this sham of a
world they have
created.

He thought
I was dumb with my
crude prison tattoos,
police record
and noticeable
stammer.

I took hold of the
sharpened number 2
and for the briefest of moments
seriously considered
jamming the lead filled
pencil deep into his
razor burned neck.

I stared at the
yellowing
stains beneath his
flabby arms
and couldn't help but smile.
I smiled as I put
point to paper
and began to write
his stupid list.

There's a pistol hungry
for vengeance and heavy in my
pocket urging me forth.
A lazy monkey
who insists I carry
it's burden.
A mind so full of
tragedies that
even nightmares
steer clear.

A broken heart that
needs to stay broken.
Shattered hopes that
refuse to dream.
Tattoos that have forgotten
their meanings.
Junkies who need
their junk.

Death raiding ravens
circling overhead.
A black cat
who saved my life
more than once.
A girl I love
who will never
love me.
******* doctors
with **** smelling arm pits.
Bad kids who know they're
bad.

Stray dogs in search
of a home.
Dead minds cheering
for ball chasing men.
Working men
who know nothing
of the world but
work.


Broke and addicted
writers looking for
a casket to rest in.
An empty grave
that longs
to be filled.

That letter I wrote and
still haven't sent.
And a date with
a dealer
therefore this   
list is
now done.

I've been strengthen by these
defeats and I've loved
several different women
with all of my heart.
All of whom I wish
to never see again.

Alone is when I'm at
my greatest and alone
I am with these
demons who influence my
world.

This hand keeps reaching
and coming up empty.
And we are all getting
older,so much older.

The promises fall short
and the hopes all began
to fade like a dying star
far off in the
Pleiades.

**** it all away
and consume,
buy it all up and attempt
to fill that empty space
that is your soul.

I'll continue on my
way with this .
I'll continue on my
way alone and only
on rare occasions will
I be happy.

And that is how
it's meant to be.

Only a fool
could believe
there was nothing
waiting on me
on the other side
of all of this.

It could
be riches or
could be death.

Or maybe even a brown
haired beauty
with amber eyes
and blood red lips.
A touch so gentle
the cracks on these prison
walls began to weep
at her touch.

A fresh bottle already opened
next to a clean glass
already filled.
With an ice cube afloat
that has melted just enough
to chill the sting.

Or a pistol locked
and loaded with
malice and
****** left in its
wake.

A friendship yet to
be formed or a
lonely bar keep with
a half truth tale
to tell.

A moment of calm to be felt
at the sight of the
theater that is
the sky and the
sea at sunset.

I'd be lying only
to myself if I thought
there was nothing beyond these
deadened hours
and wasted days.
Nothing waiting as patiently
as a poor man in a well fare
line,for me.

It could be anything
or anyone of those things.
Or it could be death in the form
of a ****** fix,
a vengeful enemy who's
had too much to
drink and too many
rounds for him to miss.

A drunk out for a
Sunday drive,
or a strong enough
wind that felt
the need to fall an
ancient oak
right on top of me.

At times it all fails
to make any type
of worthy sense
at all.

Watch the talking heads
talk about false
events and never question
this reality.

The lies flow like
***** undrinkable
water out of a
rusty unusable pipe.

That turtle I seen on Alma
street wasn't a turtle at all.
It was a tire.

The mind finds ways to accept
these unbelievable truths.
Even when your soul curses
your decisions
and your heart cracks in
zig-zag patterns as
you ingest more
and exhale the soot
of your experience.

Scrape away all that remains
of yesterday in hopes
of creating a better
tomorrow.

Make your own path
past the
justly stricken suffering
souls who bought into the
lie and now dance among
the angry dogs.  
Plenty of riches blind
the fools,only
one true eye controls
them all.

Make the first move
in this
war they have waged
against our reality.
Hold true
to that questioning voice
inside your head and run
towards the front,
while screaming
questions about
it all.

Some say there's nothing
worse than a wasted
life.

Counting the value of your days
in accomplishments.
Things I've lost,
those I've hated,
time spent locked away,
riches squandered.

Holidays help the years
go by,a day to
celebrate when there's
no real reason to
be happy.

Conversations began
and end with,"Remember when?"
Your only mark left on this
world is a name on a headstone.
A name nobody ever
called you by,
a name you didn't choose.

Never wanted to grow
up to be anything but
older.
Tattooed images that at one
time meant everything to you.

Miss dead pets more
than dead  friends.

Leave nothing behind but
a bloodline,
maybe not even that.

Most things crumble with
time,burn with
the flames.

It's not important how long
you'll be remembered.
All memories fade with time,
words lose meaning
and this thing we are living
carries on.
Forgotten.

These days run away
like criminals who
flee.
Taking with them
all of what I never
did.

This regret remains
fresh just as honey
never ages.
And there's that blood
red stain where my need
for the hurt leaked
onto the floor.

Somewhere beneath
those times and
these years lays
a reason that's fighting
to be understood.

These losses are as
sad as Pluto
losing its status.
And yet I still
believe there's
a masterpiece
somewhere within
all of us
waiting to be
freed.

If I could I'd spend
a little bit of this
forever with her
underneath that
streetlamp.

I'd stand with her
there as she leaned
against me with her
fists clenched together
at her chest.
Her Whiskey dressed
breath warm against
my neck.
The moth shadowed
light enhancing her
cheek bones and
proving to me that
there is indeed artistry
in our creation.

If I could I'd spend
whatever is left with
her drunk and troubled,
broke and incomplete,
in Love and alone.
Together but still longing
for that loneliness that
always seems to make
things right.

If given the choice I'ld
probably pick alone.
Or maybe a moment with
her beneath that streetlamp
on the corner of some
numbered street and
Hell itself.

For now I'll fix whats
left  of my stash.
Pour me a wine.
Then fall into a nod
as my opiated mind flashes
a  memory
of her smiling grenadine
stained teeth.

And when the sun decides
to return,so shall
I continue on my way
without her.
Ill slowly pass these
numbered streets
in this lost and broken form
that I've chosen
for this world to judge.

The clock ticks away
as another sleepless night
breaks way for another
wasted day.

The ***** ran out hours ago.
I was left to wait out the clock
during that empty part of
the night when the
liquor stores close and
the street walking girls
walk their
final walk of the night.

Too wired to sleep,
mind too full of
memories to do
anything else but try
to **** them all away.
Sat on the toilet and
fixed myself a shot.
***** for breakfast,
two beers I'll call my lunch.
Dinner I'll spend 
with her
in a restaurant,
picking at my
plate while
tossing back the
wine.
Again disappointing
that girl who
still remembers
that guy I used to be.

This day I'll spend like
all the rest,
battling to be me.
The past recedes and
my need to stay numb
grows more with every
deed remembered.

These days don't change,
but most of the faces do.
There aren't too many who will
stick around and watch you
wait on death.

There are those who
remember you
and try there best to
guide you back.
If they could
only hear
the symphony
of screams
within my head.
Or the faces that
flash,dead enemy's
and dead friends.

If just a few of them
could experience
the empty in which I
live in.
Then maybe
they'd bring me a
bottle.
Christen my
voyage like a ******
ship to sea.

Wish me
well  then leave me be
and hold true to those
memories of  
the Who
I used to be..

There is no set price to
its worth.
It is not polished jade,
poached ivory
nor a vase dated
by a dynasty.

It is hearts blood drawn
to hearts blood.
And it provides a warmth
that no poppy can
produce.

It drives some mad,
until they're left
peering into the bottle,    
pounding the polished
wood top for more.

The heart is truly
unbreakable.
If only it could
crack just
a little.
If only the hollow in the
chest could be dumped full
of the good times
and left just as that.

When did forever
equal a year,
how could something
so good
end up in tears.

I wish to rip my
heart out,
bury it in a wooden
box deep
below the earth.
Hide it away
from its need
to be loved.

I lived alone and
alone was good.
I did not seek it out
it found me.
.
And the torture
lays not
within the
waiting.

I  shrouded
my shame
behind blacked
out
sunglasses
and spiked my
lies with
deep
red wine .

The pigeons picked at the
crumbs in between the diamonds.
But they were more than likely
just pieces of broken glass.

The occupants of
the Mad house sit
out front on the concrete steps.
The look on their faces
say they are far
away from all of this used to be.

He could have been a
family man, a respected man.
Instead he slept like a
naive little baby, curled up on
the concrete with only
a wine stained coat for comfort.

This here is an asphalt
run still alive with history.

Good time girls and juiced up
sailors once painted this
street red with painted kisses
and fist fight blood.

The guys danced with the
women whose lips were
as red as the wine they drank.

This all should have gone
on forever.

All that is left now are
the pigeons and
the broken glass.

The winos and the Mad ones,
who shuffle like lost penguins
along Beacon street.
Still waiting for
the party to begin.

To be Loved
is mostly
temporary and at
times a lie.

But to be missed
to be remembered
lasts as long as
a memory
and is about as
real as it's ever
going to get..

It Shows you
just how sadly
powerless you truly
are  in the form
of grinding
dull aches to the
lower back and
the calves .

It cuts in line
in front of the
brushing of the
teeth,
the cleaning of the
body,the caring for
another and
the life that must
stand aside and
wait to be lived.

It's the warmth
that becomes your
lover,
the obsession with
feeling nothing but
the Poppies love.

One can't explain
the why's  and the
how's of the
Magical Poppy.
One tries to
reason with the
Dragon
and discovers that
it is the monkeys
grip that brings
the pain.

This life is a ride on
the back of a wild
untamed horse,
whose need to run
free across open
pastures
turns one into a
version of himself
he never knew
existed.

Blame it
on the
ley lines.
Or blame
it on this
city itself.

These bodies
can tan
10 months
out of
the year
without  the
mind ever
wondering
where the
winter went.

Give them
a little
rain and
watch them
seek refuge
in the shopping
malls where
they buy
designer
rain boots
and jackets.

Things they
know they'll
only use on
the oddest
of these grey
Los Angeles
winter days.

They lay
on their
uncomfortable
bunks.

Roaches and mice
have the run
of the floor.

Stale vented
air fills the small
concrete inclosure.

The smells
and the time
they've learned
to ignore.

Some think
about what
lead them
to this and
how they can
change.

Some curse
themselves
for getting
caught and
can't wait to
try and
pull it off
again.

I'm taking my
time with this one.
I'm going far below
it all,bare with me.

The fear and
the anger level
off the risk,
the pistol and
the black cat
provide  me
with composure.

I can still see
it all,
the blood on the
floor,blood
on the memories.
Still feel the tears
as they tumble
in the darkness
of the void.

Have you ever
confronted what it
is that hurts you
in the dark.
Laughed at the
magnitude of your
needs as you fulfilled
the hard times
with all the
wrong things.

I'm venturing
deeper,
there's no turning back
now.

The last words
she said to me
still echo behind the
high.
Failures pass me by
as I remain loyal
to the hunger.

They celebrate in order
to escape.
I burrow deeper into
the tar, chase it all
down with the
cheapest bottle
of the highest proof.

The ringing
of the rush
and the calming of
the fix
taunts my soul.

I continue to
jot it all down,
I allow it to
act as a mediator
between my mind
and this hostile
world.

It pacifies these
terrors,
these desires
and allows me to feel.

I'm pulling back now
the purpose has
been served.
And still I
refuse their
pill formed
cures.

The memories
are still alive
and for this
brief moment
the pain has
ceased.

Do not
let any
of this
define me.

None of
this is
written with
a purpose.

These words
just are,
there is
no goal.

It's all
at the
mercy of
random
events.

Those backyard
days when we
lived in the
moment.
The home made
announcements done
in the violent
art of our time.
Always promising
kegged
beer and music.


We piled into
cars loaned
by parents.
Walked drunk
and as one
along the city
blocks of our
town.
All of us
flocking to
hear the voices
of our friends.

We drank hard
like young ones
should.
Smoked what was
available
and expanded our
minds with
sour caps
and toxic cartoon
printed paper tabs.

Contemplated how
things could have been
if we would
have had
D.Boon for just
a little while
longer.

Those Days
for me are
over now,
time
has held true
to its promise.

Some of the
music is still
available
,the art.

Though generations have
passed the time
still shines in
memory.

Some still
think about those
days while
paying only some
of the bills.

Drinking at home.

Doing time in prison.

Burying a friend.

Seeing Watt on his
bike along Pacific Avenue.

Reading Bukowski.

Cruising on Paseo.

Getting high alone.

This life
it ain't no picnic,
it's a history
lesson.
It's the politics
of time.

The spells I cast
have been achieved
by others.

Leave me to
my dullest needle.
This sting only
numbs the pain.

Candle light improves
my perception.
Silhouettes live out
their time in all
dimensions.

Time carries itself
upon the
wings of memories.

I only try and make
sense to me.

Loving and Leaving
are old reissued
beginnings in
my world.
Freedoms momentarily,
forever has never
been longer than
a year.

She promised me
almost everything,
and yet the
Dragon won my
heart.

I did not look
up as she walked
herself out.

I watched time
watching me
and made
no effort
to change it.

**** dribbled down
the shaking leg
of the angriest dog
in the neighborhood.
He stood
whimpering and
shivering within his
own fear driven
*****.

She paid him
no mind as
her presence
brought
a chill to the
otherwise warm
Southern California
night time breeze.
Her shadow engulfed
the cockroaches,and the
mice as they scrambled
and attempted to
flee.
She left them belly up
on the concrete
as her darkness
move on.

The teen aged
lost boys and girls,
****** harder on their
spit glued
joints and
their generic brand
cigarettes
as they silently
watched her stalk
from
across the street.
They would all
be dead
within days from the
infections
her presence brought
forth.

A Flock of
screaming birds
exploded from a tree
as she moved her
darkness beneath
their night time
roost.
The moon sighed
as the fleeing,
panicking birds
began to fall
from the sky
like stones
and land all
around her
as she floated
forth.

The clouds up ahead
retreated into themselves,
and the Milky way
grew tighter
as a new born star
forced its shine away
and took refuge
within the dark
empty matter
of the heavens .

All of the Earth
and the
living Gods in orbit,
all moved a
bit more carefully
as news of her arrival
began to spread.
Spread like murderous
wild fire across a dry
and parched
landscape.

The city blocks
did not stand a chance.
Their concrete
cried beneath her
bare blank lined
feet.
Tiny clouds of
dust and
fear trailed her
like broken bodies
across a losing
battlefield.

The skinny lady
with the line-less palms
and the timeless existence
made her way
toward the sea.
All at once the
Pacific receded into
an unexpected
low tide
as she began to
cross the empty
sandy beach.
She bowed her head
and watched as the
grunions flopped
and died before
her.
Down the beach
two smiling dolphins
beached themselves
as the waves
brought forth
a drowned
sea lion who had
suddenly
forgot how
to swim.

Sadness she
knew nothing
of ,alone was
the only way
she had ever known.
Her duty on earth
and
in the heavens
took precedence over
all.
She knew only
one thing about
the living,
they all lived
in order to
die.
Her duty was
to gather the living
who were ready
to enter her world
of the dead.
A world more
filled with the
empty then any of
the living had ever been
told.

Out of Liquor
and out of time.
It's 2 AM on
someday
thats not a
saturday.

Outside my window
racoons climb through
the fig tree feasting
like untamed
royalty on
the heavy hanging
fruit.

I rifle through
the cabinets
in search of a
bottle.
The cabinets are
bare and I know
this,
but the madness
says there's more.

There's a deep
red stain on
the scuffed and
peeling linoleum floor.
It's as red as
that flapping flag
of anarchy.
It's blood and
I know it
but I choose to
ignore it.

The bars have
all closed and I can
hear my neighbor
has brought the
party home
next door.

I despise the sun
but times like
these I beg the
Gods for it's
arrival.
For with the
awakening of
another day
brings the opening of the
liquor store
and my continuance
in the way of the
hardened soul.

My mornings began
just as empty as
my bottles
from the night before
and I see no
real reason to
stop it all
now.

My days ago
are piled
with excess.

My days ahead,
clouded
with letting
go.

This day today,
empty
as the bottle
laying next
to me.

And there's
no way
to grow
young
again.

Slumped over again,
bad posture.
Running a fingertip around
the edge of a
highball glass.
Lost track of how
many times life has led
to this.

Drinking but far
from drunk.
Using and still
not high.
Alone and still
crowded by the
memories.

Took in all
of the empty through
bloodshot eyes
that hadn't been a
healthy white in
far too long.

Thinking,
lost so much.
Tried everything to
**** it all away.

Stabbed myself and
missed again.
Look forward to
the next fix,
need something.

No Longer worried
about the could
have beens.
Dance along like
a dollar girl
with all that has
been given.

Alone,better this
way.
Listen to the sound
of the refrigerator hum.
Call this music,
Frusciante.

Just me and the sound
of the ceiling fan whipping.

Passed out and
called it sleep.
I don't dream anymore,
the dreams gave
up on me
long ago.

Tossed and turned,
reached out and felt
no one there.
Laughed it off
then paced the room.
Went to the window
and peeked out at
the sacred night.

Back to the bottle and
filled the empty glass.
I began all of this alone.

The crowds demand
conversation.
The stammer robs
me of that.

Sat and drank,
sat and used.

I dont need the crowds.
I got Demons to keep
me company.

"We'll" I said before slowly hitting the burning joint I held clenched between my scared and calloused finger tips.
"I my dear am a friend of the cold",I exhaled and enveloped her heart shaped face within the cloud.
Her eyes squinted against the smoke but never left my face.
"You can call me akin to the empty.A first cousin to the cold and
uncomfortable wetness."
I ran my wrist under my runny nose and smiled.
I scratched the stubble along my chin and smiled.
The dope was always good at this time of year,I was high and the wind was warm.
Almost as warm as the opiated blood that raced throughout my tired pain free body.
She stared at me and waited on a word,a line of some false greatness to fog her mind a little more.
She blinked once and only once and with that movement in time I felt a little bad about who I was and why I was here.
I quickly recovered as I always have and filled her line of sight with a forced smile and a lazy eye brow raise.
"But be that as I may be,I am indeed in love with the warmth."
I said to her and watched her o shaped lips break into a smile.
"I like the warmth too "she said, her grey eyes now filled with hope.
"I know you do darling",I said then reached my hand out and rested it on her bony shoulder.
I managed to bring forth another smile from a place deep beneath all of what I used to be,and when I did she smiled with me.But in this version of reality she was truly smiling alone as I stood and wore the deep lines of falseness across my face.
"I know you do sweetheart",I said again attempting to sound like some type of sick caring father
"I know you do ....."

To have
watched
him die
a
painful,
blood letting
death
would have
been far better
than
witnessing his
slow,sad
demise
through
that one way
entrance
and
into the
realm of
insanity.

There has been
moments and
sometimes
even years when
I've submitted
myself to
them.

Celebrated false
joys with
them,
spent and consumed
with them.
Turned a blind eye
and focused
on nothing
with them.

I found their ways
grueling and murderous,
they killed the soul
first while
seizing the mind
with pointless
goals.

I tried talking
to some of
them
but found it as
uncomfortable
as conversing
with a
cop on a Sunday.

Accepted it for
what it was.
Embraced what
it is I
truly am.

Unlike them,
against them
and inherently
on my
own.

The only true
joy lays within
the ***** and the
Poppy.
The softness
of the women's
painted
lips.
The discovery of
words
of prose written
by a long
dead drunk.

The sound of
recorded music
by Frusciante
and the
times alone
when the pencil
meets the paper
and all of
whatever
this is
comes to be..

It was the
warmth
I felt at
the sound
of her voice
that assured
me it had
returned.
The way she
stared directly
into my eyes as I
spoke.
The way
she waited
patiently
while I
struggled
with the
stammer.

I placed
the times
with her deep
within the
caverns of
my memory.
In the
bright
place where
all of the
good times
are kept.

I did what
was right
before I had
a chance to
let her
down or
to hurt her in
the way only
I knew
how to
do.

I loved her
for a week
then let
her go.
It was the
only right
thing
to
do.

I've long since
kept an
extra
set of friends
in the background.

Its always
good
to have a spare.

Easily replaceable,
daily interchange

I
feel
nothing but
humility
as I stare
at my
past and
watch
it all fall
away
like
a shale
cliff
loosened by
the
thunder

These nights
are like
Harlots.

Each one
promising
a new type
of fantasy,
to be reused
over and
over.

Without  
any type
of caressing
or shame.

I no longer cast blame
upon the choices or
the Poppy.
The pretty painted
ladies,friends who lacked
loyalty or the
black robed Judicial figure
who cast the peoples
sentence upon me.

I've took the oath
and willfully chose
to walk with the
truly hardened souls
whose experience somewhat
mirrors my own.

Drink from the vessel
of this truth spoke the
muse.
Pick at the foggy drug
driven heart broken times
and turn them all into
so much more than
just dead flesh sadness.

I believe I earned
the calling from the
Gods themselves.
So much loss
has now began to
show it's reasons.

And to deprive myself
of the joy this
gift brings
would be a greater loss
than all of what
has led me to this.

So much loss
has now began to
show it's reasons.

It's better this way.
I'm better off as a
spectator to the
way everyone
else finds happiness.

They dress their
best and pray on
sundays.
I drink in stale
clothes and laugh
out loud in the
open park in
the dead of night.
High and at one
with the
thieving masked  
lords of the night.

Theirs are goals
and mine are troubling
questions that cause them
discomfort.
I try to pull on
the  answers
no one wants
to really
hear,
not even
myself.

They all long for
love and praise.
Heart shaped
chocolate filled
boxes is what
represents their
artificial idea
of love.

I touch not on
this subject.

I chase away my madness
while drunk and too
high to keep up with
my own shadow.

You'll find me in
the darkness if I let
you.

I'll have the pistol in
my pocket, a bottle
in my hand
and this dead
end love on
the mind.

I stared hard at
the night.
Half drunk in
a public park
that was still so
alive with
happy memories.

As a boy I
dreamed of
becoming nothing.
Now all I long
to do is this.
The words are all so
dear to me.
They've kept me warm
as I laid in cold
jail cells and
cold hide a ways

I promised myself
to free myself of the stress
of desire and need.
And to in gulf
all of what is
left of me into
this.

Only in the dark
can one truly
see the shadow
of madness
that's always one
more drink
or one more failure
behind it all..

I used all of
whats hidden in
the night as a mirror
to the world.
Scattered images and
the sound of the
night bird.
Traces of all
that lays stark
still in the night.

I warmed myself with
the last of the bottle.
I felt the presence
of all that is left
of the wild and
untamed in the city.
The Elder trees
stood stone silent
in all of their
greatness.
A testament to
the strength
and will of nature.

I whispered thanks
to the sun even
though I
felt better without its
presence.

The sea crashed
and sounded
its rage against
the edge of the world.

And I sat drunk
and alone in a
public park without
any of the clueless
public anywhere
near.

Let us not
look to
their shadowed
world and
feel apart.

For amongst
the low and
the lost,
deep beneath
the hurt.
Great thoughts
and true
emotions
often linger.

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.