I moved the loose
dirt around with the
tip of my shoe.
I played with the coins
and the trusted knife in
my pocket with one
hand and held
on for dear
life to the warm
beer can with the other.

I took a tentative step
forward and let the
toes of my shoes
rest upon the open
air as I enticed death
along the edge of
the world.

I stood that way
for awhile listening
to what the sea
had to tell me.
Watching what
the sky was
giving away
for free.

I drank from the
can,kept my hand in my
pocket and ran a
finger along the edge
of the blade.

I was waiting on the
sunset.
I was waiting for
that daily romance
between the greatest
of all of the Gods.
I was waiting
to witness what has
played out between the
sea and the sun at
the end of each
day since their
lives began.

I came here for
the end.
I came here for that
dimly lit
part of the
day that's just right
for mourning.

I drank as the
two Gods kissed
and one faded into
the other.

I crushed the empty
can in my hand.
Then said my
goodbyes in silence.

I took a moment
to appreciate
it all.
The delicate,bold
colors the setting sun
had left behind
smeared across
the sky.
The Misty air blowing
off the sea.
The beer buzz and
the opiates that
had thus far thinned
my blood.

I could have
stayed there
for hours.
But my beer
was empty
and one can only
say goodbye
for so long
before it becomes
obsessive..

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.

It's
always
the ones
who've
done
the least
and
sacrificed
nothing,
who
always
seem
to have
the
most to
say.

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...

Men and even some Women meet in
over weight and over fragranced,
obnoxious groups.

All wearing the same colors like mutant
cheerleaders or
under achieving private school kids.

The food they eat is greasy and their conversation is
nothing but repeating what their
television screen had already told them .

Men argue over numbers and Women try to still
look cute while dressing in mens
athletic gear looking like fools
with their hair done.

The more Beer they drink the more
screaming they do at two
dimensional people
on a huge television screen
who can't hear them.

And they call this entertainment .
I call it insanity, the worst kind of sickness.
A sickness that no one's aware enough or awake enough,
to ever know they have.

The firmament held
true against the
rockets sent
by man.

It isn't easy.
Once you've grown
wise enough to realize
that the little ones are the only good humanbeings .
Your back is already worn out like
well read paper back.
And your heart ,your hearts
been hardened by too many cigarettes and too many
pretty faces who always came and  went a bit too soon.

You got to hit your rhythm right before you reach the apex .
Then Like that first time we tried DMT
just sit back and enjoy the ride.

You gotta barrel through it all .
The burdens of society.
The addictions
The struggle between what you
want to do and what makes you
enough to keep her happy.

We're cursed with such a narrow perspective.
Unlike the bare butterfly who
lives out their time in all Realities.

If you dont listen to Frusciante
you might not understand me today.

Learn how to survive with the least
amount of your abilities
and call this progress.

Decay always begins once growth ends.
And there ll be plenty of dreams to **** tomorrow .

I had almost mastered the art of making my way through life without making too much noise.

I had spent the last 6 years mostly alone.
Concentrated all my efforts on trying to stay out of prison.
Worked on the writing and the poetry.
And doing all I could to just be forgotten.

I had kicked up enough dust in my early years to spend the majority of my adult life behind bars.
Came home with more tattoos, another strike and a
Monkey on my back.
I was home with greying hair, a bullet in my hand that hurt like hell, an ex wife who hated me, kids who didn't know me and friends who had forgotten all about me.

I move as low to the ground as possible now days.
I went out only when I had to.
I was just trying not to be noticed.
Hoping that maybe they'll forget about all the bad I had done
and just let me grow old in silence.

I spent  my 40th birthday in a coin-op laundromat that reminded me of a crude jail house day-room.
Concrete floors, metal picnic tables with a large tv bolted to the wall  

She walked in carrying what looked like everything she owned.
She couldn't have been more than 5 feet tall, maybe 100lbs at the most.

I quickly stood up from my seat on the cold steel bench and offered to relieve her of some of her burden, to which she shyly obliged.

Nobody ever taught her how to be polite.
She didn't know what being gracious even meant until she met me.

She'ld say " Don't blame me I wasn't raised right", it was our lil joke but a joke that was far  to real.

It was her beauty that saved her.
Her body was what most women would never have.
Men felt a burning desire at the sight of her.
Which she used to her advantage when needed.
It's what helped her get by during the roughest of times.

She wasn't a ***** but they didn't know that.
By the time they had realized she wasn't giving what they wanted she would have already packed her things and left for good.

Men would promise her almost everything when all she really wanted was something to call her own.

Her front tooth was chipped from a fight with an ex boyfriend.
The minor flaw only added to her rare type of natural beauty.
Light freckles across the bridge of her nose.
She had scared up boney knuckles and always wore thick silver rings on 4 of her fingers.
Naturally long eyelashes and acne scared cheeks she'ld hide with cover up.

What she knew of the world was almost comical, she hadn't been anywhere and wasn't planning on going anywhere any time soon.
What she lacked in social skills couldn't compare to what she knew how to do in bed.

I gave her a safe place to rest without having to worry.
She gave me reason to shower in the morning and comb my hair before bed.

We played chess which was a surprise to me when she asked me if I played.

I introduced her to  Bukowski, Dante and Virgil.
She brought a strange type of warmth to my otherwise cold lonely apartment .
Our time was a break from the isolation and a reminder of how it was to be with another.
She brought back memories I had long ago forced
myself to forget.

Her only rule was that I never asked about her past.
What she wanted me to know she would share on her own.
My only request was that she never asked me to stop using
and when she felt it was time to move on ,she wouldn't take the time to say goodbye.

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.

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.

**** 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.

Long haired California girls wear skin tight jeans with 7' inch heels  for a trip to the liquor store.
It's getting harder to tell which ones are dancing by night and spending by day.

Panhandlers and the truly insane sit outside stores they can't afford.
Asking people they don't know for help they really don't got the time or reason enough to give.  

Every soldier needs an enemy or they wouldn't be any use for any soldiers at all.
All these Cops decked out in Army grade hand me downs got me wondering "Who is their enemy?"
As I look around and only see us and them.

Latch-key kids all over this city talking on cell phones while eating $4.00 ice cream and riding a Hoverboard.
Independent little adults who see no reason to respect anyone or anything  at all.

You only see stray cats in the ghetto.

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.

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.

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.

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.

It came around again
for we are at the center
of our everything.

And the center never
moves.

It burns through natural clouds
and unnatural lines in our sky.

Over the Eastern mountains
and scorched hillsides.

Made its way
across a deadly
California desert.
Over a  mysterious ,
***** blondes bare
freckled shoulder.

Through the track homes
and the cheap motels.
Between  a beautiful ******
open legs and runny nylons.

Past the clerk asleep in the  hotel lobby.
Past the stolen car
outside.
Across the cluttered
room and
passed a dark alley way.

Up the main street
of some nowhere type of town.
Across the freeway and the blood stain.
Past the curbside motive candles.

Above the glass like surface
of the morning ,dead calm sea.
Through the fisherman's hopeful heart.
And the starlets dying flame.

Over the pages of my
favorite book ,
my favorite line.
"Run to me,Come to me'

Through my
half empty ***** bottle.
Bounced its way off the cracked
goodluck mirror  and  caught
me straight in the eye.

That first blinding ray
shines its way through the ages
to great you each and every  morning .

The first sign
that you've made it.
Still healthy enough to
gracefully waste another beautiful
Southern California day.

They gave me a
29 page pamphlet on
what I can no longer
enjoy.
There wasn't one line
on what I  could
abuse.

We all have our outs,
our ways to escape
it all for a few
needed
moments.
A purpose or a
vice.

My mother has her
wine,
my father his
faith and his guns.
My brothers all
have their futures,
my friend his
Lalo.

All I have
is this,
and if it
ever leaves
me ,
if the words stop
coming.

Then what am I
but another
empty useless
soul ,taking
up space.
Fighting off the
demons,
waiting on the
darkness to come.

Too many
pills can
slow the
heart.

Too much
of a
good thing,
tears that
good
thing all
apart.

People who don't live here think they know it all from watching T.V.

City lights cast down upon city streets.
They know no other way than to survive once someone comes and shoots their street lights out.

They **** and die for the street.
The fat man on the radio tries to calm the city.

Grafitti acts as a warnig, who'll get the 187 mark out today.

Some grew up on the low side of town where the bridges and the freeways meet.
L.A river acts as borders for the Gang controlled neighborhoods and washes their blood and sometimes their guns away.

Everyone's from somewhere ,are you brave enough to say.

I watched more
planes criss cross
the sky today.

Planes without
destinations ,passengers
or reasons why.

Planes that leave behind
thick lines across our skies
like a destructive hand
with graffitti.

There's no more floating
dogs or drifting ,parting
dancing girls.
No more summer flowers
or slowly gliding flying
cars.

The clouds above
the city don't
form the different shapes
like they used to do.

I married the
cold night
with a cities worth
of lights as my
witness.

Like those of
Babylon we wished
to be closest to the
Gods on our night
of promise.

Her natural brown
hair fell across
her flawless face
in thin lonely wisps.

The tip of
her nose turned
an unhealthy red
as the hill top winds
made their
way past.

We both
produced chilling
diamond cut
wedding bands
made from the ice of
our hearts.

Slipped upon
my finger she did
with the coldness
and a whispered
promise.

And I upon hers
with the words
we had
agreed upon.
"May My coldness
hurt no other but
you".

Learned long
ago
how to
live alone.

Watched the
black cat
eat the fur and
the bone.

I enjoyed her
company
I can not
lie.

She told me
to take
care I
promised
her I'd try.

I drank
on the
floor and
used
in the dark.

I wonder
if this
feral cat is
some kind
of lark.

I've rehearsed
in
my mind
what I would
say.

Selfishly
expected her
to watch me
live this way.

There's a hole
in the screen
where the
cat comes
in.

It's hard to
remember
how this
addiction
began.

Just like everyone else this one
had its share of glimmering days and
moon kissed nights.

Some of them have even lasted longer
than a dream or a thought.

Its not as dark as it sounds.

Its the idea of it all.
Its the obsession with the need
to be satisfied that causes
the bleakest of times
to outshine all the others.

The lengths some go through
in order to lasso a smile .
The twisted faces made at babies.
The foolish voice that brings a grin.
All of it just to fill that cup
of neediness even when it overflows
with the material things that
shape our world.

One must spend some time in the nothing
with nothing at all to truly
see the greatness in the briefest of moments.

The simplicity of the ocean breeze slicing
through the palm fronds.
That triumphant smile on her tired
face as the point draws red.
The tear that escapes the man
who is once again a free man.

There's that moment that never lasts longer than an instant.
That is what you need to live through to come to this.
To see what this one sees.
And to recognize what it truly is to be happy.

Little Martha and her
yellow apples.
She drinks warm Mezcal
in the Poppy fields.

Copper canyon runners
wear thin leather
thongs on their
callused ash white feet.

Elevated Chicken coops
keep the Hens cool
in the summer and
safe from the
Copperheads on the
desert floor below.

Men soar like
Eagles and glide
around Polaris.
Trust in the
Hemp ropes
and trust in their
Creator.

Her father went South
to fight for his People.
That's the story she
still tells when asked
about him today.

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.

It's the way it is.

You're born here.

You live here.

You long for it when
you're away.

And one day
you'll die here.

That's what home is to me.

We had some of the best talks,
some of the best laughs.

I got some of the best advice,
and we shared some things
we always considered secrets.

I forgave him and
he accepted me and all my flaws.

And I spent hours and days
there beside his death bed.

Watching as he bravely faced
the empty shadow of death.
The tears all fall in silence
as what's left of him fades
like slow clouds behind the mountain.

Leaving behind his broken vessel
for us to cry over, for us to miss.
For the caretaker to burn all away,
for my Mother to toss into the waters.

The dog won't leave the impression
he left on his bed.
The cat wonders the house
checking all the rooms.

His keys and his wallet still sit
on the counter.
The dog still won't leave his room.

I'm sitting in the kitchen but I'm not really here.
My brother hasn't said a word.
My uncle has'nt stopped drinking.
Mother keeps on crying
and there ain't a dam thing I can do.

The cruelest
of all things
is the short
amount of time
the Gods
have allowed us
to spend
with our pets.

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..

I stare at
these cruelties
with an eye
that has
seen the
ugly side
of Eden.

I tighten my
grip around
the wine bottles
neck with
a hand that
has been raised
and stained
in war.

My heart has
swelled,
the blood that
feeds it has grown
heavy with war.

Inner city war,
war waged against
conformity,
wars fought
hand to
bloodied hand
on a prison yard.
War amongst
my sanity and
my soul.
Wars lost
but never
surrendered.

These vicious
ways keep
me alive ,
keep me in
line.

My blood is
heavy,
slowed by
the weight of
the poppies blood.

My blood is
heavy, so very
heavy as it
runs through
these tired
veins and keeps
my heart alive.

I started writing myself  little notes and some long letters around
the time the continents began to shift.

All I asked was for her to spell it.
I knew it would either change her life forever  or scare her into believing it wasn't true.

How much longer can the lies rule when the truth of things is nolonger deniable.

If there is no space and we are all there is why not open the gates and let us all live free.

I'll be the criminal who gave up all that lays beyond the ice.
A Shangrala where evil men have made the rules and our missing children are sent like cattle for the leaders to enjoy.

If I didn't stick to the Drink induced Poetry or the simple short stories talking about Love and Drugs.
I knew that they would eventually come for me.

My Allies be the pistol, the lighter,the mirror,the tin,the bottle of ***** and the broken girl who slept like a corpse curled up on the love seat.

I left the girl who left so long ago a note.
I started it with "I love you"and ended it with
" If they ever tell you I've gone mad know that I haven't.
I just got tired of fighting the lies and only dreaming of the truth..."

I wish to watch them bleed and pay for their selfish deeds.
I want to hold her hand as we watch their mansions burn .
I need to know the last of their kind has been brought to their knees.
I long for the children in the sweatshops to be allowed a little fun.
I plan on taking from the filthy rich and keeping it.

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.

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.

The blackboard had been wiped clean
of all the equations and answers.
All but one question remained.
"Why Are You Here?"

My first thought was
I'm here to try and
keep myself out of
there.

I'm here to bring
attention to
the broken hearts,
the alcoholic writers
and the dreams we
never share.

I'm here to show my face
and prove to them that
I am  everything  they
could not  ****.

I'm here to read the works
the mad men left
behind.
I'm here for the ******,
the ***** and the one
night stands.

I'm here to fall in love
and fall out of favor.

I'm here to use as much
as I can without dying.

I'm here to break their laws
and  to expose all those who claim
to understand this vision.

I'm here to **** them off and
provide them with  reasons
to speak thy name in vain.

I'm here to steal from
the rich and keep it.

I'm here to write it
all down without
losing my mind or my life.

I'm here to avoid the crowds
and admire the
empty city streets at midnight.

I'm here to burn the red candles and
fear not the coming age.

I'm here for what lays beyond
the ice.
Here to share the
secrets they  all **** to keep.

I'm here to give thanks to
La Muerte, Little Martha
and The Skinny girl.

I'm here for the girls who
sing alone and shiver at the memories
of growing up  in a broken home.

I'm here to write something that the
Convicts and the Delinquents could
both relate to.

I'm here for that Raven haired
girl with the perfect bangs and
sculpted brows.
The girl who smiled her Blood red lips
and called me Dangerous.

I'm here to write about the Hummingbird,
the lonely Writer  and the habit that
killed a certain girls everything.

I'm here to laugh as they
all cry.
Here to cheer over their hissing sounds.
Here to celebrate at their time of mourning.

I'm here to be as far apart
from all of you as I can.

I'm here for the invitation
that I never received.

I'm here to take the
blame and provide an escape.

Here to prove her right when
she was oh so wrong.

I'm here to act as if I didn't know.
Here to play with the
guilt that plagues them in their sleep.

Here for the Latch key kids
and unwanted dogs.

I'm here for DMT ,the LSD
and the secrets they both
hold but never tell.

I'm here even though
most times I wish I  wasn't.

I'm here all alone
although it
wasn't always this way.

I'm here to try and put these
words in their place.

Here to keep their spirits
up while trying to keep
my own from dying.

Here to fill the pages the young
will read tomorrow.

Here to share what it is I do
without exposing my true sorrows.

I'm here to finish what they  
started without mimicking their style.

I'm here to keep them
on their toes while
concentrating on tomorrow.

I'm here to remove the  Globe
from all curriculum's.

Here to put an ending to
all of the foolish lies.

I'm here to answer your questions
as honestly I can.

I'm here today but can be gone
tomorrow.

I don't know what we're all
doing here,
I can only speak
for me.

Their world
is based
on
comfort
and
comfort
has
it's own
section
in the
city.

Mad
squirrels
dash across
live power
lines.

Old friend
across miles of
ocean and
nameless lands
you reached me.

Your face I'll
never recognize
but the words
you shared I'll
cherish.

Fade into the
dawn,
like the broken
clouds behind the
hills Old friend.

Fade now my
kin of the word.
You've left more
than enough
for me to ponder
over.

More than enough
to outshine those
mountains that
give up
the golden light.

More than enough
to light my way
when all my
world is
darkness.