Now don't you get too cocky, handsome
But there's a red sun behind your smile
Which you grind in your sleep while I
Dream silly dreams of you and me
For a change breathing easily

I said don't you get too cocky
But there's nothing I think of so fondly
As I write, its true
Blazing sun, yes beautiful
No planet can hold a flame to you

It is rare that I find within someone
A glimmer of myself
and that is what frightens me
I know how eagerly I leave

He paused for a moment to rest

and thought that in a strange way,

he was executing a test,

his rage was growing high,

as he stared into the sky,

the ****** he commited was in fact a destiny,

and still more,

while the victim laid on the floor,

the foundation was made up of solid hatred,

a ****** to draw the eyes

and hearts of all men for all time,

he ignored the screams and cries,

then he wondered,

if in this state of madness,

it was the physical symbol of his faith,

killing was his traint,

one that he would face,

leaving behind a trace,

rough remnants that still clung to pure vision,

a vision not quite destroyed,

until he completed the attack,

then he begged for the darkness,

to spread his name, Jack

I was down
in the basement,
with a bottle of sake,
and I played a CD
with one of my favorite songs
from my teenage years,
so I had a shot of wine
and thought that now
I was old,
and then another song
came on,
that reminded me of ***,
and said that this trip
begins with the girls,
so as I was then
so happy,
on came a song from my youth
which is so solemn and sad
that tears began to form,
and this sadness
became strong
and noble,
so I decided to end
this small but important experience
on this powerful sadness,
and with the last minor chord,
I turned off the CD player,
with no happy ending,
and then I took a ****.

why does it matter
what i put in my mouth
or who i push myself into
as long as neither involves you

I tremble when I hear the voice of the wind saying,
“why should I even care
if my actions close the eyes
of those who yield to me?”
and all that I know
is that here I stand with pen in hand
in a world of my own making,
contemplating
a potential stalemate.

The time has come and whispers to me
from the lips of the universe
that the stairs of the fiercest storm
are covered with everything
that I have hidden in my mind,
confusion attempts to run
through my veins creating a madness
with fingers
oh so unkind.

I gaze at the warm sun and wonder how
I lost the desire
I had in my younger days
to bravely sing to the world
from a throat that had not forgotten
how it feels to stand in the gap
or what it takes to expose  winds
that do not care
who their actions destroy.

With pen in hand I speak to the wind
with words the same as if
I called upon
twelve thousand angels
whose wings float upon each gale
as if they were merely
part of a beautiful dream,
once again I feel safe
in this world of my own making,
my trembling ends.