For some,
There's no escaping the daily grind;
Only the inexplicable tortures which plague the mind.
For others, however, there's a blooming gap
Which presents itself
In the form
Of a nap.

How simple a pleasure;
An enchanting endeavor.
Those words do not rhyme,
Though I do not care,
For I've just awoken and tainted the air;
Clouds of tobacco smoke poison my lair.

A dream lingers briefly so I jot it down.
Angels from heaven appear -
Oh the sound!
An orchestra plays something I've never heard;
It's hauntingly beautiful -
Mildly absurd.

A box pushed its way to the surface through dirt
And inside the box is a sparrow;
It's hurt.
I do what I can
To help it to heal,
But a cat comes along and decides it's a meal.

"I know you're a cat, and that's what cats do,
But wouldn't you say you were just a bit rude?"

It replies in baritone, southerly voice,
"I am what I am and I hadn't a choice.
I'm driven by instinct,
As you may not be;
However, these feathers
Taste curiously..."

The cat then exploded;
Its innards now out.
That bird was a bomb,
I haven't a doubt.

but whenever I'm presented with an object
capable of causing harm,
I can't help but envision myself
utilizing it in ways most unpleasant.

In the kitchen when I'm preparing a meal--
the knife enters my throat.
In the yard when I'm wielding the chainsaw--
the blade enters my throat.
When I grip the pistol and point it down range--
the bullet enters my throat and exits through the cerebellum.

Yet, I've never once attempted to take my life or even
threatened to do so for attention;
but that's really not my style.
Perhaps these thoughts are perfectly normal...

*yeah, for a guy who hates his ******' life.

The nights often grow cold where I live,
So I try and do what seems logical--
Build a fire.
I hastily take to the darkness in search of kindling--
Success!
The storm from last night seems to have littered the ground with
Dead branches large and small.
I'm unfamiliar with this type of tree, however...
But it seems quite promising.
I do hope it burns well.
Back in my cabin, I find the smaller sticks break with ease,
And the larger pieces split at my command without hesitation;
I then proceed to load the stove and fire it up.
All has gone according to plan--
Save for one minor detail...
Despite my efforts to further stoke the blazing inferno,
It produces no heat.
The warmth of my excitement from finding the wood
And subsequently constructing the fire has now subsided and I'm left with a
Beautiful orange flame which - no matter how hard I try -
Can never fully satisfy.

Ham sandwiches remind me of the days gone by
When I'd fly out the door to kiss the lips of glass
That would always kiss back; a kiss to get me high
Quite literally speaking, sneaking out the window
Just to do it again, sometimes I'd forge a pen with a nut
So what, yeah I've had the plastic in my lungs
But I'm climbing up the rungs with a quick two skip,
Slip n hit my chin on the rung labeled "dedication"
Forever changing stations in this ADD society we livin in today, pass it back or go away, ham sandwich.

Regarding some thoughts on a talk
moments prior,
I outline some traits for a date
I require.
If passion trumps fashion
we're off to a start,
And art is another way into my heart.
It doesn't seem fair to care
about age;
Those dastardly digits depicting a cage.
Which ain't to declare I'd pair with
a minor;
Save for maybe an E,
Since I'm such a G.

I digress and confess, if you'd like it
much clearer,
For all you've to do is to look
in the mirror.

December 31st of twenty-eleven;
Wound up in a place not so much like heaven.
No celebration - just cards and some chess,
Reflecting on how I got into this mess.
I must confess, I thought it'd be worse;
Violence and **** followed up with a hearse.
But my inmates were kind, despite their transgressions;
Most of them hauled in on counts of possession.
Fiends all around me, missing their dope;
Counting the days with a glimmer of hope.
It made me depressed, though I could relate;
Recounting the highs and how now they abate.
As I lay in my cell on that cold wintry eve,
I found it a bit easier to believe
That I ****** myself dearly, right in the ***;
But I mustn't forget that this too shall pass.