I am allowed to hate you.
I am allowed to spit your name out of my mouth.
I am allowed to cry acid tears.
I am allowed to guard my heart.
I am allowed to not speak to you for years.
I am allowed to drink more than I should.
I am allowed to miss you, still.
But what I am not allowed to do,
what I will never be allowed to do is
think that I am not allowed to find love again.

They talk about the
garbage like it
was treasure.

Man made
garbage.
Made in order
to keep the
creative side
from
creating.

Its all made
to uninspire
the otherwise
always
inspired ones.

They worry
themselves over
Trash.
Mass produced,
soulless,man made,
ball chasing,
over paid
Trash Heroes.

They're not my
Heroes.
My Heroes
didn't have time
to chase *****
and call it an
accomplishment.

These goals they
strive for all of
which were
created out
of nothing
for nothing at
all but to
numb the mind.

Trash.

They worry about
having more
while I secretly
worry about having
nothing more to say.

Conversations going
on all around me,
its torture.
I hear their
words and
can't help
but wonder if
they are hearing
what I'm hearing.

There's a vision
that stays with me.
A circle of
beautiful people
in stain free
clothes.
The kind of people
who throw
their heads back
before they laugh.
They're standing
around a street
person who wears
wadded up
news paper
inside his coat for
warmth.
They're tossing lit
matches at him as
he lays and sleeps
the sleep of the
invisible people.

For the longest
I dreaded the vision,
their cruelty is
unlike my own.
Theirs is inhumane
but legal and in most
cases it provides their
Godless insides
reason enough
to smile.

Mine is soul scaring,
memory aching,
and really only
me wanting to survive.
It leaves behind
deep embedded
stains in everything
that is you.

Now I find myself
no longer
fighting it off.
I need the
images the vision
provides me.

I welcome the
echo of their hollow
selfish laughter.
I take in the
whiteness of
their grinning
stain free teeth.

I need it all
in order to
try and
understand
their sickness.

As I continue
to survive  
amongst my
own
lonely madness.

desire has no mercy
like a red morning light
tickling your feet
it has me transparent
it has me transformed
into roar, thunder, wave
or quicksand in your hands
till the air in between
is fully charged,
radioactive
and insane

Batshit crazy,
Batshit soup.
Am I just lazy,
or caught in a loop?

Batshit crazy,
Owl **** soup.
Razor blades,
Razor blades,
Razor blades,
****.

Love is not a competition.
Love is not a game.
You see me as a player,
and it's a downright shame.

Batshit crazy,
Owl **** soup.
I am totally lazy,
and caught in a loop-die-loop.

Glass houses and baseball games
Angels wings and tar
SEPTA lines and pine trees
Can take you pretty far

Love is not a competition
Love is not a war
and acting like a soldier
is really quite a chore!

Silly souls and wacky words
Dragonflies and tar
I want to make some art with you
but I don't know how you are

it's
Just another slide
down the razor blade
of life into a bowl
of sour owl ****

Batshit crazy,
Owl **** soup.
Am I crazy,
or am I caught
in a loop?
Razor blades
Razor blades
Razor blades
****.

Hands where
They are not welcome
Against flesh too young
And too willing to please
Pushing to break the last barrier
That separates
Innocence
From exploitation
Lips parting what should be closed
Taking what is not theirs
And can never be given back
A body demands
As the other yields
Bending to its will
And calling it "love"

an enigma…
a line…
a dot…
or a shine?


Who are we?
a sum total of our illusions…
or the choices of our delusions…
a window to our mind…
an absentia…
a presence…
or total blind…

Who are we?
energy…
or mind…
body…
or spirit sublime…

a lung…
a heart.
an *****…
a gland.
or an invisible cast…

the ‘hold’
or the holder…
inane
or a super natural plast…

Who are we?
the question perpetual.

Who are we?
question which shows ‘void’.

Who are we?
the question itself, a void.
filling, is but our indulgence.

to live our mind
to play our mind
we locked our ‘self’
we chose to forget.

The ‘self’ is.
we chose sleep.
the reverie we love…
but enough we have seen
and lots we have been.

the inner self beckons.
the sound of beyond…
we hear but neglect,
we respond some,
then again forget.

the waking, the reverie.
the ebb and the tide.

we lesser mortals,
ignorant of our shine.

some of us have woken,
we can’t lie now…
we hear the silence,
we know the flow,
we know that space,
where death doth not show.

As pictures fade and the temperature rises...
Her heart, plays no part
I'm no man of surprises.
Why are you so mesmerizing?
Why can't I shake this temptation?
Why do her grips make me sick?
Why am I suddenly shaking...
Eh
I can see what she feels
I've become her *** appeal
Is love truly real?
Am I just her final meal?
As she cooks up a thought that's unconscious.
She suddenly gets astonished
Men lie, men are deranged
Please, don't dare make a promise.
But baby, can I be honest?
Oh wait,
All men lie..
So let's let lust become a must
Forget that we ever tried.
Mhh
Taste of disaster
Mhh
Hearts moving faster
****...
This wasn't part of my plan
Your ego is harsh
Your mind is cluttered
Makes it hard to be your man.
(Piano)
Hard to be your man.
But I do what I can..
I matched your heart with my life
What a perfect blend.
Simple words to describe her
My stomachs become lighter
Flying high, with these butterflies
I think I might...like her.
*I Do.