I want to write about life,
about sunflowers and oceans of grass.
Mountains towering over the skyscrapers,
nature towering over man.
The elixir of love and the joy of the sun.
I want to write about opening doors,
light at the end of the tunnel,
life outside,
outside this,
but I can't help but want to write about the pain,
the discord in the notes of my life,
the beer bottles across the room,
lined up in a row,
a long row.
It's 3am and I'm eating a bag of cheese puffs,
and I hate myself.
I look down at myself,
the lumpy shell that is my body.
Looks like jello stuffed in a plastic bag that's about to burst.
I know it can get better,
I know it can.
Unfolded clothes blanketing the floors,
pockets of trash and missed opportunities,
where am I?
How did I get here?
What went wrong?

On a stone slab with a sheet,
I'm hot and rotting,
like a carcass boiling in the August sun.
There's no light but a dimly lit candle,
all the way across the room,
flickering in and out of consciousness,
very much like myself.
I open a window,
the breeze is hot.
I open my head,
it's steaming hot.
Wind whips and snaps,
blowing out that last candle,
the flame relinquishes light.
Now it breathes new life,
a steady smoke stream into the black night.
It's hot,
smokey and hot,
clouded like my head,
like my thoughts,
out the window,
like my head,
like my thoughts.

It's a cold call in the middle of the night,
you're orbiting a big yellow sun with long brown hair,
and sharp, fierce, green eyes.
Now you're being thrown from her orbit,
hurdling into a vacuum,
it's like driving without headlights.
Don't hold your breath,
you're out of her pull,
out of her grasp,
don't look back.
Just collide with other planets,
crashing and burning up with no sound,
it's a silent film.
Shedding yourself,
pieces of you crumble and break away,
as your last bits blister through the atmosphere.
Stripped down,
smooth and bare, like a newborn,
you land into the arms of a planet you can call home.

I've been through 22 years of hell,
under the guise it's a life lived well.

I've seen hatred, I've seen pain,
I've seen how love is just the same.

I've seen a man begging for work,
have his name dragged through the mud and the dirt.

I've seen another asking for his rights,
only to be lied to and denied.

I saw a man tell us about the end of the world,
so he could put us through an eight year war.
And the next man promised hope and change,
but it didn't apply to everyone the same.

Who's to say what's wrong and what's right?
What's the difference between the truth and a lie?
When did it all fall apart in our hands?
Where did the lines wash away in the sand?
And why do we keep making the same mistakes?

I've seen a man walk into a school,
I've seen a man walk into a church,
I've seen them walk out with the same look on their face,
man, that wicked look is the worst.

I've seen violence against a man,
I've seen it against a woman too,
sometimes because no one is listening,
or because they have different views.

Oh lord,
please help the world.
Oh lord,
please help the world.

I don't care what religion you come from,
I don't care if it's mine or it's yours,
I'm just looking for some help down here,
please come and help us, oh lord.

Oh lord,
oh lord.
Oh lord,
oh lord.

Welcome to the new day,
where a man who disagrees with you is a fascist.
Welcome to the new age,
where the internet has flourished so much that it has overgrown its garden *** and encompassed us all in fear and misleading one liners written by hellbent agenda pushing wordsmiths looking to smite your words with their hammers so they can claim their free speech is being silenced.

Over and under again,
like a tidal wave,
born to crash and solemnly be dragged back.
Holding onto debris I should be forgetting,
praying it won't pull me away,
it was dark, so dark,
and cold enough to freeze my brain on the surface,
but if you dig deep, I'm still running.
Scatter brained,
trying to swim,
it's like I'm rubbing my stomach and patting my head,
my hands and feet,
arms and legs won't synchronize,
won't work together,
my arms move one way,
my legs, the other,
my heart goes another,
up and out my chest,
over and under again,
back down to my feet and then my throat and it tastes bittersweet.
Sometimes crashing distracts from the fact that you're falling.

Open casket funeral and I'm inside it,
watching all the spectators crying,
but I don't get it,
it's what I've always wanted.

Here come friends and family,
kiss me on the lips,
I feel their tears as cold as ice,
their lips burn,
hot as a steam pipe.

But this is what I wanted,
I've been in the air for years,
finally came down on a whim,
and now I'm here.

I've been here,
once or twice,
too many times.

It's a sound I've heard before,
but I'm not exactly sure.

Maybe I haven't been.

I'm standing on my head,
at the bottom of a swimming pool.
It's really not that hard but I pretend I can't do it.
Then I start choking on the water,
I've been under too long,
I've been sleeping,
and you should never sleep underwater.

We're living in the Age of Ignorance,
where the voice is a weapon,
wielded by a troublesome mind.

We're living in the Age of Arrogance,
where my word is wrong,
and your word is right.

We're living in the Age of Unfair,
where the workers all strike,
and the employers are the bad guys.

We're living in the Age of Me,
where there is no We,
there is only I.

What a time to be alive.

Trials under an unfamiliar roof,
under foam board ceiling panels,
I thought I knew love,
I knew nothing.

It's a tidal wave on unfamiliar seas,
on a boat I don't know how to captain,
I'm a stranger to the concept,
and the concept is a stranger to me.

You think you feel it,
but you would know.
You think you know,
but you don't know till she comes.
A tidal wave,
and everything before is like playground love.
She's everything and you're nothing without her.

He's a crystal glass sitting on the kitchen table,
and he's sliding off 'cause the legs are too unstable.
So he shatters on the floor,
like so many times before,
the boy weeps.

Now I tell him to pick himself up and get on the table,
and he tells me he can't 'cause the legs are too unstable.
But he's just too small,
that's really all,
holding him back.

So I tell him to be the legs for the kitchen table,
'cause I didn't do my job and I couldn't be his savior.
I tried to hold him up,
but I let him down,
and I can't bear to tell him that it's my fault he's on the ground.

The air brushes, cool against my skin,
it hits me like a new day.
Warm pitter patter on my arms,
undercutting scent of soil,
and a heavy pull on my life force,
dragging me out,
pulling me in.

The dim light shimmer on the wrinkled tar,
cracked and patterned,
like the skin of a gecko.
I've been walking for years but it's been a millennium,
and I'm tired of walking but I want the future.

Now I'm at my car,
now I'm at my car.

People write about the city lights,
how they glimmer and shine so bright,
but all I see is a man made mess,
infrastructure, nothing more, nothing less.

Unkempt properties and sewage scented streets,
under dim lit lights and fluorescent flickering signs.
I'm driving through vast fields and flourishing forests,
that were torn up and toppled when man arrived.

Light crackles over muffled buzzing,
waving, smiling, gently loving,
happy faces and happy places, caught in time.

History flickering from a tiny roll,
people sitting in swimming holes,
the purest bliss and happiness, caught in time.

Young people and old ones,
sharing laughs with one another,
old age is non-existent, just this time.

And as I stare at a TV,
and watch my history play on screen
time is just a word to me.

My age is carved in the trees,
in the bark that breaks so brittle.
My age is sown in the sky,
that looks down on me, so little.
My age is blended in the seas,
and carried upon the waves.
My age is deep in the dirt,
in the intricate ant maze.
My age is the sun, the moon, and the stars,
the nebulae and black holes,
the reckless behaviors of the young and old,
my age is the ever expanding universe.

Every time I return to your new home,
it's a chilling affair,
as I roll in on four wheels and a prayer,
my hair stands on end,
and dances in the wind.

Stone cold silence greats me each time,
when I emerge from my car,
and sift my way through the yard,
tromping above the dead,
shoes filled with lead.

It's a stone and granite garden,
marble here and there,
a stiffness in the air,
that hangs right around your feet,
holding you in place like concrete.

I kneel before the dirt and rocks,
and press my hands in deep,
in an attempt to try and feel,
your touch reaching back,
through 6 feet of disconnect.

And I swear I feel your warm touch,
and hear a bad joke whispering in the wind.

A sole spotlight, a moonbeam bright,
finds the boy in the dirt on a cold black night,
and the arctic winds howl,
stifling the voices of those who doubt him.

Beacon of fire in the cold night sky,
her moonbeams raise the Imperfect Son,
from the ashes of a life that ended twice,
a life from which the joker would run.

From the molten heart of the life he despised,
naysayers cackle and close their eyes,
for the moonbeams burn those who doubt,
the love that raises him from the Earth.

The wind, it whispers like a choir of hags,
under the light of the moonbeams,
there lay a broken child.
In his filth, he mutters,
in his dirt, he shudders,
so quick to judge we are,
the Prodigy Son.

Crackling trees and dried up leaves,
under the light of the moonbeams,
they shelter the child.
It cannot be said,
that the everlasting dead,
can't raise the living youth,
and show them how to be alive.

Out of the furnace and into the fire,
one mans plight is another mans pleasure.
Buried beneath garbage, recycled from his head,
his undeniable will is hard to measure.

The chatter is growing louder,
among the who's and what's,
the where's and when's,
the how's and why's,
they're racing round,
throwing sand,
throwing stones,
blasting the boy,
the fears he holds,
the anger he stores,
they set the trees on fire,
the dry leaves burn ten fold,
it's a hot box,
a red hot forge,
it melts his skin and bones,
then dies as quick as it caught,
and from the ashes, the Imperfect Son is born.

Rising above the smoldering orange embers,
under the white light of the moonbeams,
there stands the Imperfect Son,
and he washes his hands with mud.

Dancing in the blackest sky,
between the stars pinned up with wishes,
elegant as silk in the wind,
she finds a home in her own skin.

Beacon of fire in the cold night sky,
a dying star turned blazing sun.
Ever so gracious as she glows,
moonbeams down to the Earth below.

She scans the surface but doesn't scratch,
barren and covered in dirt and mud.
Something catches her eye, a boy exiled,
there he lays, a broken child.

A sole spotlight, a moonbeam bright,
finds the boy in the dirt on a cold black night,
and the arctic winds howl,
carrying the voices of those who doubt him.

God, I've never asked much,
I don't need and I don't beg.
Years go by, nothing changes,
war wages inside my head.

It's come to my attention,
that you're some savior.
You know my condition's dire,
you can see it in my behavior.

I want to believe but it's so ******* hard,
when every morning I wake up with a battered heart,
a brain that's been ravaged and war torn for years,
and a body that's been broken by fear.

God, I've never asked much,
I don't beg and I don't need,
but can you answer my prayers now,
either save me or **** me,
save me or **** me.

"Poor soul,
spit upon that,
poor soul,
he never knew what hit him,
and it hit him so."
They laughed and jabbed,
his plight entertaining,

He's just,
another *******,
he's just,
a *******,
he deserves this,
what a useless boy.

Just about as useful as a coat of paint,
applied in the rain.
Or maybe an umbrella on a sunny day.

What a useless soul,
arms outstretched and begging,
it takes a fool to see one,
but they don't see it that way.

Poor soul,
resting in the mud,
poor soul.

The world came crashing down,
lead raindrops on my trembling hands,
no one else around could ever understand.

Down the pathways, I stumbled broken,
through the crowd, I made my way,
down to the river where I cried,
and all my tainted tears washed away.

Chest collapsed and heart compressed,
I fell to the cold soaking pavement,
never had I ever felt so much disappointment.

I held her heart, it was ethereal,
it was mine to have and mine to break,
and I made the worst mistake of my life,
when I dropped it on the ground.

I'm shaking in your absence,
your love gives me withdrawals.
I miss your kiss but the only thing touching my lips,
is the smooth river of alcohol.

God sees me as sin,
I'm an animal in a cage.
Nothing but another cheap trick to friends,
till they turn the page.

And then I float like a wisp,
on the very winds I condemn,
nothing but a prodigy child,
shattering like fine china.

I wish you were here tonight,
the stars are peering through the clouds,
it just finished down pouring out,
you can smell the pavement.

I'm cruising down I-93,
there's a blazing red, smoldering on the horizon,
probably just light pollution,
but it's burning up the sky,
burning it alive,
and it fades into the black night,
like the fire in your eyes,
only not as bright.

Alcohol like water,
I've been gifted with the ability to sin.
I've been waiting for snowfall,
but have been cursed with warm winds.

My room is cold and empty,
pictures on the wall, unfamiliar.
Chipped white paint, peeling and cracked,
all a blur when you're drunk.

Just one more sip from the chalice,
tongue isn't numb enough yet.
Another ******* night under cold sheets,
shivering to sleep.

And in the morning, I will rise,
a victim of the next day,
waiting for Redemption Day,
waiting for that jet black train.

Supernova explosion in her eyes,
and she's on fire.
Never have a witnessed such behavior,
she's a force of nature.
Behind her, she leaves a path of beautiful destruction,
blazing a trail for those to follow.

She's a mystery you can't solve,
a face you can't forget.
And if you wrong her, you're absolved,
she knows how to forgive.

Sweet as a drop of honey,
her words can heal.
If you need her to hold a secret,
her lips are sealed.

She's a fiery heart and a gorgeous mind,
contained by one breathtaking soul.
I can tell you now that no love of mine,
has ever made me feel so whole.

Throwing empty bottles against rocks,
don't let the noise get to you.
We fell to Earth after ascent to the heavens,
now the Earthlings are snickering.
They shriek and cry blasphemy,
but to us, it's all inaudible.

Like a needle in the haystack,
I searched for years on end,
I looked behind each door,
but they all revealed the same.
I looked under rocks,
and I looked up trees,
but I didn't look to the stars for love.
Then I pulled down a shooter,
whispering by my window,
and she exploded in the palm of my hand.

The Supernova Girl,
with fire in her eyes,
a galaxy in size,
and they're looking for me.

In the shambles of the homestead,
broken light fights through the snowfall.
There's a fire burning so strong,
you can feel it from beneath the rubble.

Black sunlight shrouds the corpse of the Son,
a catalyst of things to come,
he lay like a silhouette against a blanket of snow,
breath comes out like plumes of smoke.

The tears freeze in his bloodshot eyes,
blood outlines his body,
as he watches for the stars,
twinkling in his frozen eyes.

And it's up in flames,
a catalyst of things to come,
a fire burning out of control,
is it in the rubble or in his heart?

I can't seem to find myself,
writing was all too easy now I'm stumped.
My mind is blank as my face,
every time I pick up a pencil, there isn't any lead.
I freeze up before I type and next thing I know I've downed three drinks,
but my fingers haven't moved,
I'm in chains.
I can't find the key,
I don't even know what it looks like,
and I'm sifting through drifting thoughts like a madman.
I'm staring at object in my room like they're supposed to come to life,
and tell me what I'm supposed to write,
then my back hurts from bending over the keyboard and holding my hands above it.
So I lean back and close the screen.

I'm running my hands through my hair,
ripping out the loose strands.
I'm finding nothing in our lives,
goes just as planned.

I'm tired so I rub my eyes,
but nothing seems to satisfy that itch I have for sleeping by your side tonight,
isn't this a wonderful life?

It's six years of burning tears,
broken hearts and confirmed fears,
that everyone I know goes away in the end,
just like Trent Reznor said.
And every day is a new fight,
and I don't know if I'll make it out alive,
so when I rest my head at the end of the day,
I thank God I survived the fray,
because under the circumstances,
I shouldn't be alive,
but I am,
so I'll take it.

Iron aftertaste on the back of my tongue,
all around my gums,
like a mouth full of blood.

Gritty concrete beneath my bare feet,
swollen joints and uncontrollable tremors,
as I sit on my stone, this is no home,
just a spacious coffin.

Upside down piggy bank,
cork on the floor,
he dreams of being rich,
but instead wears a delightful frown.

And the space heater's crooked,
and it's turned on high,
collecting more dollars than the piggy can hold,
and it's still cold.

It is here where I sit,
on the coldest of nights,
where my mattress dips,
where I clench my fists,
where I fight off fits,
where I scribe my insides.

Every hello is a reason to come,
every goodbye is a reason to go back,
every kiss is a warm sip of love,
every embrace, a blanket on a cold night.

When my heart yearns and burns,
you're there to quench the fire.
When my mind wanders and aches,
you're there like a soothing choir.
I can't help but find myself helplessly falling,
entangled in my emotions, I'm silently crawling,
and when I leave you, I find myself stalling,
because I need you,
because I love you.

Pills go down the drain,
years in recovery,
only to find myself here again.

Someone told me once,
it only gets better,
well that was many years ago.

And in the morning light,
when I find truths,
they're only clouded by doubts.

And in the starry nights,
when I find peace,
darkness overcomes the love.

Colored cases over the years,
blank memories,
I can't feel my face,
I can't feel my heart.

I hide behind a cloth mask,
I drape it over my face every day,
and take it off at night.
No one knows me.

No one understands who I am,
why I am the way I am,
they just brush me aside.

So I wear the cloth mask,
and they make me what they see,
they make me what they see.

Your skin burns,
don't make me touch you,
don't make me.
Your tears burn,
don't cry on my shoulder,
don't cry on me.
There's a man hanging in your attic,
skeletons in your basement,
don't make me,
don't make me.

There was a fire yesterday,
it spread across the airwaves.
From nation to nation, pain and grief,
for the boy from Brixton left us here.

Heartbreak ravaged the lovers and friends,
for the boys time had come to an end.
An immortal in many of our eyes,
reality burned us as we cried.

Till night fell and the streets flooded,
flames smothered and flowers budded,
under the stars he adored for years,
people sang and danced and cheered.

For the boy from Brixton left his mark,
and then retreated to those stars,
leaving us with his songs and scenes,
his fashion, his love and everything between.

A lad insane with a powerful passion,
in touch with sound and all his visions,
on course for a final collision,
with his home amongst the stars.

It's like pulling teeth,
every time we make eye contact,
it hurts to even glare.

I've been ripping out my eyelashes,
hoping maybe someday,
you might not stare.

It's a desperate case of misinterpretation,
and one of us is going to lose our mind.
It's a hopeless battle as we both unravel,
both of us so fragile as we unwind.

I hear your name sometimes,
and a fire ignites behind my eyes,
fueled by misguided lies.

Suicide in the shadows,
waiting for a poor man,
creeping over his shoulder,
a dark new day.

Wrapped around his neck,
words can't escape his dry throat,
holding him down,
more bills and car loans.

Under a microscope in the sun,
burning himself.
Holding the lighter to his palm,
burning himself.

It's something warm he says,
when the days are cold and the nights long.
The phone rings in the corner,
playing that bittersweet and intimidating song.

So he dances in the morning sun,
as it creeps through his blinds,
his legs shake and scramble.

Cold, so cold,
barren and hollow,
no longer home,
a truth that's hard to swallow.
Home once alive,
everything has died.

No smell, no noise,
nothing but an empty space.
No pictures on the walls,
not a single smiling face.
Home once alive,
everything has died.

Still there hangs a gentle air,
warm enough to make your hair stand.

Home that was once alive,
not everything has to die.
Not her.

Sitting behind who I used to be,
watching him juggle and fight gravity,
such a young rebel, a child at heart,
a child in his mind.

Big ideas and big hopes for all the world,
big love for everyone and that special girl,
all so small now that I realized,
how big everything else is.

I fought with myself and I fought with the law,
with my mother, my father, and everyone I saw,
brash and boisterous as I cocked my head back,
a savior of no one at all.

Years come and go with the blustering breeze,
people you loved let go with ease,
and you find yourself looking back one day,
at the back of your pasts head.

I've been living on the redline,
under the shadows of the souls who scamper above me,
the lifeless and the mindless,
walking in straight lines through the city.

Concrete womb that cradles the broken,
enables them and helps them lose their minds,
to the place they call home, they scamper blind,
I tell you now, this is no home of mine.

I'm living underground,
beneath the city that buried me,
and left me for dead,
in a metal coffin,
hoping I'd wash up in a new prison.

Amongst the filth and rats,
I'm a lesser but I have more than many,
to most, I'm just a burden,
only a few can see that I offer plenty.

They stare as they squabble,
so many words fill the air without a meaning,
depriving us of peace and unity,
the trains steel as cold as the community.

I've been living on the redline,
a vessel away from all the smoldering hatred,
some think we're forgotten,
but they're the ones we're trying to forget.

Cement and concrete cracks and crumbles,
steel and sand buries and breaks,
trapped beneath layers of rubble,
one wrong move is all it takes.

Just "unfortunate" says the news,
twelve more men, a few new widows,
spinning stories of their bravery,
as they trembled through the streets.

Sent to fight in another world,
where men do anything for their State,
handed to death on a silver platter,
giving him control of their fate.

You can give and you can take,
but that's where we're mistaken,
because you can't take back the lives,
you give once they're forsaken.

Cold, so cold,
barren and hollow,
no longer home,
a truth that's hard to swallow.
Home once alive,
everything has died.

No smell, no noise,
nothing but an empty space.
No pictures on the walls,
not a single smiling face.
Home once alive,
everything has died.

Still there hangs a gentle air,
warm enough to make your hair stand.

Home that was once alive,
not everything has to die.
Not her.

It's empty in this kitchen,
no Law and Order reruns in the background,
walker's missing from the living room,
phone been ringing for hours now.

Kitchen table's not so cluttered,
no newspapers waiting near the door,
nothing moves inside here anymore,
not even the dog on the floor.

And I'm waiting for a sound,
and I'm waiting for a call,
and I'm waiting for a voice,
calling me down from below.

And I'm waiting for a bus,
and I'm waiting for a friend,
that I know isn't coming,
to the home where she once lived.

Sometimes I throw logic out the window,
I see monkeys smashing cymbals,
when I play to my condition,
all my fears come to fruition.

I don't mind the exhausting panic,
'cause I sure love being manic,
I'll challenge death any day,
if I get to live my way.

Push me please so I can push back,
I live my life on the attack,
burning bridges feels so good,
when you're totally misunderstood.

Don't feel special, don't feel different,
chances are you're just a misfit,
bleed and see you're just the same,
as everyone playing the game.

You never think it'll hit you like it does,
headlines, top stories, dead classmates.
Subtle news that causes an earthquake,
rumbling through your chest.

It's not your everyday story,
but it seems it's becoming that way.
"Overdosed on ******", I read,
but it doesn't surprise me.

Just another soul the Devil grasped,
torn from the heart and left to pass,
another good man broken down,
another motherless child in doubt.

Another headline gone ignored,
another cry for help lost,
in the drowning sound of the thousands,
trapped beneath the crippling disease.

Every night I run red lights,
and not because I'm in a rush,
something about the possibility of death,
I just love it.
And sometimes I wish metal would crash,
roll me over and take my life,
icy cold heart in my chest,
just won't stop beating.
And my brains would spew out of my mouth,
like applesauce out of a baby's,
like these words I'm throwing up onto paper,
the words I can't say out loud.

Broken walls and cracked beams,
remind me of the cracks in the trees.
Everyday is just another game,
but nothing is the same.

Silhouettes dance in the clouds,
crashing into each other, so loud.
They shine down on me with shame,
but nothing is the same.

Blisters and tears in my skin,
invite the Devil to come in,
blood and dirt both look the same.

Every word is another temptation,
I'm just trying to find salvation,
some things never change.

Don't put the dagger in my hand,
put it in my chest.