I speak of pain
That wears red rain
Slashing my wrists
To open soft veins
See sprinkles splatter
Call it sidewalk paint
The blade does not burn
As much as that social poison
We have been imbibing
Relaxing while lying
So there is no surprising us
Because those we love
Have lost the same wars
Not bombs and mustard gas
but razor thin red lines
That beat and bleed out in time
Taking the last of our once beautiful minds

759

He fought like those Who’ve nought to lose—
Bestowed Himself to *****
As One who for a further Life
Had not a further Use—

Invited Death—with bold attempt—
But Death was Coy of Him
As Other Men, were Coy of Death—
To Him—to live—was Doom—

His Comrades, shifted like the Flakes
When Gusts reverse the Snow—
But He—was left alive Because
Of Greediness to die—

if
my soul
a bottomless pit
let
me swing
upon
the pendulum
through
every level of darkness
through
every twist and turn of hell
let
me swing
upon it

We cannot
rush our healing.
This life is a journey,
and darkness
always
holds
a teaching.
Love is the light
at the end
of the tunnel.
She is there.
She is waiting.
She is never leaving.

It doesn't matter,
Another year passing —
You're all talking
Sweet light
Huddled in the corridor
Chatter like a dripping tap.
its dull crescendo
flowing through me.
Blood pulsing in my skull.
My internal dissection.
I'm less than before,
always
stalling.
I won't be here much longer
I won't miss a thing,
Just the words that left me out.
Yuletide misery,
God rest my ******* soul.

In the midst of happiness and care
I am drowning. And I can't tell you.
Love me where I'm least expected.
In the stillness of night I bleed.

I will die in the Westside
On some corner with a beer
In my hand, as if holding the lost
Scrolls of Atlantis.
I will die in the Westside-
And I won't be ashamed that
I am a drunken mess and my liver
Has swollen like my heart for
My dear neighborhood.
     It will be a Tuesday,
I will go back and find myself
Within the aloness with all the Yesterdays
Behind me.

Dedpoet is dead. The world beats him,
Although he never fought back;
It beat him hard with a stick....

There will be witnesses,
Nameless and I will not know them,
Only the solitude, the grey, the cold roads.....

I think I'll sit here for a while
And let my troubles pile.
It's only been a couple years
And I'm just in denial.

I have a couple brand new fears
Some of them have led me here
Where I am blind, I cannot see
What all this chaos does to me.

I should fight this then be free
From the illness of misery
But I fail to find the time
In my head, my conscious crime.