Better angels than me,
left their marks
on the hearts
of our society,

but the demons and beasts
left their broken teeth
embedded in my dense skin.

Fairies and ghost
played fairytale hosts
to hopeful fantasies,

but werewolves and vampires
left pierced flesh
slashed and bleeding,
feeding what they were needing
to keep existing
in a world without
magic or doubt.

There is no Superman waiting
to swoop in a save me,
but real villains are out there
stealing my feelings of hope,
killing the ways that I cope,
cause I can’t go deep
enough in sleep
to keep real monsters from
haunting me in my final
reckoning.

The greatest form of wisdom
is external and internal compassion,
knowing that though others
need forgiving
some of that blessing
should be invested
in oneself.

To be present in the moment
feeling the sweet enjoyment
of how we live,
not fretting over the past
or dreading what is coming next.

So, I smile and stand polite,
enjoy the quiet night,
cause anything can go wrong
just as anything can go right.

I’ve seen
life **** the
marrow and steam,
from the hearts
that screams
waking to nightmares
from other bad dreams.

I’ve seen sorrow
spin and spill
the bottle
that makes
them feel ill.

I’ve seen chunks
come up
as fools pay the
the steep price
for late night
gotta get a life
fun time
gone wrong.

I’ve seen the road
that consumes
a broken body,
a choking
toking
player
spending his last chip
just to spit nasty bits
and end it.

I’ve seen horror,
but being blessed,
I got to wake up
less depressed then when
I fell asleep crying.
I lived while
others were dying.
I got knack for surviving.
despite all the crap I have seen.

The rivers
only run
backwards
in our dreams,
fantasies,
and memories.

We can
only go back there
when we think
and remember,
no sparks
or embers
can relight
December’s
fire that has died.

A corpse is just
potential dust
but in the end
we all go that way.

The road may bend,
curve out and in
but the traffic
won’t let us
drive back
to the exact
same place and time again.

When you read this
if you do,
once or twice
or more times
if you like,
I will not be
the same me
I am while I am
writing,
and tomorrow
you will be
different to.

The red apple
reflects perfect
imperfect randomness
of this
wild world
that whirls
in my malleable mind.

False fabric skin
folds in
concealing
empty pockets
that we pretend
are not there.

While
two fish swim
diving in
and out of
our fishbowl
forehead
as Pisces
abstractions
such a strange
water sign reaction.

Till, dark waters
rise
from behind
my already
cloudy eyes
and drowning mind.

This is lazy writing,
soft lightning
inspiration recovered
from other
poems
and translated into
the language I use
to handle my
mad hatter nature.

Used to punch
metal freezers,
shred my bare knuckles
on a black bag
when I didn’t feel like
wrapping my hands with
***** dishrags.

But I put those fists down,
lost the pit fire,
let those flames expire
cause I was so tired
of how that rage burned.

Simmering passed
a soft-boiled brain,
used to workout
just to dull the pain,
now I workout at night
just to feel a little more alive.

Dreams won’t let me
go to sleep gently,
or rest peacefully
but it is the waking hours
that are more disturbing.

Always been a fighter
even when
I wasn’t even
scrapping with
other slack jawed idiots.

Sometimes it is just
my own mind
that I am battling,
as my demons come
ready to swallow me.

What darkness did we inherit?
What sick gift did we receive
from our poorly informed parents
who thought that they were right?

Was it genetic buried in our DNA,
making it almost certain that
we would turn out the same way?

Was it in our up bringing
the sick streaming of violence
and language that was demeaning?

Is it our destructive birth right
to perpetuate the same plight
that plagued our family life
with late night outbursts
of abuse that hurt worse
than falling off our bikes
or banging our head against
the thick mental metal bars
of our psychic cement prison?

Speak the words,
that sacred incantation,
tell me everything
will be a ok,
and that love has
an open invitation.

We wouldn’t need this revelation,
or a hundred more revolutions
if it wasn’t for the level
of our collective confusion,
how we succumb to the illusion
that wealth is was what really matters,

and I haven’t seen
a ******* thing
that makes me believe
heaven is here on earth,
nothing better or worse
worth dropping a verse
and letting my songs ring.

This time
this rhyme
is me repeating
pleading for you to start seeing
all other human beings
as tiny flesh treasures,
a temporary measure
of how good we
can truly be
when we act accordingly
to the dictates
of what love makes
instead how hate
makes it easy to let others
elevate their greed
to monstrous proportions,
that should be simple enough
for all of us to see.