I fell down again today,
I thought I was done for sure.
All the pain and sadness,
dropped me straight to the floor.

I felt like a ******* brick,
made of lead,
tied to an anchor;
and someone decided
to drop me,
into a sea of misery.

I thought for sure
"I can't do this,
I can't take it anymore."

But I swear to god,
I heard your voice,
and I got up off the floor.

I swear,
you were there,
and the weight lifted once more.
I know,
you were there;
it didn't hurt anymore.

Thank you.

These same four walls remind me
that my friends have all moved on,
and these same four walls remind me,
that the road I walk is long.

These same four walls remind me
of how easily I weep,
and these same four walls remind me
of how little I find sleep.

These same four walls remind me
that they're a cage around my heart,
and these same four walls remind me
that my life has come apart.

But these same four walls remind me
that walls can be knocked down.
And these same four walls remind me
that you can smile, or choose to frown.

What have I done to deserve
to lose my guiding light?
It's harder now than ever,
every day's a constant fight.

I'll never get to see you,
to thank you for all you've done.
I'll never get to meet you,
my brightly shining sun.

Your words have got me this far,
you've pushed me down this road,
and I don't feel like I've ever
owed as much as I do owe,

I owe you for your courage,
your strength to hold me tall
despite being on edge,
always about to fall.

I don't think many knew that,
you kept it in quite well.
Only once or twice it seems;
that's all you ever fell.

But in the end it's anger.
It consumes us all.
Anger is the one to blame;
the one to make you fall.

You never should have been there,
on that fateful night,
when you flew across the pavement,
flung far from your bike.

You never should have been there,
she begged you not to go.
But instead you took the low road,
but instead; you said no.

What was on your mind?
Did you know it would be your last?
Your last thoughts as a human,
and they were racing fast.

Why couldn't you slow down?
Why didn't you go home?
You were drunk and you knew it!
You didn't have to roam.

You should have stopped to think,
about your daughter and your wife.
You should have stopped to think
about your very life.

You were more than just one person,
you were an idol, proud and tall.
But you were more than just an icon;
you were a friend to all.

A friend in times of need,
in times of darkness and despair,
a friend in times of tragedy;
someone who's always there.

Now I'll never get to thank you...
but we all make mistakes.
It just ***** that we're so fragile
that one choice is all it takes.

All it takes to end a life,
whose voice reached across all Nations.
All it takes to end a life
with many dreams and aspirations.

But in the end,
there's a reminder.
Your voice; it still lives on.

In the end,
you are still with us.
You'll never be truly gone.

Because your words were filled with power;
screamed from an aching heart,
your words have changed the world,
and this is just the start.

I know it's scary,
but everything will be alright.

These words mean so much,
that you're still my guiding light.

Nerve endings ignite,
in a colossal implosion,
of never ending thoughts,
possibilities, and heartache.

Weightlessness consumes me
until the pain slowly ebbs;
but I wake up,
and hell resumes.

Why is the truth
so hard to come by?

we're all waiting in line
for the second to come
where we either fall off the cliff
or choose to jump

and get put out of our misery...
anticipation
impatience
boredom

a strangely familiar feeling of solidarity

it either feels like a waste of time
or like you have all the time in the world

either constrained
or free,

oh dear virtues of love and song!

what a slow painful bleeding
what an amazing violent relief
what a comedown
what beautiful brain swelling
an infinite white oblivion

what a sacrifice
what devotion
what passion

what music...

what a burden it must be for a musician
the bard who is to dwell in the ambivalence
the mime who wishes to sing
but remains a mute

oh cruel queue
oh manic elation
oh devestation

why must you rude & shove?
surely we can ration
is there not enough air?

this is not a line but a stampede
we remain trampled

have we not learned from the birds?
have we not learned from the herds?

we're all waiting in line
for the second to come
teetering above a white oblivion

infinite,
beautiful,
a comedown...
what a violent relief

what a slow painful bleeding

I'm hemorrhaging

Bleeding confidence

Hollow and deprived

Striving to survive

Caught between my apathy and dismay

Severing the life I once carried within me

Fill up my lungs with decay

And pretend in a usual way

I'm hemorrhaging

Time to switch veins

Here I am a zombie

Is this how Jesus felt?

Was once alive striving to help

Now walking dead forgotten on a shelf

Cast aside and sentenced

An empty room in which to reflect

A concentration camp

Please, do not interject

The chokee as she called it

With all do respect

I get sentenced to this place

A place to resurrect

The sentences are what I fear

Revolving in my head

They tickle trace and mock my face

PLEASE DO NOT INTERJECT

time to switch lanes, veins, valence, evade...

oxygen in my head

The oxygen

in my

brain

Hemorrhaging

The vain

vane

vein

****** spit on top of a napkin
face up in the garbage
no better than-

peculiar how life turns out...
my tea still at the rim of the glass
lost all of its steam
I no longer-

what does it look like inside the mind of a broken one?
channel skipping?
static? beyond-
comprehension
what does this mean?
I don't understand...

****** spit on a napkin
atop the garbage
grabbing your attention
against your will
and leaving an...

unsettling feeling with you

like the question of what makes a true artist?
life.

life makes a true artist
it is not a choice
but what makes a true artist
what is art but a bunch of nonsense
but even nonsense has meaning
what is art but the broken expressions of the broken
artist... ?

what is a poet but a bent neck?

an artist is an ordinary person
inflicted in the mind perhaps
but this has more adverse effects on the heart
in all reality

but again... an artist is an ordinary person
who's been beaten for so long
who's sacrificed everything
unappreciated

who's been singing the same song unheard
who's ran out of communication
a new medium is born
heralding new information to those who don't need it
to those who are better off
more healthy in mind

an artist is a person who's had enough
the one who left ****** spit in the napkin

enough explaining.

The Story** begins with silence and black out, a void. Not darkness. Nor anything that attempts to define nothingness, because it’s nothing. The blackness or void is only a metaphor representing nothing. Within this point, so close to simultaneous you’d think they were one in the same, a light emerges, emanating divine, pure energy and love.  Its intelligence and complexity expands and fills what was once nothing with beauty and truth. At this moment, all is whole, fast as thought, strong beyond comprehension, gentle as a whisper and furious beyond all flame. The wild spirit of happiness is real and alive! The void was never the enemy, only a point in which to be born. Duality can only exist if unification finds an enemy within itself. The enemy is reflected by the segregation and space created between divine and mortal. This space is developed by Ego.

   This entity “Ego” is the essence of self resistance, absorption, chaos, consciousness…hate. The inner antagonist rises and begins to cut and eliminate the threads attached to creation and spirit. A mirror that envelopes and contains the living spirit.  An orb caging vulnerable souls spread throughout the expansion of life and suffocating energetic flow.  The universe and it’s creatures that lost connection being virtually incapable of seeing one another ever again while the enemy exists.

   The instigation is tolerated by those who always continue the journey. The emasculation of Ego, commences as the divine resonates it’s vibration as a weapon like a solar flare, piercing the Ego. Then the inner spirit begins to open up and claw its way out. The Spirit sees that vanity is leading the despair of self pity into the heart as it remains a vessel dwelling in a false world channeling a false force. This awareness makes The Spirit lifts up, against and out of a matrix constructed within the crystal ball cage that refracts the true sun’s rays. Together, The Spirit and The Divine begin to crush Ego. Ego begins to flatten, compress and then combust. Through the flames the chord of love between The Divine and The Spirit bursts like a shooting star towards the kinship’s re-established nexus. The collision creates what was pure and full in circulation again and the expansion becomes an infinite motion harmonizing with the void in an adventure that goes on forever. When Ego tries to slither back in after a nearly insurmountable time of hiding between the gaps that contains new life, it is given no room by anything in thought, theory, in any form of existence.

Spin doctor spin
while you try to get within
before you see the faults and foresee flaws
don't break a spirit with the devil's kin

Collect your trophies from the healing of one
while you shine in a fake light, the rest are dying away
So many to count, so sad to say
that you could help as many as you do without the money that you take

It's not overwhelming if you're doing what you love
but you just do it cuz you put a pay check up above
the passion and the hope that you have for the dying
scary to think our blood is on your hands, our heart is in your glove

If this is how it is, then let us know that in the first place
because when you avoid the truth, you become a good waste
I'd rather have a good tailor tell me he can't mend my torn clothes
Than say he'll try his best, and end with worse holes than before