I look around while moving around,
in this city where I live,
all the things that I have found,
are all about taking and nothing to give.

The seven sins are the daily norm,
and the one and only path,
namely lust, pride, gluttony, greed,
envy, sloth and wrath.

Kids are no longer innocent,
they’re growing up too fast,
teenage is no longer adolescence,
its like a ship without a mast.

They’re having fun, that’s what they say,
living their lives before they die,
who cares if you’re lesbian or gay,
its all about getting on a high.

To drink or smoke or snort or shoot,
are things that if you’ve never tried,
well, then baby, you’re no less than a mute,
or an impotent ***** of a guy.

With flimsy thoughts, lascivious ambitions,
rebellious and free are they,
fight, ****, drink, put your life on the brink,
gets you closer to heaven than when you pray.

Too big a deal, they think I make,
of these things are so **** real,
and I say to them, my wretched friends,
you have lost your power to feel.

On and off, on and off,
Lights are on,
Now it's dark.

This is the reason for my despair.

On and off, on and off,
Lights are on,
Now it's dark.
    
This is my love affair.

Light's are on,
Everything is great,
You and I,
A pair destined by fate.
Creating memories for us to forever know,
Neither of us wanting,
For this love to go.
It seemed the sun always shined,
You could make me smile anytime.
You knew my ins and outs,
All of my mental routes.

On and off, on and off,
Lights are on,
Now it's dark.

Light's are off,
Everything is covered in dark.
A giant part,
Is missing from my heart.
And as for the memories,
They are being painfully hammered into my head,
Every time I remember, one is nailed in deeper,
Causing me dread.
Can't be removed,
Can't be soothed,
My heart is now grooved.

On and off, on and off,
Lights are on,
Now it's dark,

Light's are on,
Everything is fixed.
Couldn't be happier,
I really missed this.
We decided that this wouldn't happen again,
Let's keep our love safe.
It seemed our thoughts wouldn't bend,
Closer and closer we got.
All my feelings of darkness,
I had forgot.

But then you stopped caring,
If the lights were on.
Claimed you could see in the dark,
You said that I was wrong.
This really is your fault.
But the sad thing is,
I wish it was mine.
So I could say sorry,
And we can flip the light switch on,
For one last time.

On and off, on and off,
Lights are on,
Now it's dark.

This is the reason for my despair.

On and off, on and off,
Lights are on,
Now it's dark.

I need someone that can have my heart repaired.

On and off, on and off,
The light bulb is broken,
Now it's forever dark.

This is my love affair.

Cracks on the sidewalk can be an introduction into the greatest moments in time-
One can trip an entire year among those cracks-
Never considering the pressure a day can bring-
Now being in the place where addicts roam-
The cracks can sometimes feel like home-
Lost among us are the ones that never grow-
Yet *****, and grime ridden, some cracks are worth more than gold-
If your paying attention you can see the cracks reaching-
Reaching-
For the things of the sun-

Three nights lost
or was it four
Mysterious writing and foodstains
Show conditional instability

Words are lovely
but can sometimes be dull
depending on your mood.
You can make someone fall in love,
or break an innocent heart,
or have someone jump with glee,
or maybe have a poor soul wallow in despair.
Words can sometimes sting
just as much as it can comfort.
So next time you write something down,
think twice.
You may not be saying something nice.

He walks across the great expanse as if a ghost.
He walks alone and out of place as two by two
the joggers pass and barely glance as if its normal

to behold a ghost.  What they don’t see defines
his life, the tortured demon voice inside his head
that taunts and teases all day long and
tells him he “ain’t spit” and “ugly is forever”.

He’d been neglected all his life but now that he’s
become a man he thought the love he sought
would save him from the way it was when he
was young. His problem now is wrapped around
his backward thought that love is his to find and take
instead of his to give and share, if only he had
learned this in his childhood.

He slowly mounts the rail between the ocher beams
on Golden Gate and looks at murky water far below.
His clothes are black, his hair is long and black,
his skin as white as snow. He stands ***** while
looking back to see if one might lend a hand but
no one does.  He smiles a smile and turns around and
then as if he’s been cut down he leans, unbending,
and falls.

            A hundred miles away a mother knows her child
is dead.  She bows her head in shame and cries,
the why at war with guilt. A part of her is gone,
a part she can’t deny or blame as someone else's fault
instead she hates herself for never having loved the boy,
but even more she hates the hurt.  If only she had
fought the urge to drink, if only she had loved him half
as much as that crazy **** she used to smoke, the ****
she called her ‘crystal blue persuasion’. If only she
could turn the hands of time and rearrange the things
that mattered most.

A flare is dropped to mark the spot where he went in,
the flaming red a beacon on a bay of mother’s tears.
Another soul engulfed in grief is gone, the deed is done.
A crowd is gathered at the rail to point and stare
as boats approach the flare where men with hooks
will pull him out while mother drinks 100 miles away.

The skeletons my father keeps in his closet
are not my own,
those bones would be far too obvious.
The demons he fought I've put in the ground,
the bones his daddy gave him,
the ones I said would not be mine.

But dead bones don’t die,
at least the bones that pass from fathers to sons,
instead they fester and stew
and boil below the surface
where barely a sound is heard.
Meanwhile my boys are busy digging them up.

Its true
boys tend to dig and get *****;
my boys dig up bones
and drum them on my door.

I worked so hard to break the cycle,
to raise my boys without the pain,
to protect their fragile hearts from heartache,

I kept telling myself to keep the dead dead,
but its hard to do when the dead don't really die,
instead they lie about the absence of pain,
the pain I knew so well,
the fear that motivated me to be something more,
to push myself beyond
what I thought I could be,
to a place where I might be a man.

But here at the end
my boys are still boys drumming up bones,
no fear, they expect the world to be easy.

I have learned that fear can be a great motivator.
It worked for me
but not my boys
I never gave them anything to fear.
I gave them boats with oars
and straw to make brick
and lots of love and plenty of hugs
and always told them I was proud of them

but I never gave them fear.

Now my boys fear nothing
but expect everything

dead bones don't die

they just look different

I continue in darkness while
supposed light shines in the distance;

distant and unattainable
beyond a purple fog on its hands and knees
feeling its way through the night
like an angel of death.

Where is the light so many refer to?

I’ve died a thousand deaths but only seen
the purple fog nothingness creeping like
a rising river

tumbling over sand bags.

I have not seen light.

I cannot contain darkness when
the sun doesn’t shine.
I can barely contain it while it does.

Like a coward he will not fight me.
Instead he’s in the brush
and firing rounds from fifty yards away
while I stand here alone,
an easy target on a **** line
watching, waiting, weary of
the fire he brings yet
I never see his face.

the day will come
when I will be consumed,
the veil will fall
and what I hide will bleed,

reveal the angst beneath the guise like
a ***** king behind a mask of gold;
his kingdom knows the truth
but looks away.

A thousand masks cannot contain his pain.

How difficult it is to pretend
to have it all together,

even harder
to fight an enemy not seen.

Seeing hailstones pelt the ground (freezing touch of sight and sound)
Their last valiant attempt to escape from Heaven
The sensory nature of the beast will be
Crushed and broken into scarred skin
Midnight strokes me gently like the brush that you paint with (On a canvas)
Nightmarish worlds forming from your fingertips (Carved from angels' wings)
Caressing restless crescents with a lulling iridescence into (So your darkness)
Sleep above a boiling pit of guilt-ridden pleasure (Lasts forever)
Lasts forever


You must have painted a panorama
Of
Your
Dream world
You must have painted a panorama
Of
The
Real World
You must have painted a panorama
Of
Your
Dreams
You must have dreamed you painted a portrait
Of
Me


Take your brush and wield it towards me like a knife
Cut me open, and behold my true colours
Make your masterpiece with what you really feel
Let’s add some brightness
To your never-ending night
You feel my pain
I feel you paint


Still
Life
Still
Life
Still
Life
Still
Life

Sky without clouds…this is the end of it
Hailstones are falling to the ground…this is the end of it
Day without light…this is the end of it
Seeing Heaven robbed me of my sight…this is the end.


Sky without clouds…this is the end of it
Hailstones are falling to the ground…this is the end of it
Day without light…this is the end of it
Seeing Heaven robbed me of my sight…this is the end of it all.

Sky without clouds…this is the end of it
Hailstones are falling to the ground…this is the end of it
Day without light…this is the end of it
Seeing Heaven robbed me of my sight…this is the end of it all.