I fear nothing like my own shadow.
That dark presence that lurks in my mind,
The person who pushed past the past
But was still struggling
The fast food **** up
Pre college degree dude
Who achieved nothing
But regular bouts of pain
Who simmered in sorrow
Sweating sick depression
Who swallowed so many pills
Who pushed razors in to his skin
But barely bled
Chased demons in and out of his head
Read and read and read
The lonely one
The angry one
Who lived by himself
Saw his best friend move away
Lost his grandpa
Woke up crying regularly
In remembering myself
I fear I will go back there
And be locked up
In his pain all over again

Death is not fair.
It does not care
or breath.
It does not take
what bleeds
leaving seeds
to spring into
a lighter view
of the heavenly
some days.
It discriminates
against the poor
taking them more
other day it plays
with the wealthy.
It does not balance
or think
grow or shrink.
It is not a tangible being
or a solid thing.
It will not make a deal
no matter how deep you feel.
It is not your enemy or friend.
It is simply the end.

You birth is an invitation
Few received from quintillion plus
Possible people
A gift to exist
A choice given
The variables
A ticket to the freak show
Or to the joy ride
Of expanding life
And human consciousness
It was now stamped for approval
Nor is it dependent on the permission
From those in power
You are required
To live by their patterns
Why would you
When you can build a better loom

A pair of stacks smoking spears pierce the cerulean sky. The city suffocates under the day’s cold dry expectations. It is so crowded that they stack parking lots upon each other. Thick cement streets that spin and bend in a DNA spiral; leaving the masses dizzy and punch drunk tired. The population is more condensed then a can of tomato soup and half as blushed for being rushed. Meters tick a quarters time away. Trains and truck startle the bleary eyed workers awake. Traffic taking them to places they do not want to go, but still going to dam slow. Parking lots fill with the mad mechanical masses. Zombies stumble from the coffee houses seeking their steaming caffeine cure. Skin tones and gender identities blend into a strange shifting blur, becoming a humming human factory. Homes become ghost towns where no sound is found. Until the day’s end finds lost children of all ages returning to their dead eyed dreams. Bodies bound to sleep and keep putting up with the same ground hog’s day. A parade permanently put on repeat.

Be bold
For the sake of
Beauty's presence
Born of a child's smile
A lover’s laugh
A raging current
Cutting across
Foaming waters

Be bold
Outspoken for a token
Of love’s flowering affection
Of hopes name
That scars the heart
But tells only truth

Be bold
When others falter
Failing to offer
Kindness
Because they are scared
Uncertain, or simply
Never cared

Be bold
To be alive
While you live
Knowing you will die

Be bold
Soaring to help strangers fly

Our Pleasure is born love in the shared activity
Your wet slit devouring my hard ****
Connected in flesh but feels pleasure separate
The sword is sheathed and unsheathed
With a blade that never dulls but is never sharp
You ****** then I ***

I listen beyond the night fatigue
Nature sounds barely dinner
The country road are quiet

History looks forward to me
Filling moments of silence
I search old memories
For the various stages of me

Hazel eyes closed
Find darkness that is deeper than
And cold starless sky
Infinity allows my identity disappear
I am little me
Full of unsymmetrical scars
And superhero dreams
Fearless

Little me
Traveling down forest laden roads
On a sunny summer day
With my grandpa

Little me
Kissing razor shadows
Hope, sharp and stinging
Young soul, so solitary
Longing for the void

Little me
Wondering why
I have to live
With all my pain
Buried under
Her rage and pain

Little me
The insignificant adult
Drawing strength from
Despair
And poetry from death

Calls wet stones
Glimmering in Sandy dreams
Come back to this shade of reality
No real lesson learned
Just traveling back and forth
As the pendulum of personal history swings

Today I do not play the game of hope
Heart torn out
The desert sands have burnt my hand
I know this is just one more transition
But from my dark position
It feels as if this grief
Will never pass
That only sorrow lasts
And all I ask
Is for a warm blanket
And time to sleep myself
Straight into oblivion

Some smiles are part mechanical
Manufactured to sustain
The kindness that was self-trained
And cultivated like wheat
To defeat depression
With a sprinkle of humor

I want what devastates me

Sugar so syrupy sweet it sickens
Red liquid slows and thickens

Black lips painted poisonous purple
With thin lines of strychnine
My fair long haired Mary
Marvelous Magdalene
And terrible Typhoid
Saint and Succubus of lusting frenzy
Draining the core of me

Morticia the Mortuary Queen
With fatal fingers that feel
My moist internal organs
Throttling my throbbing heart

Dear black orchid
Princess of the pentacles
Funerary eyes of fire
Waking Walking Death

Yes she is so bad for me
Still, I want her so deeply

They strip me of my dignities.
Time steals treasured memories.
Stress ages with wrinkles and ulcers.

No new faith just tarnished alters,
majestic dreams cannot sustain.
I falter in the throes of this pain,
stand trembling, stumbling in vain.
I cannot remain the same.

Fallen family and friends disappear
moving up on and out of here.

In the end I lose it all;
dying with no angel wings
to bring me to them.

The sheep minded
Elevate ignorance
To celebrate
Their own mundaneness

Claim this enslavement
Is natural
That the moral
Shun the strays
Who walk in
Diverging ways

Cling to status symbols
And fashion trends

Their mind bends
To fit their servile situation

Praising the nation
Instead of humanity

Consumers not real creators
Products not innovators

Digesting stupidity
And spitting the same
Uniformed madness
Right back at me
And that is why
I love working nights