Life can just taste like mud
like your licking it off the steal toe boot
that kicked you to the floor in the first place,
yet we all stand up or die, and it is a sad choise
but it can turn few into sunset admiring warriors
and others in to those whom can survive an oil infested
jungle. ether way falling into a personal void like getting
lost on the moon is how it can all start...getting lost in the jungle
drowning in the oil, it keeps going life, even when we stop
and sometimes we just look up in the sky and eat it.

your the king
your the king
of everything, and
anything. but only
if you work for it then,
but then it becomes
nothing. and you only
get it, when it becomes
trash. and you walk away
as if it were now garbage.
and maybe then you can look
back and if you have'nt walked to far,
make a dission to throw it away or walk
away.

i look down on these people as if they were me
never looking for a helping hand, because everyone's
out stretch long, i'll stand in the middle trying not to be
scene. my hand on my chin pondering in though with my eyes
heavy in silence, and still I don't stop to stick my pierced tough out
to all the drunken owls. because i'm a fish looking for open minds, and
not afraid to run into any cool cats that are able to boil the warm water i swim
in. because at any time I can take flight, and be a frozen angle in time; who can
rom around and fix broken ships, that keep crashing. so smiles can lead to kisses
were one enemy can poke another, and friend ships  become seed. that can open hearts
like locks, you just need the key, and if you can paint her an ocean as deep as her soul she
just might give you that key. and thats when you tell her the truth, hold her hands and stand
tall with conviction. but you can't...your heart aches, and you grasp it tight like a butterfly was
caged inside. and, and you stared at me, crossed your legs, and i dropped the anchor. I didn't know
what to say, i mean after all it wasn't me...

my mind is like a clock, that will only work backwards
ticking time bombs who's only mission is to destroy
working with weapons of mass innovation
causing and increase in creation  
almost always working in pen,
because I'll never make a mistake
won't draw to close to my face
and never breath in the think ink,
breath air, life, and art
I always start last
and most of the time never finnish
but I was taught
to hold everything close
because the only predictable thing
about life is it's unpredictability
so i would spray paint
"Fu.uK pigs" on police walls
because people are to over rated,
and why is it that my paint brushes
are the only ones to understand the messages
that want to leap off the canvas.
and sit impatiently on my stool
trying to find a meaning.

He was so unexpected
He took random by surprise.

Eyes hanging
to the ground
her lips, kissing
the cigarette
she stared empty
into the rain
each drop
feeling like a
paused thought
the cigarette still
turned to ash
you pulled it from your mouth
and tossed it to the sea.