They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love."
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."

It's painful
A person becoming a statistic

It’s a dark recollection
and all that I see
is a crumbling city
getting ready to
to collapse
on the scraps
of human vagrancy.
  
My car grumbles through
as my stomach growls,
a little less louder than
the late-night owl’s
party howls.

Got enough gas
to make it pass
the homeless guy
scrounging in the trash,

and beyond
the ***** blonde
drunk lady
looking through ash
to get as few
smokable butts.

I am doing all right
chasing nine to fives
to get by
and picking up
two extra
late night
shifts.

But the breaking point is
the mind I got
doesn’t fit,
seeing suffering misfits
brings me back down
to the heart of my history
when the hungry one
was me
and I would sleep
on a city bench
next to a slow street.

I kept chasing
you, as if
you were
a distant dream.
But dreams
are not always
dreams.
Sometimes, we have
nightmares too.

Love isn't blind,
blind are those,
who never loved.

(Finally)

The eyes of the wolf are tired
the end of the mist grows near
The call of the crow grows faint
but the vision of my soul grows clear

To all my brothers, I raise my hand
from all the world and not just blood
To all the ones who have been there
And has pulled me from the dark cold mud

I finally made it to the crossroads
my last decision on my own
All my fears they feed the fire
But I have to do this all alone

My love for life does grow strong
but we do not get another chance
Refusing to believe this is my final song
not quite ready for the last dance