I can't stop thinking about you
Maybe that's why I can never get any sleep
I'm so busy trying to get you in my bed that I can't even get comfortable in it myself
My sheep are too busy running around the thought of you to jump over a fence
You're my favorite nursery rhyme
I could scream your chorus until my voice grew tired
I wish I could grow tired
I never have energy, but it seems like I have enough to never stop chasing you
You're the only thing I think about, I can't stop
You're like a drug
You make me feel on top of the world, but I know you won't last forever and I'll be laying back in my bed wishing for more of you when you're gone
Maybe I need to stop thinking like that and just stop thinking about it in general and go with what feels right
Maybe I need to shut the **** up and just grab you by your waist and kiss you
Maybe I need to stop being afraid to
When I pass out you're all I see
My dreams are nothing but your hand in mine, and it kills me a little more each time I wake up and realize my fingers aren't touching yours
Although I wish we were more, I'm too scared to regret meeting you
As much as you drive me absolutely crazy, you're the only solution I've ever found to any of my problems
It isn't even a bad kind of crazy
It's the kind of crazy that makes me want to set everything aside and drive across the country with you with nothing besides our love, loud music, and the moonlight that'll chase us the entire way there
Maybe when you read this you'll call me up and ask me to get some coffee with you
I don't know why I'm kidding myself, I'm running after a ghost
Maybe I'm just too stubborn to actually speak up
Maybe you've been thrown back in my face this many times so I'll gather up the courage and ******* do something about it instead of write ****** poems about you

Maybe one day I will, but until I get the courage to do so, I'll just sit in my shower and cry about why I'm too afraid to and why I feel like something is holding me back

I am an artist
Love me
Touch me
Romanticize me
Let me live underneath your skin and tell you all about what happens down there,
I can write it better than you ever felt it, I promise
Believe me,
Trust me,
Let me eat your sorrow and spit it back onto a page, sacrifice yourself at my altar and live forever at the tip of a pen,
There is beauty in this somewhere
There is music in my ears,
I can hear the people sing my praise,
It sounds like,
"Oh I love him, but he's bleeding,
Oh I love him, and he's bleeding,
Oh I love him because he's bleeding,
Oh we love him, he's always bleeding,
Bleed for me, bleed for us, we love to watch you bleed,
Bleed yourself dry *******,
Do not stop to clean your wounds, keep em comin, pour some salt on it *****,
We came here to watch you BLEED *******!"
I will take what I can get
This is all I know
I will let it all drain on to this stage
I will watch my demons form pools around my feet, while my sins float lighter than air away from my body
I will suffer here and they will know why,
Because I will tell them,
And they will love me for it,
And when I die on this stage,
It will be to thunderous applause.

To pain and to whiskey, we say the same thing: keep it coming
We get it while we can, and we might as well while we still know how to feel it
My grandfather used to say, "Any day above ground...", always trailing off so I could never be sure how he meant it, but at a hundred miles per hour with a cigarette in one hand and the other hand tuning the dial of a radio to eavesdrop on heaven, the context starts to cut through the static: you have no control here, you are only along for the ride, never let anybody know this
When they bury your best friend, do not attend the viewing, remember him forever as he was, the madman with the keys to the holy city, the messiah of a new age born in blood and chemicals, think of him in between the lines of his favorite songs, the only places where he was allowed to rest, paint him the Martyr with your words and the Saint with your thoughts, carry the torch as long as you can, then let it die with you in the river, never go back for any reason once you have reached this point,
When the girl with the burning hair kisses you, do not hold back, do not flinch, do not second guess, you may not realize that you deserve this yet but you will, this is where we are tonight and you are not going to miss a ******* moment, we are gospel, we are revelation, we are beginning without end, we are cycle reborn on the mountain, the zenith where the flames reach highest, the point where the paths diverge from where we were broken to where we can rebuild, love this, breathe this, live for this
When I was a child I feared the storm, and my grandfather told me that every man fears storms until he becomes one,
And today I have reconciled myself to that truth
I am the first storm, and I will be the last

Pass the time
Pass the time
Pass the time

Think of what is not killing you
Let it seep into your skin and let it fill your lungs

Crack your brittle knuckles and pop your achey joints
This is only the beginning
Tie a noose around a tree and let the branch break, just to let yourself know that nature is keeping you alive for a reason

Now think of what is killing you
Let it fill and spill over and under your thoughts
Let it whisper soft meaningless nothings into your ears
Flirt with the idea of crushing a caterpillar just before it blossoms into a butterfly
Let yourself realize that there is beauty in the innocent
Learn that corruption is at every street corner, just begging and pleading for your attention

Pass the time
Pass the time
Pass the time

Give yourself to the wrongdoers
Let your blood bleed dark red onto your favorite t-shirt
Feel knowledgeable and learn consistently
Walk gracefully and fight viciously

There is no bliss in ignorance, just like there is no good in evil
Time is as valuable as diamond
Do not shied yourself from its shine and do not hide in its shadow

When the next opportunity comes, do not pass it
Do not pass the time and do not let it escape you
Breathe in air and exhale fire
Watch the clock like it is your favorite movie, it may just surprise you

With six hundred miles between you and the freedom you were promised,  the interstate speaks through your radio;
Springsteen tells you to hit the gas hard, to run and keep running and let the sunset try and catch you, cover the earth in dust behind you and never look back to assess the damage,
Joni Mitchell tells you to go home, to eat your pride and kiss your friends and to dig your life for all its worth,
Robert Plant tells you to go West, to firewalk with the spirits of those who came before, those who shared a vision and a madness and a feeling and who are waiting to take you somewhere beautiful,
Lou Reed tells you to go East, to disappear among the phantoms haunting New York streets and to let yourself become part of the Great, Inescapable Noise
Bob Dylan tells you to go forth with righteous anger burning holes in your pockets, to give back unto those who have been wronged, and to never trust the government
Jerry Garcia tells you to go forth in peace, with love blooming flowers from the cracks in your bones, to live simply and to hide your drugs well,
David Bowie tells you to learn which way they expect you to go, take a sharp brakes squealing U-turn and laugh as you speed away from everything they thought they knew about you,
**** Jagger tells you to stumble drunkenly down the path but never let them see you fall, to **** and fight for everything you want and keep them wondering how you survived,
Jimi Hendrix tells you that if you burn bright enough, turn it up loud enough, and bleed red enough, you can have them following you anywhere, burning the flags they wave and waving the flags they burn,
Jim Morrison tells you that the other side is within reach, that you can turn any lock with any key and reach Heaven without ever putting on a shirt,
Stevie Nicks tells you that whichever way you go, you better make ******* sure you're doing it on your own terms
Realize that you tread on hallowed ground,
This is the American night of the great mysticism, the holy vision of open road and unending sky, this is the night they drove Joan Baez down, the night that Janis Joplin collapsed under the weight of her own power, the night that Woody Guthrie cried his last bleeding heart tears because he knew the fight would not end with him, this is the night that you find peace in the great uncertainty,
With 100 miles of space left between you and this indeterminate future, the highway whispers to you;
"They will remember you too, if only you give more,
Your beautiful hair illuminated by neon halos, your body broken apart and taken as communion,
Your voice straining with purpose splitting nights just like this in half,
They will remember you too,
They will remember you"

I. Connection - becoming phantoms in a fever dream holding hands and jumping into the abyss laughing, the swirling chaos of existence reduced to the space between parted lips, a look exchanged, a dance from the edge of reason to the holy arms of the sunrise, a night in which you learn to forget and embrace
II. The telling of fortunes - between lines of palms and decks of cards, between the eyes of gypsies that have tasted the dream of freedom, between sleepy kisses and the implications of a future in which Things Are Looking Up,
III. Sobering up - learning which parts of yourself you hide because you are ashamed and which parts you hide because you are afraid
IV. Letting it the hell out - learning to sing and dance and kiss and **** and drive fast and start fights and swear and howl and scream and write and perform and bare your skin and your teeth and your heart and your naked soul
V. Nostalgia - the reflection that the roads you walked and the clothes you wore and the girls you loved and the friends you kept and the things you thought were beautiful will never take you anywhere but home, but ******* does it feel good to come home sometimes
VI. Reconciliation - the understanding that everyone holds true, that in a time travel scenario everybody has a past self who would kick the **** out of their present self, and more than likely a future self who would be revolted by both, and that this is the progression of time as we perceive it at work
VII. Acceptance - the act of bringing together the pieces, the act of becoming unbroken, the act of having faith that you will become broken again at some point, the act of having faith in the cycle, the act of rising, the act of relapsing, the act of creation, the act of destruction, the act of living in a way that will someday make for great television, the act of fighting even though you know you will lose, the act of making it all count for something

If I live to see the seven wonders again, I will be more grateful

When you think of learning to forgive yourself, think of Robert Strange McNamara
With the blood of a nation orphaned soaking into the creases of his suit, the stains that linger and the ghosts that weep, while the whole world watched his guilt manifest on television screens over dinner,
Think of yourself as the hawk of war, all the battles you fought before you realized you had more to lose than you ever could've imagined
Think of yourself as the navigator and the grand destiny you hoped to steer yourself towards,
Think of all those you had to destroy to get where you are now
Let them keep you up nights,
Let them haunt your dreams,
Learn to live with yourself, however you can

April 23rd, 2016, 3:00 am,
Still picking through the aftermath,
Hearing pieces of perspective drifting in through cracked doors, windows open so the smoke will not linger, sleeping off demons in unmade beds, while our mothers speak in tongues in different rooms, always worried about the way things have to end, I'm always thinking about the way things have to end, thinking if I drove on through the night I could watch the sun rise off of the water Sonewhere Else, somewhere where the rivers never  catch fire and the songs of birds don't haunt my acid flashbacks, where all I can think of are the choruses to rock n roll songs and the future I read between cut lines of powder and tarot cards that have seen too many miles, but wherever we go we are forced to consider what our names are worth, the contents of our pockets, the next time we will lay our heads to rest, whose hair we will find on our pillows in the morning, if we want to make it without selling out We Are Running Out of Options
When I think of endings, I do not think of death, at least not my own
With a working pen I can live forever,
The phantom poet in a fever dream, a message to Run and Never Look Back,
With enough gasoline, I can live forever,
A ghost whispering sweet release from highway lines, something barely audible over the hum of the engine and the cries for mercy from the radio,
I can live forever
Light another cigarette, hit the gas pedal hard, turn the music up loud, **** it all,
I can live forever
I can live forever

When we keep the bandages on, we let the trauma become identity,
When we rip the bandages off, we bleed out
There is no space left between us and the things we have come to fear for the skin to grow back
But they will never forgive us if we do not try

Level out, breathe in smoke, exhale fire, level out
Balance, restrain, restrain, restrain,
Now let it out
**** what you heard, this is everything
This is the gasoline heart of the human machine, the Hallelujah chorus that hits as you crest the hill, watching skylines shatter into mirrored versions of themselves, bearing down on the horizon like it has hurt you one too many times and you are not going to take it anymore,
Never let up, never take your eyes off the ******* for a second,
Let it out until the knuckles bruise and the fingers bleed,
Let it out until the fire dies, then *** a match to start a new one
And when the sun rises on the river, consider what it means to change from black to golden
Cast a stone to the water for every love you've surrendered,
Visit the graves you buried your old friends in, leave roses and a still burning cigarette on each one, even the dead must have vices,
Look West with the right set of eyes, try to understand the feeling Robert Plant sang about,
Drive fast across state lines, try to understand what Springsteen was running from,
Carry this burden of understanding until you collapse,
And when you do,
Listen, take to heart when the city speaks to you in dreams:
"Here in the obituaries, they paint us all golden"