a strange and bittersweet sadness. a sordid golden sorrow like I've never felt before. like caramel drizzled over a sliver of longing. i have never had a craving like this. a howl, a scream wouldn't be loud enough, i have not the substance to sob. nothing quite so jagged ad anger or frustration, those are glass shard sharp, a crystal knife or steel saw, this is something different, there is a dullness to it, cold, like being bludgeoned to death with ice cream. I've never felt a craving like this before.

I I met a happy man of gold
he bit a man and let him.go
he ate another and said this is good
I met a moderate man of silver
he ate rice and thought it nice.
he drank wine and that was fine
i now try to be out of gold by Tuesday.

I met a boring man of bronze
he ate his rabbit once
now he eats nothing and that is all.

It would be nice if you thought I was somebody.
A decade passes or thereabouts and you pass on me like an side dish or salad, you'd rather not.
No thanks, I wont be bothering with that today.
As though our friendship was a meal you're just "done" eating.
What you could once have called our "friendship" is in ruins
And all that's left when you're "done" with me
are the tattered remains of a once great civilization of camaraderie.

We exist in shadows
The night kind
Hiding from the world of light
Not understanding the chaos the exists in the brighter hours
Standing in darkness shaking our heads not knowing who we are or why
And why the world around us looks so bleak and desolate despite the busy activity around us
Thinking that possibly they are right , that something is wrong with us
That we are “weird” , “insane” or “different” for finding our only real peace when the sun sets
For loving the power and clarity that comes with the absence of  brilliance
For seeking solace when the moon rises
But truly they are the “weird” ones
For only we know what exists on the realms they cannot see
Only we understand the energy of focus and silence in the midnight hours
We are the ones who can hear the whispers of the hidden forces that are far beyond their reach
The night kind
And Yes, we are different
More so then they or perhaps even we know
For we Possess an  “inner light” that they can never understand

Macabre reality
What is it
Is it not
Does it matter
No it doesn’t
No it wouldn’t
No it shouldn’t
How could it
How could anything matter
On a macabre black and white and grey
Rainy day
With no colors to express the way
And no way to express the colors…….
And a sun with no shine
And a day without time
Past day but not night
Just shallowness and insecurity
And madness and sadness
And self righteous  impurity
And a grey moon
In a dark sky that’s not dark
Like fire with no spark
Like a world that’s sad and sullen
that bleeds and screams to die
While we cry at the sky and ourselves from afar
even though were right next to each other
Like no other

Blood from fingertips
Like a vampire, pressed to lips
Metallic, sweet
Walking down the street
Like red caffeine
So let it stream

Voices without faces
Without form or foundation
We’ve gone unnoticed
Much to our dismay
We are still here, still speaking
If you would only give the time of day to listen
Music to our ears ,
like phantom speech
Would be the sound of our own voice
above the crowd