you want to know why i cant help it but write,
because there isn't just any receptacle, all I can do is writhe,
what i want you to help handle is not my poetry,
but it is my pain that can't take a poetic coquetry.
i'd like to run too,
i'd like to scream too,
i'd like to destroy too.
i have taken enough meteor showers,
i have called enough of my inhuman powers.
i would like to now stop and this heaviness i want to drop,
and that's where i want you to help me carry,
that's what everyday i marry.

it's time to dismember,
and funny, now is when i remember,
that this is why i began writing poetry.

I don't write poetry, there is no paint and art, this is a stashed cache of words tainted with pain and blood,

have you ever wondered what to feel when you are told,
that you cannot ever be loved by a person, not even one more fold?
that you cannot ever be loved more than how much you love them,
have you brooded then on those thoughts that stem?
and wondered if it meant good or if it meant that your heart will be more often a desert,

my pain has more music than my smiles,
and i will play that music so often over the miles,
this is all i can play, this is why you would not stay
i know love, i know, i know

stop counting the stars,
stop trying to stop me from bleeding,
count my scars, they ll stay
the stars will be gone the morning

**** the poetry off my fingertips,
it sure is a feast to savor, i know because
that was only when you fell in love with me
you would not have otherwise

There is a story here, if you'll have it
In the haze of deadbeat ghosts and week old smoke that clouds my judgement, I have witnessed prophecy
And now I cannot return, though I once thought myself King
I can only move forward, in step to the funeral dirge of Father Time or some other holy ******* they call master of puppets
So I am forced to contend with the notion that I am a pawn, after all
Which begs the question, am I less a puppet because I can see the strings?
Do you believe that God lives between every set of parallel lines?
And if I sing, how loud must I get before someone stops me?
So to honor my brothers and sisters, and a generation at war with apathy and glamour, I raise an appeal to SOMETHING or someone in the stars to wake
And take my hand, for I am too weak to tread the surface of the sun alone
And if I ever manage to return who will be left to sing?
For the puppet and the master, to this fiery waltz are we destined towards eternity
And should I look upon his face will we know each other, naked beneath the armor and the smoke?
And will we laugh like old high school acquaintances, or will he press the lips of a gun to my temple and tell me I had a good run?
I'm afraid I'll die not knowing,
Never looking back, not even in the face of Armageddon
I only hope for some scrap of paper, crumpled up and tossed by the side of the highway
Written by someone who knew all along the way,
And who deigned to let me in on the joke
I guess that'd be alright

my vision *****.
I see everything in grayscale
and no matter how hard i try, how hard I shake from the tear-inducing effort
I cannot help but feel chills
run down from the base of my skull to the bottom of my spine
when I look at the future from my angle,
from my eyes.