surrounded by busy people
i sip at wine from a plastic cup
as my slow life creeps on.
satisfaction hasn't shown his head
in quite a long time,
much too long,
far too long.
i don't remember when i last saw him.
i last saw his face 36 hours ago
stubble grazed my cheek
and his sweat stuck him to my skin.
I wish i could feel
and love
and be settled.
only empty sentences fill me up,
but surely i'm close to reaching the brim.

All this time
I have thrown around this label
My tendency to observe my surroundings
Searching for answers in every action, every move
I used to think I was a wallflower
A extroverted wallflower
who simultaneously was a social butterfly
but I am not this, I am not this at all  
I am a writer

washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook
  out again
  I write from the bed
  as I did last
  year.
  will see the doctor,
  Monday.
  "yes, doctor, weak legs, vertigo, head-
  aches and my back
  hurts."
  "are you drinking?" he will ask.
  "are you getting your
exercise, your
  vitamins?"
  I think that I am just ill
  with life, the same stale yet
  fluctuating
  factors.
  even at the track
  I watch the horses run by
  and it seems
  meaningless.
  I leave early after buying tickets on the
  remaining races.
  "taking off?" asks the motel
  clerk.
  "yes, it's boring,"
  I tell him.
  "If you think it's boring
  out there," he tells me, "you oughta be
  back here."
  so here I am
  propped up against my pillows
  again
  just an old guy
  just an old writer
  with a yellow
  notebook.
  something is
  walking across the
  floor
  toward
  me.
  oh, it's just
  my cat
  this
  time.

I sail through utter silence
Words are ceased
And thoughts freezed
Nothing more remains to be said, I reckon
Or there is too much
Yes
It is too much
that words cant capture
thoughts cant express
yet it flows
like an ocean which moves from shore to shore
and never finds an abode...

i dont want to wake up anymore
i just dont

I often run from hate,
I do not like the mind state,
it only leads to negative things,
Or thoughts of anger.

But there are times I find,
I am not as sublime,
as I think I am about a situation,
Or a person for whom I disagree.

So I give in to the anger,
that has me wound so tightly,
thinking it will last,
but it is always gone so slightly.

I remember the past,
seeing my father absolutely raging,
and as I go through the years,
I begin to see my anger changing.

Into a passion for fighting,
Against something that aims to change,
the person I love to be,
Into an ogre oh so strange.

I fight to use my logic,
When others want me stupid,
To take advantage of my anger,
And manipulate my emotions.

But I will never let them win,
Never resort to bones broken,
I will not fall to their level,
My heart remains forever open.

To give love.....

Hatred seeps through vicious eyes,
Love like a dream lost forever,
hearts forgotten together,
an ecstacy of broken sadness,
glitter trembles in minds refracted,
Broken tension forgets itself,
lost in the hands of the weary,
never safe in the caress of sin,
for poetry cannot be formed from chapped lips
your fingers ache as words relapse
breath forgets to fill your lungs
your place is gone here,
life begotten through glass shards
piercing the skin to your bones
small drops of crimson leakage
trickle from the crevices of your body,
the pain is unstable and placid
as they tear your heart out
with their bare hands....