They claim I can lead, that they can look up to me.
That in a time so bleak, it's nice to see someone so strong.
I am a very weak person.
I am fragile.
My immune system is shot.
Any passing pathogen is free to stir me up.
My walls are cracked and peeling, they are a poor defense.
I've lost control over my feelings, and nothing makes sense.
The world ends every day, yet, I remain in tact.
I'm a cockroach scuttling through the motions, taking orders from rats.
No one seems to think about the life of the insect, that putrid little pest,
After the fact...
After the blast, conflict is presumed to have passed,
But life is not as we're taught it is in History class.
Sure, I can survive; I've gotten by.
Haven't I prevailed over all of the ants and all of the flies?
Still, I wonder why...
Why? wonder...why?
I don't feel like I've tried?
At points on the line I thought I had died, or at least wasted my life.
Still, I stand here, watching the others pass by.
Expressionless faces filled with blood that's run dry.
The only reason I'm not floating on is because my hands were not tied.
I'd have drowned with the rest of them if it weren't for where I lie.
The ground on which I was born is comparatively high,
Though the guilt instilled upon me is pushing me lower to the scene of the crime.
Their lungs filled with water,
Mine with wasted time.
With feet barely wet, and my knees still dry, the guilt presses harder...but I still haven't tried.
If I am strong, then this world must be wrong.
Oh, so wrong. And for how long? How long must a man pretend to be a king when he is Kong?
My legs trembling...twitching...I can barely move.
I've been broken, burned, battered, and bruised.
Don't look up to me as if I peer down on you.
My friends, my enemies, you're all becoming confused.
If it is my help you seek, I'm sorry, you fool.
Can you not see? I am no better than you.

I’ve had trouble writing my stories, painting my pictures, singing my songs.  There was some unstoppable force pushing me down as the walls caved in.  It wasn’t until I saw the face of my attacker that the walls began to retract.  The face was my own.  Yes, I am my own worst enemy.  It has been said, it has been acknowledged, but not accepted.  What stopped me from doing the things I love so much?  Fear of failure.  Failure to whom? Myself.  No one would know if I had failed because they had no way of knowing where I was going.  No way of understanding where I’d been, or what I’d done.  Any attempts of doing so therein were quickly and efficiently disposed of, under the judgmental justification that people would not understand: I am my own enemy and I fear my enemy.  These stories, pictures, songs are all glimpses into my soul, windows to my conscious and subconscious.  Not only was I afraid of exposing myself to the world, of letting all my secrets out, but I was terrified of what I would discover in myself.  Well I found it, and I like it.  I’m not afraid of me anymore, and soon I will not be afraid of you.

I don’t need all this ****** ****.  *******. **** elegance. **** arrogance. **** your infinitely vast reserve of information ultimately leading to information that already existed elsewhere and is already being over-looked, ignored, or forgotten by the hopelessly absorbent reader.  **** what you think. **** what you believe. You’ll end up thinking in circles, cooking up what you’ve already thought, but this time in a different flavor.  And you’ll believe the next person who makes eye contact with you for longer than 15 seconds at a time.  **** your pen-pals.  Update your status on a personal basis because if only 3 people care then what the **** do you care what the other 697 believe? ******* all. I ******* hate you.  A bunch of snot-nosed-screaming-and-kicking-malignant-*******-tumors spreading ignorant ******* rumors.  **** your fear. **** your ******* plague that spreads nearly as quickly and in no way as apparently as the oil in our water. **** oil. **** assurances and insurances, you’re all liable to be unreliable.  We’re all ******* lie-able and don’t waste half a second proving that. **** what you hear, **** what you wear, **** what you think is right, and especially what you find to be fair.  **** every part of your own body to purge the incessant urge you have to **** every one elses’ with your ever-inflamed-self-absorbing-*******-convulsions.  **** Me, *******, **** Yourself.

"If you don’t have it figured out by the time you’re 21 then you're part of the plan that snuffs itself out.
Hopefully they’ll drown themselves in liquor just like their fathers did, just like your dad is doing", that ******* said to me as he lifted his watered-down poor man's scotch to his cracked reptilian lips.  One more thing I get to internalize. One more swing I have to restrain my ligaments from hurling. Don't let him see you sweat.


“Do you think that to be wise?”, I croaked.

“No, I don’t think it to be anything, and I believe that’s why I love it more than all the wisdom in the world”. What a ******' *******. "Look, I only know I am right because of how often I’ve been wrong" What an infallable argument.

"Look, you can only hope to do things that you don't understand, the only way to do the things you wish to do as you want to do them is to understand.  The only way to understand, is to learn.  Not to be taught, but to be learned.  The only way to learn is by doing.  Going into a new situation blind without any information is not a desired way to start a task.  Researching is the key to removing frustrations that may prevent you from persisting with your original intentions".

If this ******* tells me how to write one more time, I swear, I'll lobotomize the whole operation.

*** is a hell of a drug.
Panic is a hell of a drug
Suicide is a hell of a drug.
Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.
Gossip is a hell of a drug.
Art is a hell of a drug.
Fighting is a hell of a drug.
TV is a hell of a drug.
The internet is a hell of a drug.
Cigarettes are a hell of a drug.
Drugs are hell.

Open face of demonstration, demanding a new declaration
by excreting exclamations to explain to them
that there is no place for them to lay their head.

You want to erase them, and just replace them again
with a new generation that will provide the revelation
that will spark the alleviation of the victims of trade that had been played by those trained
to wrap chains around them, no longer locked to the ground but running in place nonetheless,
circling around at whatever pace has been set.

Playing house in the devil’s play-set.  
Always alluding to what you wanna play next.  
It’s time to resign from the contract you signed, pay all of the cancellation fines,
so you can start your own design.

The one that makes you inclined to put time into that
which will impact the things that you blame for losing your mind.
The things, you complain, are a waste of your time,
While you sit around and just hate and drink up a glass of whine.  

Open innovation can transform into inspirational collaboration,
which will then send out invitations to the world
to take their own aboriginal exploration which would in turn destroy all awol nations,
thus, breaking the boundaries of potential imagination.

There's a really heavy typewriter on the shelf above me.
It's old. It's broken. It's beautiful.
"I wish I could use it." is always my first thought when I stare up into its under-carriage of prongs and teeth.
It doesn't fit on the shelf, and it surely doesn't belong there.
My first thought should be "That may fall and **** me at any moment", but I think I avoid that thought because I kind of hope it does. What a way to go out. Not intentional. I didn't put it up there with the intention of it becoming some sort of Medieval time-bomb, but the symbology behind that accidental death would be enough for me to be satisfied with the ending of my life.
If you manage to banish the senseless fascination with your imagination's speculation of what people will think of you if you do THIS...or when THAT happens...then what's there to fear about failure? Failure just becomes progress at that point.
There's a really heavy typewriter on the shelf above me, and a part of me hopes that it falls and bashes my skull in.

I am a man, Man was created by God
Jesus was God as a man, Jesus was a man
Man was a creation of god made to create(in his image)
Matter was created from light, Man is matter, God is light
I am matter that looks like other matter, but man created better and worse
God created man, man created better and worse, Dissagreeance was created
Opinions were formed followed by emotions, love, hate, fear, pride, envy,and so on (and emotions have much to do with sin)
I formed opinion, Which split me into the different layers or pieces of me, and emotions ran the show
I started seeing similarities instead of differences, which began to piece me back together, I remembered that we are all the same
We are all matter reflecting light, all different kinds of light, that look like other lights, and are too distracted to remember why we live
We were created in the image of our creator which means we live to create
I am made of light, all light is the same, we were created by light, we created ourselves
Man was created, man creates new men, We are our creators
God is Man's creator, Man is Matter, Matter is Light, Man is Light, I am Man, God is Light, I am God.
I am God, You are God, He is God, She is God, We are God, Trees are God, Rocks are God, Sun is God, Water is God, Lightning is God
People try to find God, People say they've found God,  God is in all of us they say, in our hearts
We have technology to peruse every inch of the human body, even at molecular levels, yet no one has ever come across God inside a Man
I think it's safe to say that we are most definitely inside of him, screaming and crying and pleading and clawing.
At times it seems God is doing a worse job than...or used to do a better job when...
People resent God, people blame God, people question God

All the things we ask of God we are asking of ourselves
If it seems that He hasn't been around, you must be doing things out of your comfort zone
If it seems he doesn't hear your prayers, then start listening to yourself
If it seems he doesn't care, then take your own advice
You're on your own with nothing but God on your side
You're one sided if you live for God
The more you devote yourself to God, the further away you are from achieving salvation
Be God, Make yourself proud, Create and share things with others, and appreciate the creations of man, for you are responsible for the creation of Man.

somebody rang out the sky of it's blue,
leaving
the water heavy gray mist, to mope among the
trees, the brush, the cars, the people, the
streets with buildings and light poles until
the Sun,
surfaces,
highlighting the ***** dishwater hanging about
and no bubbles
to lighten the somber mood of the day.

oh but, this mist has moved up to fog status,
the soup you walk through, drive through
breathing in the
odor of all that has passed this way and left
behind what the fog has bitten out of them,
or they paid as a toll, so the fog doesn't
demand it all.

until someday the water table will get excited
again and let the droplets fall,
and fog becomes mist then nothing at all,
and returns the blue to the patch of sky,
which I spy with my little eye.