The bar was deserted
But for The Captain and me
I was tending the bar
He was watching the sea
The North Wind was 'a howlin'
As the door opened wide
It was The North Wind just checkin'
To see who's inside

The Captain, was quiet looking out at the sea
He said on days like today, that is no place to be
She'll swallow you whole
Take your ship in one gulp
Crush all your riggings
And make the rest into pulp
When she opens her maw
The Sea don't care who
Is there for the taking
It's just what she do

I ventured on over
A fresh glass, with some ice
He said "what took you?"
I said ..."now, be nice"
"With weather like this"
"There's leaks front and back"
"And if I don't mop them up"
"Then I will get the sack"

He smiled as he drank up
One gulp and all done
He used to come here
With his grandson and son
But, that story is longer
And a good one to know
But, today, t'was just him
And he was rarin' to go

"The Sea is a monster, you can be sure of that"
"That's a fact I am saying, as sure as I'm sat"
"She'll swat you down hard, like a little old gnat"
"And to her it'll be nothing more than a pat"
"To Davy Jones Locker, she'll take you today"
"And once you are down there, in the locker you'll stay"
"A witch like the Ocean, she doesn't half play"
"When the water starts talking....you hear what she say!!!"

He swirled round the cubes
Made a noise, looked my way
I was already pouring
His fifth of the day
"Barkeep, be wary"
"The wind is the start"
"It's the voice of the water"
"It'll sure break your heart"
"She'll take what you give her"
"And she'll return you squat"
"Like a big old hard game"
"Of 'x's and noughts"
"She's a powerful mistress"
"And fickle as well"
"But, be on her today"
"And she'll take you to hell"

We sat watching closely
As the storm rattled glass
We both were quite nervous
And we hoped it would pass
The storm  came in early
Two weeks 'fore the season
And we knew out today
That the water'd be freezin'
The Captain dozed off
Facing out to the sea
There was now just the storm
A sleeping Captain....and me.

Indelicate is he who loathes
The aspect of his fleshy clothes, --
The flying fabric stitched on bone,
The vesture of the skeleton,
The garment neither fur nor hair,
The cloak of evil and despair,
The veil long violated by
Caresses of the hand and eye.
Yet such is my unseemliness:
I hate my epidermal dress,
The savage blood's obscenity,
The rags of my anatomy,
And willingly would I dispense
With false accouterments of sense,
To sleep immodestly, a most
Incarnadine and carnal ghost.

To go into the future
To the past you must return
To find what you've forgotten
And what you must re-learn
The present is the present
It's a step upon the way
But, to go into the future
You must go back today

Find out what you've been missing
What it is that you must know
To go into the future
The past will surely show
You don't have to go long back
Sometimes the past is near
There see, now time's passing
And the past was present here

Once you make it to the future
Are you sure you're really there?
For what you're living is still present
It's not the future, to be fair
So, going back will teach you
The future's out of reach
You may as well try counting
Sand pebbles on a beach

Learn from where you've come from
And make a better now
The lessons in your past
will surely teach you how
To truly see the future
Is not as easy as it seems
To truly see the future
Is just something in your dreams.

Hell is not made of fire.

A lot of people believe that hell is a world covered in flames, with heat that sears through your very being, scorches your soul, and inflicts terrible agony. They say Hell is a place for fiery torment, where fire is a vicious serpent that winds through your existence and seeks to quench every feeling except anguish, but at the same time refusing to let you be conquered by nothingness, keeping you wide-awake so you can feel every blistering sensation.

They're wrong.

Hell doesn't look the same for everyone else. Hell is a multi-faced mirror with countless reflections caging you inside the hollow of a diamond so you can see the glaring facets you refuse to look at. Hell is not always a place; sometimes it's a feeling, sometimes it's an event--sometimes it's a person.

Hell shows itself not only in death. Hell is everywhere--it's just somewhere around the corner of the street, hiding its face behind a newspaper, waiting for you to make the wrong choices. It's just somewhere behind you, an invisible fiend watching your every step, waiting for you to stumble. And once you do, it will laugh at you. You won't hear its sinister laughter, nor would you notice the subtle shift of the ground beneath your feet.

The odds are no longer in your favor.

Hell is cold. Hell is calculating. Hell is terrorizing.

Hell is reaching inside yourself, searching your heart, trying to find out how you really feel--but ending up finding nothing. Hell is opening your mouth to scream but nothing comes out because there is nothing left inside. Hell is the immovable boulder weighing down on your chest, it is the desperate need for the ability to cry, it is the panic and anguish that comes when you realize you can't.

Hell is watching him with his perfect hair and perfect eyes and perfect smile, knowing he isn't even aware of your plain existence. Hell is realizing for the first time that unrequited love is not as romantic as people say. Hell is waiting, waiting, waiting for something you know won't come. Hell is finally getting the nerve to say 'I love you' but only receiving silence in return. Hell is laughing it all away and saying it's nothing, I understand why, all the while wishing you could run to someplace where you can cry and scream without being heard. Hell is falling in love.

Hell is the red mark on your record, the frowns on your parents' faces, the pitying looks on your friends' expressions. Hell is the star you failed to reach, the shaking heads, the consoling pats on your back. Hell is the mocking laughter ringing in your ears even after they've long ended. Hell is the condescending voices echoing from somewhere in the back of your mind, reminding you who you were, who you've been, and who you are now. Hell is laughing at you. Hell is disappointment. Hell is trying and trying over and over and never succeeding. Hell is failure.

Hell is building your life with damning patience, with meticulous thoroughness, with painstaking care, and having it all knocked down to the ground. Hell is desperation, hopelessness. Hell is the blooming rose standing amidst a bed of withered blossoms. It's the touching beauty of life at its most exquisite, the surging anticipation, the reckless triumph, and the next day when you look for the rose you only find a withered stalk. Hell is hope.

Hell is the silent night torn apart by raging screams and flying furniture. Hell is the deafening wail of a child accompanying every insult, every furious, careless word that escapes your mouth. Hell is the empty threat he took as a promise. Hell is holding his hand and realizing it's no longer as comfortable as it used to be. Hell is the sadness weighing on your apartment, so palpable you could wrap your fingers around it and try to snap it--but you can't, because hell is already there. Hell is the silence, the eternal quiet screaming in your ears, as you pack your suitcase, as you stuff in old photographs trapped behind the cracked glass of their picture frames. It's the painful need to sit still and concentrate on breathing because you suddenly forgot how to. It's looking around you, seeing the stripped bed, the empty closet, the unsettling dust floating along the light filtering through the misted windows. Hell is falling out of love.

I could go on about hell forever, and I would never be able to enumerate all of them because there can only be so many words that can describe hell, and there are too many people in this world who see different kinds of hell. I cannot accurately define hell, I don't know much about it. I cannot claim to have seen hell, because I've never been to a place like it before.

But I know that hell is cold.

Because hell is not always made of fire.

i noticed everything.
i noticed the way you texted me multiple times
after we first met, asking to hang out
one day earlier than the day of our date apologizing
for your impatience.
i noticed the way you called me beautiful and were quick
to recite a poem when i asked you to,
but you didn't know i only asked you to
to fill in the space where i did not know how
to speak.
seduction is boring when it's easy
or perhaps most boys are easy
but either way, i didn't want you to attack my mouth
as soon as i sat on your couch.
i didn't want you to walk me to the bus stop
and i didn't want to always be holding
your hand just because i was walking beside you.
i noticed everything.
i noticed the way you rambled on and on
about your wealthy parents who are still
happily married, about your younger sister
who you don't get along with, and about the
extraordinary places you had been to
throughout your life.
i noticed the way you didn't listen when i told you
that i write poetry every day
and i noticed the way you didn't ask me once
if you could read it.
i noticed the way you tried to pay for the bill
until i handed you 40$ because you weren't expecting
it to be that expensive, i noticed the way you kept saying
"i wish you could stay longer" every time i mentioned
that i had to go home soon.
i noticed the way you talked about yourself
and i noticed the way you looked at me
like i was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.
but i'm not and i never will be, and i was flattered
but i'm not yours and i don't want
to talk to you anymore and that probably makes me out
to be a ***** but i don't really care because
i'd rather be laying in the sun reading a book about Beethoven
than laying in your arms noticing the various ways in which
i feel like a bruise on a very ripe banana.

Away I've taken to the streets moving to the rhythm of my heart.
The sun sets and under the darkness I feel at home all alone.

Thump thump thump

Taking a drag from this bottle of wine and nothing sings like my fists.
weeping and roaring, look at that moon andswaying to the motion.

Thump thump

Now times running out and I want to hold your hand, I'd settle for a word.
My feet moved and I don't remember how but now we're on a bench looking at waves.

thump

One in the afternoon and I peel myself away from the staring match with my eyelids.
I hear one words and my day is made, She says "Tomorrow?"