A ghost for every house,
Therefore,
My hands may touch no one

Tripping on small stones,
The path of least resistance,
The path of tangled demise,
They said I was made of monsters,
Because I hid my face from the sun

Your name is sweet,
That is why the flowers bloom,
There is the Spring in your movements,
There is a lost world in your eyes

Looking up at a fresh blue sky with patches of angry grey here and there
I looked back down again as he said
"Besides, look at all the flowers your father has given me."

They're Everywhere!, The Beautiful Badger Skins, All Of Your Things, To Conquer The Ant, Feces Feline, ******* Traffic, The Coloring Books, I'll Catch You With Nets, A Truce To Trance, Pale Nosed Girls, Jars In June, Fake Fight Fridays, Just Like Madeline, Cats And Dogs, The Poor And The Smiling, So She Says, No Strawberries Please, Bicycle Chase, Chickens Don't Fly, Behind The Shed, Cars In The 90's, Carl's Disease, Anthropomorphic Crush, A Cheer From The Waves, Bubbles Bubbles Bubbles,  The Floorboards, Suitcase Joust, Beneath The Forest, Myspace Meltdown, Call Me On Tuesday, Take Me Out To Pho, Grave Of The Cameras, Toothpicks And Cigs, Wax On Wax Off, Bad Days For Good People, Burnt Bacon.

Will you remember me,
Oh Persephone?
Your eyes were wonders to us all,
But one day,
They may be murderers

It's cold outside even though it's summer,
That's why I can put my ear to the ground and hear you humming,
You only hum when you're staring down,
Because that's the only time I can look at you without sweating,
Or shaking,
Seismic me,
And your quiet dynamite

Nakedness and manifestations of the white noise mind traffic,
I watch the world turn before the fabricated glory of torches without flames and chariots without horses,
All saturated with the molecular movements of the air made with melodies not played for You,
This is the concrete sea of gasoline’s grace of novelties I once spoke of when I was a prince of sleepless men and my heart was determined to germinate the seeds of wicked kings,
Now with a crown cast down and cracked,
I am a dystopian eclipsing a dying sun to cast shadows on sleeping silent sinking houses,
As I watch them go down to where I've made my bed before,
I recall how they make me turn in my sleep before You,
Keeping keys deep below bowing floorboards whining with the weight of weeping willows grown by ghosts of a life once sewn and patched by my pity of distorted desperation,
My fingers keep my dreams from unraveling,
Locking them up tight tonight by hiding my face from it all,
Closing my eyes with my palms,
My lamps are bathed in blackness,
Darkness covers darkness,
And then I feel your hands lower the veil,
I see holes made by instruments of death forged in time,
Scarring You in a place that Kronos nor Thanatos cannot consider to tread,
I put my fingers through them,
I remember now that you paint such beautiful pictures,
Color me with your dreams now,
Your pigments have been poured out,
A gift was given to the dust,
Now I live to give it back to you,
And the haunted fluorescence of Babylon grow dim before your face,
The orchestral cries of mans machines grow silent,
Deep touches deep,
Sharing the oceans between us,
A love infinite consumes me

Everyone has a god

You are the only thing that's real,
Forgive me for these fantasies,
For I am a just a shattered man of broken dreams
I am a coward
And you are my all

I can't pretend to be happy,
I can't pretend to be successful,
I can't pretend to be confident,
I can't pretend to be strong,
What comes first?
If I just tell myself I am, do I become these?
Is that my chicken?
Am I it's egg?

I ran into the heart of darkness as it pumped the night through my veins,
I found the ghost wrapped round' with an envelope skin you slipped between the door and floor,
You wrote my name on his chest,
He called himself Nakedness,
He would haunt me for the next three years living in my shoe box,
He'll grow louder with the dust and the silence,
But the Summer sweat,
The frog and cricket orchestra,
These things are commin' soon,
So I'll drive to places far from here,
Covering myself with wolf clothes to hide my shame,
Because I will surely become the things I run from,
And your eyes will never be my hiding place,

Here I am again,
Confessing the sins of my father manifested in a broken crown prince cracked over kingdoms falling from his tall walls to the rust and the moths before plunging on his polyester floorboard swords,
Yes,
Confessing these things to the carpet strands,
Tidal tales of the waves crashing ghost ships against my chest,
The strength of my youth is spent as a suburban castaway staring through the bars of my island cage built for birds without a voice,
There is an ocean between us,
And I do not know how to swim,
And I see no sign of my tugboat friends,
And I do not have any life saving self crafted defensive mechanical preservation devices to float through my insecurities with,
I am Icarus against a sun setting on these sleeping house that my feather wax weathered oars seem to snap against,
Dimmer days,
Shimmering street lights grab the dusk from the sky,
It is projected upon my midnight eyes,
Dead eyes,
I,
I could cling to these bones but,
They sleep below the earth,
And I stand before the sea,
Do you see me,
Oh God,
You have watched my wells grow dry,
I have set all of my hope on men,
And to you,
I come carrying this broken crown,
Can you hold my hands,
When it is filled with these,
Can you pull me from the water which folds over me

I see the demons in these people,
Tired eyes carrying the weight of self infliction and the sight of monstrosities,
They do not see the sun,
And their breath is a tax

She was the devil I swear,
She would be naked,
But she wore loaded guns for everyone,
For all the selfish are murderers

Hide my face from the spurious hopes of autumn,
They bloom from summer's desperation,
Their fruits are rows of teeth,
And they are planted in night seasons under cold stars,
Which stare down upon the children of those who turn in their sleep,
For they become sleepless men,
And I refuse to be their king

I look at these mountains
And I say to them
"Move."

My eyes say to you,
Behold,
A man crawling with fear,
Who smolders with anger in his bed,
And clenches his regret with fists below the smog,

I know these forms of men,
Encounter,
Unravel,
Suppress,
Reject,
Oppress,

Drown me with flowers though,
I wish not to see these shades,
Let the waters take me to my island,
Alone in my room,
Hiding like the rest of them

You're the one to pluck the pricking rows from the gathering rose
Gracing heads in the hours of cowards
I saw you wishing at the well speaking spells without change and a bucket full of mouths
No nickel
Sans silver
I know no drunken night will get rid of the bones you have hid skin deep without fair or fond beauty
I thought you knew that broken boys were made of burning wings and puppet strings
Sticks
Bones
Glass
Stones
They bow down to my crown
So please speak the mind of your weak and shaking knees
Ease us all and tell how tall you can scrape a sun-less sky before I judge this trail of wax and feathers with a burning back
Call the red light whistles: I'm having an angry young life mistake heart break attack
You never said whether the weather was flame or shower
So my marching men cower you see, being made of wood
In fire or water a daughter of either nemesis elements will make them all fall down
You should mourn you thorn torn mess wrapped in a pedal-less dress
You dared to reckon with the second son of death
And I did not breathe my first breath being born between two eyes seeing any form of life out there
And I did not believe you'd relieve the constant arch sparking the greener side no longer cleaner than the duller parallel due to forest fires
Button up that shirt, and have you tied your black tie?
The beholder has died
We must mourn the values torn between flawed judgment cawed by a bird’s eye view watching you from petty pictures and a meaningless word they heard from the latter mentioned bucket as two of them are cracking your glass with one stone like
"You foolish fool, hasn't life shown you heaven never listens at 11:11?"
And melting the unleavened within my frowned mouth with spit and a tear I fear for you while my eye is watching it all from a distance in an instance of sickness and sadness
"What is this madness? My body is not made to witness a price paid with another laid down and made dead. In my head there are funerals, in my head there's parades; both celebrations for a nation in heartache full of memories bowing down below the crown that they break. And I refuse to let the pieces of my transparent house be collected by mavericks. Time ticks on the dawn of dying days. With words up my sleeves, I continue my melancholy ways."

Piano keys clang like breaking swords in dissonance,
Their vibrations transcends my sleep,
I lie awake parading the past in the moonlight,
My shining armor crumbled to rust like dying kingdoms,
All the dragons chased me away,
Because my youth was spent,
I warn you,
There is no hope for a recluse

Her name is a knife,
Speak it for me,
Oh neck,
For we say,
*"She is called Night"

They said,
"You are Icarus!"
Because I dared to hide my face from the sun,
I do not build these heights on wax,
And the wind is not my champion,
I shall not melt my man made matters,
Under a star setting on days doomed to dissonance

As red draped pride runs down your shoulder
You'll only get older with paper cut eyes watchin' your crush wrapped round with chain sand ties while the gap between the ocean and the land swallows every one of her pretty little red feather strands as you stand on the beach with each of your bleeding iris television screens screaming back at the black hole tide of the wide wide guilt you've built with that consumer brick and mortar
Making cookie cutter chimney smoke houses for people to scream
"All hail the order of processed foods and artificial moods" out of
Yes, let us revere with a hungry ear those advertised emotions promised with the motions of the afternoon beer commercial and smiling twinkle twinkle billboard and then the next day hangover
Over and
over and
over and
being sober is just too civilized for these vicious cycles of primitive fickle trickles of substances that tickles the top of your mouth with either smoke or bad water jumping over the south of your gums that numbs the border patrol security of your conscience all because that pale skinned red bird beauty keeps flapping you by to skies too far away to count all the stars in her eyes that you kept a record of,
You're slowly losing your life and your soul with a sharp knife highway toll for the tax benefits of a bleeding black and white Lobo hell that exists back inside those paper wounded pixelated water works we were just talking about
Get it out
Get it out
It's ok,
Let me comfort you with the pleasure of the day
Over and
over and
over and
over
and


[Good news! With all this television static you wont have to look at her face anymore! Enjoy the rest of your day!]

I am a raccoon masked self sabotage tycoon specialist with a self inflicted past-biased hit list peeked at through urban eye sags pulled down by years of troubled pleasantries now darkened with giant grey glass fingers touching the skies and casting shadows on their own concrete feet providing my disguise wrapped in a capitalist bow tied blessing,
Oh forward progression,
Pathetic Fraud 101 is in session,
Catch me if you can,
I am my own cynical supremacist nemesis thief in the black and white mellow drama trauma,
I play all the rolls,
And these places take their toll on my soul because fossil fuel herds have replaced the sea you see,
Peel your eyelids back and allow me to derail your ignorant yarn sewn seam day dream from it's crocheted track,
Societies a chemical fire train wreck attack,
The difference between metal and wool is fire and flesh,
They're bound to mesh within a Chinese children tears committee calamity tragedy,
You think your H&M; hemmed subliminal photo-shoot suit is moral free?
Or is it that you refuse to look past your own pictures hung around your face by D.O.S. operated framed fixtures screaming "ME-ME-ME-ME-ME-ME-ME!"
Or whatever O.S. you bless your shrine with,
Our world is a glass screen neon pawn lit mess with a p.o. box address,
Completely impersonal!
The true core of this horror lies within your head on your bed that morning you woke up and realized
"I can't fix it!"
I applaud you for having such a great start!
You're heart will settle and the city sunsets will become beautiful once you're full of this revelation:
**"I am not my own salvation."

I drive a white truck big and clumsy,
It's a whale,
But today I get to drive the BMW,
It's just a sedan,
But I'll make it a fireball

I button my shirt,
I get dressed,
I pour some cold coffee,
Now I feel like I'm going somewhere,
I'm not

I love you,
I don't want to

When my Dad got divorced,
He told me that he would wake up in the night with his hands tightly clenched into fists,
I've gone to bed with aching bones ever since,
Falling asleep angry and alone,
Just like him

One of my grandfathers fought in the Korean War,
The other was a naval pilot,
They were both terrible men

I love how you can see your breath in the winter,
It's like some sort of poetic justice,
A beauty to make up for all the leaves that die in the fall,
Something to cope with the tragedy of it all,
Funny,
It happens every year like clockwork,
And no one notices,
This is proof that magic is taken for granted

I stopped smoking ***,
So I had to play Super Nintendo games to neglect any thought of you,
Oh so temporarily

I am not a man,
I am glass,
Awaiting a brokenness,
Under such a weight as this

I didn't know that
When I was born
I was actually put into a race
To see who could cheat death
The fastest with
The most class

Two chairs are out from under each end of the table,
They are facing me in a very angled and personal way,
As if people are lounging and having a conversation with me,
That's because Saturday's and Friday's ghosts of myself are sitting in them,
Maybe having drinks,
Or supporting their titled heads with one hand,
Cracking knuckles with the other,
I've been alone for five days now,
The house is very empty and quiet in a loud and crowded kind of way,
I become a ***** man when I'm alone for that long,
But maybe today,
I'll give the house a nice scrub

If there ever was a fatal tragedy in my life it is this,
I have become a master in the art of hatred,
And I never want to hate anyone ever again

Here I am again,
A seal perched upon pillows,
On a polyester cotton blended sea

Gold is worthless

My best friend loved this girl,
She died in a car accident tonight,
To try to understand this is a folly,
To comprehend is in vain,
But to be broken,
And to embrace weakness,
That is the only way to let the unthinkable pass,
And deter the birth of a specter that haunts the mind and peripheral eye from the realm of a bitter heart,
Which manifests from the fragments of golden memories twisted black by the lack of closure and acceptance

Reality is a pretty rude guy,
Sometimes he'll wake you up at 3 a.m.,
And make you drive to strange places you never even heard of

Oh moon,
You are a martyr of the day,
I never want to hear your name again,
It sounds too much like mine

People do not know what they are saying anymore,
They break what they do not want to see or hear,
And they convince themselves that they love eating glass

Excuse of a veiled man:
"I was lonely."

I met someone today,
I knew I would because I was alone all day,
I bumped into him at the coffee shop,
Almost spilling my coffee,
After I caught my balance, my gaze lifted upward,
I looked at myself straight and the eye and said,
"Excuse me, do I know you?"
And I replied,
"No, you don't know me at all. But I think if you did, you would hate me."
"Yeah-" I said
"I think I do already."


"Then I'll make sure we never meet again."

You'll open your mouth for the whole world to fall in,
I know

Time speaks to all things,
And beneath quiet clouds,
I am diffusing

Oh kings of listlessness,
You fish men,
You climb high into glass towers,
You made this city a fishing bowl,
Even though we don't swim

Almost everyday there is a time when
I quietly place my hands on my face
And let them slowly drip down my skin

as I think

"Oh God, what does my Dad think of me?"

I don't care if it's after twelve,
I'm still calling it breakfast

Why do these things exist-
These vices of our own invention?
To numb the mind,
To numb the soul,
In these black emulations,
Or to step outside and truly live,
To be vulnerable in the wild dangers of risk-
Beating from the arteries of the unprecedented freedom from circumstance,
To live truly,
Or to die within simulation,
That is the question of the twenty first century,
And I am stuck in between a choice,
So with shaking fingers I sew my eyes shut from it all and think,
"Thank God it's not 2 P.M. yet."
If you've ever fallen backwards in front a television you aren't watching,
You know exactly what I'm talking about

Hot and sad on asphalt,
Knowing I never wanted to be here,
I clench my crunching knuckles,
Raise my fists up to the cold stars and scream-
**"WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!"