As I walk up and down these crying roads,
everyone wants to, but no one knows.
Phone calls from the afterlife,
they tell me never take these feelings in strife.


This life is just a moment
with an end in sight.
I build my treasures
for a different life, with a greater might.
Figure out what shall be done,
we all have something to overcome.
Lord, I want to soak up Your Hevenly Spirit.
I want to be so close, that I can hear it.


As I walk up and down these dying roads,
fools try to condemn me for what I chose.
I try to not partake in this fabricated world,
for the world will never heal you.
It will only steal you.
When everything is tossed aside,
we are either the thief or the king.
These life morals are everything I sing.

A pen and a cup,
they are my seed,
to withstand a filthy need,
and to fulfill an empty creed.
Just hold me in your eyes.
For it is quite,
a rare sight,
to witness a Sunday Smile.

Waking up to the cold air again,
grasping hold of me again,
and the fire is gone.
The wind shuffling the pages of my life,
but I think I’m a little more stable now.
The frequent cheap, empty talks don’t bother me as much.
The songs you taught me,
stuck longer than the religion you sought for me.
Just hold me in your eyes.
For it is quite,
a rare sight,
to reach a Sunday Smile.

I stand still until,
the day gives me the words I’m looking for.
Feels like a collection of meaningful drunk words.
Whenever I look down,
I see my weary conscience,
waving hello in a shallow puddle.
Just hold me in your eyes.
For it is quite,
a rare sight,
to feel a Sunday Smile.

Although I’ve never toured the universe,
forward or reverse,
I have witnessed pale truth,
in a life of epilepsy.
She introduced me to the world,
through a Polaroid view,
as she critiqued my life of solitude.
Just hold me in your eyes.
For it is quite,
a rare sight,
to hold onto a Sunday Smile.

As dear young children,
remember when we shared beliefs sitting on the swings?
and now on park benches, we find solace in the years the season brings.
Watching as the souls of the world live as kings,
when we were drunk on Halloween.

It was that night I realized what beauty was.
Our first night in the new apartment,
every room still empty.
We would get electricity tomorrow,
so we used candles.
I could see the mosaic glow of your face,
and it took me to a brand new place.
You were only wearing your underwear and my worn out sweater,
lying on the floor,
the floor that was covered in wine and scratch-offs.
The whispers of candles in the background.
My mind was wild, but now misused,
my eyes are a child that’s confused.
But my love will hold you when you’re sleeping,
and caress you when you’re weeping.
The season in your eyes,
it selectively identifies,
my face in the foam on the side of the glass,
right next to the episode of cries.
I only wish you were near me,
but you will never love me sincerely.
When will I escape these human emotions?
It feels like I only go through the motions.

Within that moment,
where the heated altercations wither away,
where the blazing screams end,
and the confessions really begin.
Where the funeral is quiet tears and melodic eulogies,
suppressed by the far cry of the brain,
filled with eternal apologies,
never to sustain.
Within his final thoughts before he hit the train.
Now we hold hands in a Eucharistic reunion,
only to steal our emotions from the young ones.
Every reflection of the light on the trees,
they taunt me with wonder and euphonic memories.
You won’t find a flame in my heart,
I've never been shown that part.
I’m a stranger to myself and that’s okay.

Drowning in the smell of transcendence,
I saw too many people,
from the days I don’t like,
the days I try to keep in the basement.
Between clutching toilets and empty talks,
I met everyone a second time,
and now I’m locked in a car alone.
I couldn’t breathe and was losing a war with my mind.
Trapped in this prison, listening to people’s voices.
It was a beauty of a sound,
like an orchestra from a muse,
with the crying face from abuse.
With my tears still hanging on the window,
you whispered soft sparks of fire through my ears,
when you asked me,
where were my tears,
and what were my fears.
The kind only a candle can hear.

The night we were ballroom dancing with blindfolds on,
every light was off and the curtains drawn.
Swaying into the dark, like an avenue of trees.
Your eyes were born in that tiny moment,
where you want to believe.
Your heart was born,
in a change of season,
where you gave me no reason,
but to leave.
You gave me the keys to your heart,
then changed the locks.
Our love was like a delicate dandelion,
and you blew away the seeds,
so they flew with their tiny parachutes,
into the wind of the past,
and to cling to a stranger’s boots,
so you could walk away from the start,
and peer at me through your window.

After your heavy breaths,
you told me,
you’d rather be part of my story,
than a work of art, in my worry.

Then I woke up at the Main Street Park.
Now up on my knees,
I glanced at one of the trees.
The words “I loved her”
carved into the wood.

I wish I could walk through the door.
I want to be on the other side.
They tell me to get off the floor.
I want to pass through and hide,
pass through the door of death.
I can smell the scent of the different rooms.
I can’t wait to feel the betrayal of the fumes.
I wish this bottle would get me higher,
higher to that lowest point.
For this inverse plan of disaster,
I shall begin to master.
Oh sanctuary,
why would you come to me?

Thinking much to fast,
and writing blood songs of the past,
as I stare at the scars on my wrist,
I begin to wonder,
was there something I missed?
Perhaps it was a cold deep purple sky,
more detached than that haunting smile in your eye.
Maybe it was two diffractions of symmetry.
For when the memory is possessed,
by an unknown passion of the gods’ eyes,
we will suddenly see softer tides.
I lie beneath the neon lights of the crosses and other anti figures,
dressed in blank stares with no air.
With closed minds,
they replenish and indulge their feedings on our lost soul,
and for them, it never seems to take a toll.
You gave me the words that were never there.

Today is a strange day.
As I watch the wealthy play,
I also see the children pray.
Oh a strange day.
I could see your lonely face looking back at me,
in the rear window of your parent’s Buick.
Your tears staggered down the ***** windows.
Drifting away, parting ways,
my thoughts always bring me to the sad days,
lingering intricate as a drawn out tragedy play.
You are a memory,
so vivid and extract,
quite detailed and exact.
Why did you come to me?

Lying alone in the crisp cold breaths,
of the shifting shadows,
in our aged attic,
sipping the gin from my flask.
The spirit they call Death,
it held me in its arms,
and told me I was a child beyond my present.
Not heaven sent, nor innocent.
He said the cocoon is hanging in the sky,
and soon all men will die,
right above Hamlet’s hot hair,
but all we can do is stop and stare,
but then again, Death is only a word in a liquid that freezes,
and still my guitar gently breezes.
Now plunging into another whiskey bottle so manifest,
sipping with the same spoon of my childlike past.
Listening to the songs of those times,
from the cardinals below,
The puddles in my heart, so deep, yet oh so shallow.
There are so many worlds in our eyes,
more species, more flies.
I see my reflection in the television.
Just a man I’ll never understand,
a stranger in some kind of danger.
I can’t understand why my heart races, in such frantic paces.
I’ve been watching a lot of faces in these worlds.
So many beautiful, terrible signs being orchestrated.
Too great for human hands, as it implodes in my mind’s eye.
By now the serpent is circulating through my veins,
squeezing my neck with unbearable strains.
The changing winds took away the air in our throats,
to a place higher than the highest notes,
that used to dance in our voices.
Now we are forced to suppress that feeling between us.
Your heart is just a hoax,
played like an act for the common folks.
Your eyes are no longer my golden prize,
just two dark windows,
where the creature cries.

Emotions relaxed in reverse,
I can’t imagine it any worse.
The sound of chalk against the wall.
The sound of talk, outside the hall.
The girl of such tall words and steep opinions,
never found the time to leave her voice,
and lend it to another’s choice.
She walked across the smoke filled room,
as if no one was watching,
as if no one noticed.
I see my death in her eyes,
the way a man can only wish he dies.
Wearing that aged cardigan from her father’s early years,
she divided her tears,
and gave me that look,
you only find in mirrors.

You were used to the cold nights,
and the lingering midnight flights.
Driving down a smooth cigarette,
where we were going,
I had not known yet.

On the drive home,
we sat in the backseats of your friend’s car,
The distance never seems as far.
Too many of us for one car.
We left our shoes at the beach,
by nightfall no one could see,
you touch your toes to me.
The reflection of the lights,
and music blaring,
allowed me to see,
you were staring.

Peeking through the blinds,
spying on the sunrise.
I live in the dark,
with my memories of The Fable.
hoping to send them away,
with the empty bottles on my coffee table.
My clothes smell of you and beer,
In the linen, are stains of tears.
My heart lives in the emptiness of tombs,
drinking my sad thoughts closer to my room.
In the morning, I listen to the tea leaves hit the steamy water.
Sipping on my cup as I watched her.
Staring at the reflection of your eyes in my cup,
listening to each final bubble burst, as I look up.
I never did understand the meaning of photo albums,
since it makes me cry for miles,
when I see pictures of our young smiles.
Reaching a distant high,
from your beautiful scent, still on my jacket,
From where you wept.
You told me, it’s the people who suffer,
who make good lovers.
I guess you already knew,
what was to be my fate,
ever since our first date.
I don’t want to be just a memory and slip into your past,
I want to be your present,
But it all went much too fast.
There’s no more emotion here,
and soon I will just disappear.
Watching the clouds pass in the reflection of the cars,
letting my life pass with them, to the stars.
Now its late, its half past four
and there’s a knock at my door.
Maybe its you, or maybe its my second death.
Everyone dies the first death, but the second,
is where you are forgotten.
Here is where we first kissed,
but I don’t want to be missed.

Sometimes I wonder if a life on the sea,
has anything in store for me.
But then again, I think I’ll stick to complimenting people's looks,
and reading outdated psychology books.
At the start,
our love was running to course,
and like every other love, it will soon fall apart.
Why do people get married,
when they only hope for a sure shot for divorce?

Drinking and writing, whichever comes first,
they have become my obsession, as well as my curse.
This is the norm that I must face.
I will never walk out that door.
Sure, I’ll give you your space.
Perhaps I should drift to another shore.
I don’t even remember what love feels like anymore.
Am I tormented by my own thoughts?
I’ve never spent a winter with someone else.

The bar was about to close,
so we started walking down the road.
I picked you a rose, as we shared sips from my flask,
until we reached the quiet cove.
And though the sign read “forbidden”,
we would never depart.
Because your lips keep your voice hidden,
but your eyes give away your heart.
You looked stone-faced as a statue,
but I’m here to help you cry, if you need to.

As despair re-enters your nightmares,
and turns them into dreams, with many repairs,
it blows out the candle in your pragmatic mind.
Please sit down and unwind.
You had the parents made of heaven and gold,
and still, you do as you’re told,
but you’ve strayed away, never to unfold.
Words are all I can remember of you.
Words are all I can see, beyond my tears.

I awoke on the highway, all alone.

I can see you, but I can’t talk to you.
We exist in separate worlds now.
We don’t have a reason, and I’m sure,
we never will.
You want to see me in the next life,
but I know that life doesn’t exist.
Why do we always resist?
Why is there such a trance of thoughts,
in the midst of being sober?

I tried to find a sign or key, but everyone had faded away.

I set my mind in a hot air balloon.
Floating over tall mountains and even taller Catholic steeples.
All the eyes looking up at me, from the people.
Counting the faces in all the empty spaces,
their clothes soaked in my tears.
I never want to get down from here.
I can see your eyes on the horizon,
and you’re holding me in an atmosphere,
that I cannot understand.
I never want to get down from here.

Watching and waiting, with a flame in my hand, the ink dripping from my mind.

We may wonder and we may dwell,
and we may be written on the wall.
We may be a schedule, a photo, or even a smell,
but what we find,
Is we may not be found at all.

Holding my head high is no easy task.
Come clear my mind, its all i ask.
Heartache and heartbreak from the same mistake.
The feeling invades my body and tears my soul.
Seems like nothing will heal.
Not until I rise myself out from this hole.
The more and more I strive,
I begin to wonder: will I make it out alive?
My body still remains here, but my soul has already left.


People are dying. Dying to speak their mind.
People are living. Living for a waste of time.
Theres no reason to be here,
lets pack up and leave dear.


My heart feels like a downpour of rain.
but its alright, cause I like the rain.
When Texas is burning, open the floodgates.


Release your mind into the sea.
Patience is maturity,
and love extinguishes the fire.
The fire that rages wars in my head.
Tonight I will pray,
and tomorrow I shall embrace the day.


People are dying. Dying to speak their mind.
People are living. Living for a waste of time.
Theres no reason to be here,
lets pack up and leave dear.


My body still remains here, but my soul has already left.
Whatever the time, look at the sky

The rat king sits upon his throne of a thousand skulls,
gives all he's got to convict doom on the dead man in the boat.
But looking back, One will notice the last words the dead man penned.
He gave his once empty soul to the Almighty, and practiced this nightly.
Sincerely signals of love surround a joyful surrender.
.
I am the lonely bird on the powerline.
I am the lonely homeless man holding the sign.
Just take one look at this town, and it'll make you frown.
I wanna live, I wanna give.
.
There is the abandoned, forsaken boy.
Secluded, solitary, reclusive. Oh, what an outcast from joy.
Raging wars of hatred and lonesome in his head.
Wondering what happens when he's dead.
Suddenly hits rock bottom and retracts his rejected heart into a harden.
Thereafter, he identifies how to stop blame and grant pardon.
For he catches glimpse of a Love that no one could fathom.
He sees the One who parted the seas.
Discovering that there is someone who loves him dearly.
The Lord with no confines and is with him every step of life.
Sincerely signals of love surround a joyful surrender.
.
I am the lonely bird on the powerline.
I am the lonely homeless man holding the sign.
Just take one look at this town and it'll make you frown
I wanna live, I wanna give.
Let go, and let God. For tomorrows never promised.

Athena, Athena,
give us the wisdom we cannot understand.
We bow our heads, and close our eyes,
as you place the answers in our desperate hands.
You left Judas in Poland to hang himself,
and now you’re after me.
I can see her sift through each aisle,
only pausing to smell each vial,
before I drink them to denial.
Released by the oath you made me swear,
when you look into my eyes,
you can see nothing is there.
Dreamless, in a shudder,
too silent to mutter.
I found myself alone again,
becoming unknown again.
With a stomach full of whiskey,
a mind full of regret,
and a heart filled with neglect,
I want to hear my favorite songs at my funeral.
Hell and heaven are nothing but a forever dream.
So today is the last day.
The last day for the sands of time,
to appear in your eyes.
Today is the last day of my life.
The last day of our young freedom,
in the showers of flowers,
and my last day, trapped in the nightmares and thoughts,
standing alone in dreamless towers.

The rain still drips through my ceiling,
and I get that isolated feeling.
I reread your note,
slightly wet from the rain.
Over a hundred times I’ve read,
it still brings that similar pain.

On the night of my 21st year,
you were at the bar and drew me near.
Though it was hard to hear,
I could see your brown eyes filled with fear.
Then you described the details of your son,
and why your life was falling apart.
You looked at me asking where to start.
I recall you saying, “You don’t even realize,
how you cannot even see my dark eyes.”

As I stare into the mirror, each drunken night, it does not vary.
because every evening drifts me to the same cemetery.
This is where I sit and listen to your entity’s stories,
as I watch the pages fill with ink of sad memories.

We picked you up at the bus stop,
keeping all the silence, I was about to drop.
As we sat on my mother’s couch, we broke the news of your father’s death.
Never was something so difficult,
wishing it was my final breath.

On the way to visit your stone,
I can remember watching the blades of grass,
pass me by, oh so fast.
And looking up at the codes of street signs,
listening to the sound of wind chimes.
Then we would come to the bridge and I’d watch the still water,
pretending we were soaring over the endless unknown,
of the beautiful shimmering hydrogen way down below.
Once we scaled the peak we’d both smile and look down.

I stare into the mirror and find myself at the same cemetery.
In a passage of existential twilight,
I am securely fastened in a comforting, timeless moment.
Now I let the moment take over,
because there really is nothing past this.

Today I woke up on the shoreline,
more dead than usual.
The sea salt still in my hair,
and under my breath, the fresh scent of gin.
Never have I felt more cold,
cycling under the trees, feeling the sun on my skin and knees.
Words are screaming through my eyes.
Words are crying through my eyes.
But I cannot even piece these words together,
as we do not speak the same language.
Life feels as though it’s dripping through my hands,
with isolation as my cure.
It’s like untying a knot that never ends.

Does anyone feel love in me?
Does anyone feel truth in me?
If I disappear, would anyone care?
A cold, starving depression feels like my only answer.

People are afraid to be around me,
Because I do not promise them something predictable.
I move on and away,
without a single trace.
I am a broken flower that’s been stepped on,
lying in a sea of cement.
But when I think of God,
I see a handprint in the cement.

For recovery is just a process,
Belief is a lifetime.

Underneath the rainfalls,
between the quiet walls,
of the retirement home.
This is where my heart lies.
Retiring from the depths of passionate want.

At the retirement home,
there is the tranquilizing smell of hush and peace.
It is kept colder than my memories.
This is where my body dies.
Retiring from a recycled depression.

The walls show no emotion.
But it gives me time to think.
I remember the night when we sat in the bed of your truck,
conversing for hours.
I stared at your glassy eyes,
as we wondered how Sunday was given its name.
Since it rains every Sunday.

It rains everyday at the retirement home.
This alcohol feels as though,
it’s not working like it should.
But you are a melody.
A melody that is whispered and heard,
flowing through the halls of this prison
"If we are all fading into the void,
why not do it carelessly?"
There is no sunlight, to call us home.

Why do we always fall victim?
We eventually fade into a colorless spectrum anyhow.
And why do we believe someone else loves us?
I want to love you more than I love myself.
Weary emotions and exhausting potions are all I seem to find.

Please reach into the back of my mind,
where the darkness lies,
behind my tired eyes.
You might find all my unspoken words,
the lonely thoughts, that were never heard.
Even further, you might see a crying boy.
He wants to disappear, his feelings so coy.

I can feel the lovely darkness taking hold of me,
the influence and lack of confidence taking hold of me,
As I cry each drunken night, staring at her window,
through that blurry rainy sky.

Old flowers falling off the limbs mean we all will disappear into the sea.
A cold hard broken heart means, when the rain pours,
so does my heart.
A sad reminiscing mind means you’re the one I’ve thought about for years.
I make believe to have memories of us together,
when I haven’t even met you…

I want to love you,
like no one has ever loved me,
But I can see your words that no one ever hears,
stained within your skin, buried in fears.
So don’t look out your window tonight,
just stay still.
In the end, I can’t wait to feel the fire embrace me,
since it’s the only thing that ever will.

I’m staring out my second story window.
Watching life as it passes me by.
I could use the balcony, but this suits me just fine.
The sun begins on one side and ends on the other side of my window.
Winter ghosts and ravens roam the frosty streets below.
From here I can see the search party, seeking for my hollow soul.

I’m staring out my second story window.
Taking notes on life as it passes me by.
I could cross the English Channel for you,
But I remember we have nothing left to say.
You were the sunlight to my every dark night.
Desire is a word I’ve long forgotten.

I’m staring out my second story window.
Free from life as it passes me by.
There are no chains here, just free will.
I only write to you, to see the words sit on my window sill.
From here, I can see time means nothing.
Time is broken.
The darkness is my friend, and the world is full of things never spoken.

Underneath the stretching trees.
Stranger still, my eyes are closing on the road.
More and more, with every heartbeat.
The air is getting tighter.
Its becoming more self aware.
Stranger still, I’m swerving in and out of consciousness.
By now my eyes are fading in and out of focus.
They’re very blurry, so very blurry.
Stranger still, it’s funny how I keep seeing the same faces,
but we are strongest in our broken places.
Stranger still, this moment won’t release you,
but it can isolate your senses.
Drifting into a different kind of despair.
One beyond repair.
Stranger still, the ringing in my ears,
The raining of my tears.
My tears of alcohol.
Stranger still, I can see everyone’s winter trees, as they sway.
I’m wondering what Holly would say.
“What an empty holiday.”
Stranger still, the vultures stood on every light post.
They were staring down at me like wise men on the coast.
They knew my future.
Moving with sound and sight.
They know I can see more in the dark, than in the light.
Stranger still, I sat alone on the couch, in the dark.
The only light casting from the Christmas tree,
I watched them hold each other, as they were getting loud.
The quiet sound of crying, was from me.

I am reminded of myself when I watch the daylight.
Captured by each evening, it slowly closes its eyes,
and hides its face.

I keep driving down that dimly lit road with tired eyes.
Riding with the chariot, as I listen to your distant cries.
I keep thinking there will be a different ending to this story.
That there will be a part of me to which you cannot withstand.
But only to carry on with the reality that these are merely thoughts,
scribed on my hand.

I don’t hang pictures on my walls.
I don’t think I deserve to be loved.
For I am not worth any love.
So just turn me to ashes,
and let me fly with the sashes.
Oh I’ve grown tired of hope.

Time is only a bottle of sand.
If you have any last words for me,
just write it on my hand.
Beneath your tattoos and lockets,
I write notes to you and keep them hidden in my pockets.
I believe if you truly love something, you should give it away.
So yes, I think I’ll keep my hands in my pockets.

The words from man’s mouth expire into deep waters, but maybe you can hear me out.
Underneath salvation skies, I can see the darkness in your eyes.
I can still remember the sound of the acoustic guitar as we danced and the minutes flying by.

I can still taste the champagne on your lips from our first year’s kiss.
Has anyone ever told you the meaning behind angels and belles?
Sometimes it feels as though my own answers don’t reimburse me satisfaction.
In this arctic moment, my heart freezes when I touch your hand and all that’s left is your heavy breathing.

I watch from the sidelines as life passes by and I can barely taste it.
Days and nights live together in my head.
My only desire is to untie and expose our emotions then explore our minds.
Has anyone ever told you the meaning behind angels and belles?

With each new song I hear,
I hear the old songs,
And they bring me tears.
Tears from the fears
of letting you go.
Every time I lay there awake,
I think of which dreams were real and which ones were fake.
And when I think of ***,
I wonder why things are so complex.
Why did you leave me standing in the rain?
Why did you not want to hold my hand?
When I think of you, it brings only pain.
Did you need this closure
Or did you feel pressure
From new ideas.
What do you think about
when you can’t sleep at night?
But with each new flight,
I am reminded of our desires,
And they only start fires.
Everyone seems to need a reason,
But I won’t be part of this season.
My emotions are few,
But if they were a song,
They would only be the soft lonely strumming
of a guitar, barely a hue, not to last too long.
So when I think of you,
I think of the good things,
But I need to consider all the things.
The good and the sad,
The quiet and the bad,
I feel you at midnight,
And letting you go seems right.
Sure, I miss your touch, but
I’ve said far too much.

there is only one sound,
the sound of rain dripping through my roof.
there is only one sound,
the sound of the ice cracking.
what did we have? oh i thought it was true.
i write these poems, so you dont know im talking about you..


my socks are drenched, my pockets are empty, and my thoughts smell of love.
these are the tales of a man.


i hide my emotions, but i don't hide whats important to me.
upon this road, i shall rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep.
get off your knees, get off your knees.
i will always be there, to be the confusion in you heart.
i will hold you no longer, get off your knees.
these. these are the trees of my life.
be the birth.
be the death.
only with broken wings, shall you pass.

I can feel an illuminating void growing within me.
Meaningless teardrops pierce through my eyes,
like divine daggers.
The heathers are all plucked and
the deal is far overlooked.
Life truly is, the wild nothing.
Void of all emotion, carefully humming the tune of uncertainty.
For we seek the truth of an unknown.
I am my own handcuffs.
Do not try to unfold my mind, as you see,
there is a lock that has no key.
I am a stairway that leads nowhere.
Rejection is second nature to me.
You are everything, and I am only nothing.
Where I am from, souls no longer exist, and nothing matters.
I can smell you’re scent in my room,
but I will no longer breathe for you.
The stillness in your heart,
is where our secrets fall apart.
I will no longer breathe for you..

Staring at chandeliers.
When my life once was a hollow valley. Nostalgia is not what it used to be.

I can smell your touch, through the cigarette smoke.
I can hear your thoughts through this party of souls.

Sometimes I feel as though I want to breach my soul separating, it into pieces so I can
search each piece for the clues of significant meaning.

Incarcerating my emotions.
I do not give them feet to walk out of my mouth or body language.

Forget how to breathe.
Once beneath  such depths of thought, how would it be possible to circulate breath?

Controversial speech.
Stay calm while I caress your hair of dissonance.

Dream of Life
Watching life as I lean against the wall.

Zen
Everything within me is untitled.
It was not meant to be understood.

The End
This place is not my home.
I can’t take this or anything with me, but I will see You.