****** beer
Flows through my veins
Easier than blood
Sorry 8 year old me
We grow up to be
Everything we never wanted

As much as I want to write,
It seems as if
I will always be better at
Getting drunk
Throwing up,
And ******* up

The frozen birds died not happy
but not sad or wanting
they just ended
not like a book or a sentimental sunset
but like a crosswalk shifts from white man to red hand
Us - Humans -  the only animal which asks why
why is the world so dark
why won’t she return my love
why do I feel this way
Why doesn’t everything work out the way I want
if they could - the birds would call us *******
it’s why they can fly and we can only pretend
and I hate those pretty little ******* for that
Why?

He wanted to write
as a way of expression
and rejection
a stage to vent
everything which threatened
his tranquil, lazy life,
he was fine going unknown,
hungry,
broke,
broken,
a man watching from the shadows
looking for somebody worthwhile
somebody he could talk to
and enjoy looking at
maybe he was unrealistic
maybe was one huge *******,
a typical womanizer,
just another guy,
but he wanted to write,
he wanted to write about her

Knocking on wood is cheap
when a fire is close to the surface
so call me a ****
if I don't care for your problems
take a problem make a problem break a few hearts
I had an epiphany
a revelation of sorts
we all have two voices in our head
(at least two)
yin to yang
moon to sun
one of them is overly positive
a naive buffoon talking about lovely flower power
the other
a sarcastic monster
a real *******
chirping in with
"You took that poor fellows order down wrong
you should probably go ahead and **** yourself."
now I know ****** is wrong
but I've been trying to get these two chaps to ****
artificial mental insemination
they haven't quite come to terms with each other yet
but we're getting there
until then,
I guess you could call me
absolutely bonkers

I took a semester of college
the words of the professor hung limp
like dead fish on the river bank
for everything I was glad to learn
there were ten ******* credit lectures
and I never felt smarter
only more tired
and exacerbated at the world
I didn't gain life lessons
or wisdom
but I did drink and smoke a lot
so as a warning
make sure that college
is the right choice for you
and not just
a monetary drain
on the pragmatic western spirit

they come into your life
leaving everything important
untouched,
in its place
but certain things they change
like picture frames
at jaunty angles
these magnificent creatures
flit into our lives
and back out
so fast
you barely remember them
until drunk summer nights
at the river rock festival
they seem to line up
beneath star specked
inky skies
and the heavy blanket
of summer humidity
girls with hugs
and guys with great roars of joy
as if they had been searching for you all night
memories are remembered
new experiences embellished
before the thread of your lives
untangle once more
and they are gone
off into the chasm of darkness
indefinitely

Too broke to smoke
Too drunk to ****
Too high to lie

I want the freedom to be addicted
Just as much
As I want freedom from addiction

shattering walls with great
say it from your chest waves
of vocal vibrations
vibrating down the handle
of aluminum baseball bats
which bounce uselessly off the brick wall
walled in the school building
building up little Timmy's confidence
confident that he will do what they want
wanting to see what's over the hill
hills which rocks only make half way up
downtown a young girl does a wheelie on a bicycle
riding around in circles
"Mommy You're not watching"
so mommy's not watching
the box cutters
and matches
and we make one **** of a mess
messed up on the couch
holding barely to consciousness
conscious of the fact
that it's the combination
of **** and alcohol
that's making the room spin like this
swallow a cup of fire
fire the demons from out the mouth
for each stream of *****
forgotten about
and we'll be happy
when you're happy
to let us be
something but happy

You can tell people
Everything that is right
And still they look to you
Blank bovine stares.
I'm at a crossroad
A true love affair with humanity
A violent, dangerous hatred of human beings
We live in a country
Where the people who say the wrong things
Are either dead or silenced
Gone are the days of freedom of speech
Gone are the days of personality
Privacy stripped away
Every person clad with phones
A reason not to act

**** **** ***** ****** ****
These words weigh heavy
Regardless of context
Gone are the days of progression.
This is not a poem
This is a rant.
If you don't like these words
Then go **** yourself
You can choose what you read
People too concerned with people
While out government does it's best to eradicate
The brown skinned low lives of Gomorrah
As if we have any ******* right
To dictate the movements of humans,

Say no to orders,
You are not the car being driven
You are the driver
This poemish thing
Has gotten out of hand
Just don't let the worthless mother *******
Tell you you're wrong
Wrong doesn't exist
Speak freely
The rest is just noise

sometimes
a beautiful girl
is only beautiful
until she opens her **** mouth,
stupidity is this generation's plague

I eat pizza too much
Like three days a week
Pizza pizza pizza
But in all honesty
I'd choose you over a slice
Any day of the week

so i have this lighter,
I love the thing
more than I love most people
It has a place of permanence in my pocket
so that I never leave home without it
the chrome box glints in varying lights
and it makes a cool click when you open it up
it's enough to feel like some sort of
John Travolta greaser wannabe
but it isn't a real zippo,
I had a real zippo once
which my grandfather gave me
it was from WW2 and it was gold
but time broke it to ****,
no now I'm stuck with the fake one
just a small sized bic
in metal casing
any bic would fit
not unique
but somehow distinguished
I think that's why
I like it so much

My dad always had a belly
from the back you wouldn’t have thought he was fat
but once he turned around
you noticed he carried boulders in his beer gut
and it made the best pillow a 4-8 year old boy could ask for
I told him that at night before bed
my head on his belly
we used to drink apple tango when we went and walked our dogs together
every weekend morning
Daddy wasn’t a rolling stone
but he was a man of business class transcontinental flights
important Dr. Baxter
he helped with my homework
because his patience ran deeper than most
but he was a volcano of suppressed emotion
one small **** up away from erupting
back when we were kids it was scary for my brothers and me
now we laugh about it
we’re all taller than him now
But I still remember living at the Sheridan for 3 weeks
all of us ganging up on him in the pool
the way he picked us up and tossed us with ease
a 5’6 210 lb man
and I remember all the fights
the last minute flights
me hiding in my bed with my hands covering my ears
him so quiet and rational
my Mum so explosive and passionate
I remember her crying on Christmas eve
when I was sneaking outside for a smoke
I remember anger and numbness
I wrote him a letter once
I never sent it
I remember how friends and family used to tell me how alike we were
how that went from a good thing to a bad thing
I remember meeting his dad for the first time
the other Harry Baxter
and I remember not liking him
I remember when he stole all of our money and left my Dad for a second time
I remember wanting to beat the life out of that old man
I’m still hoping for the chance
I don’t remember the boarding school he went to
or the brothers and sisters he never got to grow up with
or how his mother called me “the boy” until I was old enough to read
I remember being so angry at myself for not being able to be angry enough
but It’s been a while now since all the drama
and I’ve had time to think and cool off
and ******* being a Dad has to be a tough gig
but he was always there for us in some way
maybe not to talk about heartbreak
or life long dreams
but my life has been relatively easy
and I never found myself wanting
He is a strange, quiet man
nobody is harder to shop for
Mum always used to say his hobby was his children
and I get that
I mean, I’m still here
and I think that means he did something right

As kids we played football
maybe you call it soccer
but it doesn’t matter
There was this pitch
in the park across the street
from my childhood town
tucked away in my memory
like distant church bells
and the smell of honeysuckle
on that pitch we played world cup
or full scale games if enough kids were out
and we got competitive
mud tracks and red thighs
never actually keeping track of the score
just who was playing best
and if I’m honest
it wasn’t often me
but it was never about the game
it was about the bonds we developed
on the field all building towards the same goal
a picture of crossbars
and side netting
and grass greener than it could be
in any other slice of time
and the sound
the sound of leather boot smacking against the ball
still wet with rainfall from the night before
we played football as kids
because at times
it was the only thing that made any

You ******
you absolute ******* *****
I mean seriously
how much of a ****** are you?
silent to your friends
silent to the parentals
silent to yourself
except for in times of strife
(as if you know real strife)
you just want to be nice,
right,
correct,
for the girls you string along
you feel for all of them
which is why
you are afraid of everything
afraid of committing
afraid of hurting
afraid of loving
you love them
almost as much
as the self loathing
which runs through your veins

He met a girl called Mary Jane
she made his fears become
either ghostly apparitions
or waking nightmares
he didn't prefer one over the other
he knew that there was no difference
He met this girl
the summer before ninth grade
and she showed him a life
full of unseen wonders
the beauty of apathy and laziness
He didn't need anybody else
only that beautiful girl
she made him good,
made him better,
made him calm,
made him him
Dancing beneath a flickering street light
he soaked in the peace of the world
until it rose above him
a shaking mass of bleak nothing
which at least hid the world
of even bleaker negativity
Mary Jane was a good girl
but he had outgrown her sway
he would miss her
but truthfully,
he also
would not

I read some writing advice once
It said "Writing isn't a competition"
well I'm sorry to tell you buddy
but you can go right to hell
because If you're words are published
yeah I'd congratulate you
and then I'd be write at my typewriter
notebook or laptop
sharp scrawling and tic tacs
because I love the bottom rungs
of unpublished writers
throwing their entirety against a brick wall
over and over again until it starts to crack
and fall apart brick by brick
until we see that beautiful view behind it
and everybody who makes it
is just another grain of sand in the hour glass
making me nervous and restless
impatient
so everybody who makes it
is about ten new poems
and I'm not rue if I will make it
but I'm going to try
it's all I've got

I know I didn't treat a lot you right
I'm a closed book with a big bad padlock on it
maybe you could say trust issues
but **** it I love you guys
no ****
(maybe a little)
because no matter where or how I have been
I have had some great people there for me
to keep me walking along that tight rope
without the fear of a body full of broken bones
We climbed hay bales in Drax
and ran away from the farmer in his combine harvester
we let everybody's tires down
and we went to the club and stayed until closing time
until after there were no taxis left
walking four miles home at four in the morning
we had a laugh mate
And to my Yankee friends
The rest of the world may hate you
but I don't
(much)
video games all night
ding **** ditch
homecoming and prom
and smoking cigarettes behind best buy
whole days spent on a couch laughing harder than we were high
the bowl we bought together
aptly named Willem Defoe
Marathon movie nights
post virginity loss high fives
telling me you were proud of me
for how I handled my parents' almost divorce
And I'm a cynical, ******* introvert
and at times I never want to see a human being ever again
but when that feeling fades
you guys are the first people I text

I take coffee with my sugar and milk
I take air with my smoke
I take water with my beer
I take one too many steps towards the edge
falling now
letting go of a life too fogged up to control
**** my phone who needs the apps
friends fuckbuddies and pretentious awful photographs
I don’t think I’ve been awake for the last two years
because this all feels like a dream
and the glove fits no matter how many times
I run it through the drier
nobody ever changes - they only come into their own
I’m trying to get rid of these Russian Nesting Dolls
please oh please like my ******* poems
please oh please stroke my ego
please oh please tell me you aren’t wearing any *******
the blue sky is collapsing on us
and it feels incredible to see heaven brought down to our level
the people on the corner must’ve been right after all
the end is nigh and the devil is white
I look at my reflection as it warps like a crazy carnival
a little less false prophet and a little more anti-christ
I’m just sitting here like
“just be honest dude,
the solution to any writing problem is writing”
and now I’m over there like
“Stay the ******* my lawn”
bitter is an acquired taste
but if I am being honest I couldn’t care less about taste
so long as I get you drunk
so tweet that
put that on your blog
I’m not ready to leave the assembly line gig yet
and neither are you

time keeps on slipping through the seams
as worn out as a pair of work jeans
fade away and stay insane
who can we trust?
all the industries rust
as we stand beneath them
waiting to catch debris
to sell off at pawn shops
for a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread
suns down
so the pradators prowl the town
see how their fangs glint with motor oil
turmoil in the soul the sole reason for this lack of control
deeper we spiral
everybody just wants to go viral like small pox
drive the check through the box
the list of mistakes you still want to make
break through the shake up of rubble
and start some real trouble, burst their bubbles
visible from the hubble teloscope
we **** hope and call it dope
no more sirens in rearview mirrors
pen the next great thriller and bring it into reality
point out their logical fallicies
and make another casualty in the war
of left versus right
north south east and west
and we think one is the best
jesters playing guessing games in the crown’s court
but we always seem to fall short - straying off course
and of course it isn’t fair
we’ve all had our share of heartbreaks
but we claimed a stake of this land
pioneers of the yeah yeah yeah
but we multiply until we all die
leaving seeds on the front lawn
of the dawning of time

you sit there
in that desk chair
or at your table
at the coffee shop
day after day
hour after hour
because it's all you know
past present future
the world outside
is growing bleaker and bleaker
but that's why they made blinds
close yourself in
remove from your life
everything except this
no school
no job
no money
no contact
just you
and a desk
and a head full of things
you don't completely understand
the road isn't always pretty
in fact most of the time
it's down right ugly
and maybe it will do the same to you
but in the end
after all of the flowers wilt
and the tears stop coming
people will talk about you
"**** that boy really went
all the way"

Let’s go trainspotting
or did I mean train hopping?
we’ll pick apples from the trees
out back under dark night skies
when nobody is watching
and we’ll drink water from gas station bathrooms
and coca cola from the glass bottle
Do you think
that before the cell phone towers were erected
people ever sent drunk letters?
Natives on Ayahuasca sending smoke signals
which say heyy!
I was thinking about you
and in the morning do you think they check the embers
and go oh ****
what did I do last night?
the chief is going to give me so much ****
the thing is
the things I say to you
with something in my system
are truer than all of the well calculated
across the room stares and smiles
and at night
while I stand lookout
while you pick apples
maybe I’ll drink some apple cider
and send you a drunk conversation
but when I’m with you
It’s like I’m drunk on puppy love
so you can believe
every text I send you

I was six or seven
I realized the dragonball Z comics I was drawing
needed a story line to make any **** sense
that was the first time
Then I was twelve
writing gangsta rap with my friends
a group of English farm kids
who couldn't be any whiter
That's when I realized who she was
By fourteen I was writing things which resembled stories
only not really
fifteen sixteen seventeen
they were growing stronger
February of my eighteenth year I wrote that first poem
I thought it ******
and it did
but still
people liked it
poem after story after novel attempt after poem after story after...
almost twenty years old
the words are thicker
shorter
harder
but still,
we're not there
but I can't wait until
the days of matrimony bells ringing in empty churches
the day were you give in to my
I do
We'll write our own vows
burn our sacred cows
we'll write a love story
which won't ever be forgotten

I feel it bubbling up inside of me
like bad Mexican food
like that feeling you get
when some unfortunate soul
****** you off
like that feeling you get
when you have a full tank of gas
and an open road ahead of you
spike my veins
and see the beauty which is pumped out
see the filth and **** and hate and love and life and death and desperation and hope
and they boil over
singing the kitchen counter tops
and put the liquid in pill form
to feed to people
who are sure they've lost their minds
let me whisper
what mind?
from the city rooftops
until everybody
runs out into the street
naked
their faces raised to God
looking to be kissed
or cried upon
words can ****
and words can bring life
words are the building blocks of every sky scraper
and every genocide
and every person
and for brief lightning flash moments
I come close to being able to control them
but just for a moment
a moment of control

A mother is a nightlight
a mother is the stinging of alcohol on grazed knees
I know it hurts
but it’s good for you
a mother is the seat belt
which saved you from hurtling towards the street
on forest hill ave and westover hills blv
the scene of the accident
a mother picks you up
and a mother pushes you into the deep end
a mother is four phone calls in a row at eight AM
okay I love you, bye… and one more thing…
A mother is your first happy meal
and your first time using the grown up menu
a mother is kitchens full of the scents which bring us home
no matter how far we might stray from the path
A mother’s love is unconditional
a mother’s love is maddening
a mother’s love is keeping you from going over the edge
and clean sheets
and bike rides to the park
My mother is calling me home
yelling out the living room window into silent earth
urging me to come home for dinner
and I’ve gotta get around to going home soon
because I am hungry
and a mother is your favorite meal
every single day

You stand before me
the opposite of a reflection
you are heads
and I am tails
as beautiful
as I am ugly
as sacredly spoken
as I am blasphemous
the angel
to all of my demons
as electric
as I am static
the spark of passion
locked within my apathy
The only thing I've loved more
than I neglect myself

Give me **** kicking string pickers
give me harmonica headgear
and bluegrass heroines
Give me the Southeastern porch nights
beneath stars which flicker like wind burdened candles
Give me you - swaying lazily to the rhythm of cicadas
toss me to Atlantic shores
the geography of this passion knows no borders
Give me your flaws to toss as skipping stones
the sun outside bears down on us like
infinite overzealous mothers
but the ground is nothing but black ice
slowly melting into midday
by this time tomorrow the trees will dance with life
rainbows spouting from lonely buds clinging to long dead limbs
Give me the picturesque green lawns of academia
reaching out to caress the breeze
Give me overcrowded coffee tables
and long talks about nothing with good friends
Just know - that if you could give me Christmas
I’d spend 12 days writing you 12 thank you notes
each one more genuine than the last
Give me all of this
Give me none of this
either way I will give you
as much of myself as I can

And they were lost
among the TV commercials
and among reality TV
commercially it wasn't perfect
but it raked in enough
she felt out of place
in a world meant for less
he wished she wouldn't
wished she could understand
the need to experience
the others
the hurt
the broken
the lost
they were lost
in the pits
of the Minotaur
unsure of when
their yarn would run out
they were lost
in catacombs
built for great
Egyptian kings
They were lost
just like everybody else

The bohemian youth are dancing with the moon
with the night
pressed firmly on their backs
the wind of a thousand seas
they tick like clocks until the world is broken
down at their feet
all around them they build up their anthills
only to play God with magnifying glasses
taking the train or bus
to broke or bust
with cackles echoing off the graying apartment walls
blowing out clouds of intoxication
into the night sky
just so they could call it art
they are building pianos out of old photo albums
and listening to all the songs
they have heard a million times
and yet still do not know
taking the missing pieces out of
abandoned cable boxes
and talking on phones of
styrofoam cups and string
waiting for the day to become night
to stop all of the nonsensical
jibber jabber
with ironic t shirts they found on the side of the road
shooting city crows from the air with BB guns
and eating greasy sandwich after greasy sandwich
in the early hours of morning
beer and beer and beer and disappointment
no noble cause of nobility
for the wannabe outlaw to hang on to
no titanic monolith of strictures to rebel against
just a pair of worn out sneakers
and an empty compass

there are two types of women
angels and demons
and I'm not sure which one
is my favorite yet.

I don't know which one you are
but you're in that bed
and it gets me thinking
what's the difference

You feed me pretty words
and pearly whites
starlight flashes of your gaze
and oddly enough, belief

so take me in your hands
and steal away in that night
because I've already accepted
that it will happen anyway

crushing on your better state of mind
and the curves beneath those clothes
thrown on so haphazardly
eyelashes tickling my common interests
eyes like the characters in the comics I used to read
have you ever known somebody to hide from sunshine?
You drew little doodles on my forearm
and the scratches and smudges of ballpoint ink
still rest in my flesh’s memory - hazy as all hell -
but still there
these lines don’t stack up much in comparison
to the notes which you emit
my not so secret secret love bird
If I hadn’t lost the key to the cage
I’d shoot you my arrow straight at the sun
to see you spread wings in dazzling flight
watching the children straining their arms to touch you
but you’ve always said I hang around with the wrong kids
and I can’t deny it - but you’ve gotta see that you make that cut
mine were always the stoners and the drop outs
too young to be quite so lost in the big bad city
we pretended to be wolves and went off on our lonesome
I found you there
dire in your attempts to shrug off a world of lesser cares
you said you’d adopted a puppy in wolf’s clothing
so my bark is worse than my bite, so what?
know that I’ll be the annoying neighborhood dog
waking you up every morning at six AM
the dog that you’ll miss when you get the hell out of this town

On the first Friday of every month
the Arts District of Richmond VA
becomes alive at night with the buzz of artists
local artists of almost every medium
galleries which are only open for ten hours a month
suddenly filled with leather shoes
plaid shirts, skinny jeans, beards, and holes in earlobes
they walk around crowding the streets
coaxing families who made the trip from all the way uptown
to listen to the poets and painters and photographers and sculptors
prattle on about what sets them apart
they all clap each other on the back for being so **** original
I’m walking through the parted sepia sea
avoiding gazes of strangers cast in iron
I marvel at their work
which for this one night is the subject of a city
more or less, anyways
we were high on life. We were high off of too much ***
and all of the local talent
high on validation and pretension
the Mormons accosted us
their attempts to save our souls from damnation
really geeked us out
we took their lemonade, but not their word
“Incarceration: the art of captivity”
an installation by some kid who has never seen a shade of true blue
through the lens of his iPhone
if we all believe really hard -
then maybe when the sky opens up
to **** us all into the hungry sky -
all of this art will save us

people seem to forget
that for every "good" person
there is an equal "bad" guy
just like night to day
yet nobody thanks the sinners
they go on,
knowingly corrupted
self sacrificed souls
they challenge the good
to step up and hold them in place
the universe runs off of balance
so for every brilliant man
who killed without heavy heart
who stole, begged, pillaged, lied
I offer up a thousand thank yous
because if it wasn't for you
Jesus would have just been a carpenter
so keep on sinning
and keep on losing

Sunglasses hide me from the hurtful rays
and like a bandit mask conceal my identity
pull the bill of the cap down
until I look like a sleepwalking hobo
and though I'm a regular recognizable face
at that corporate coffee castle
nobody knows my name
Because If I keep them at a distance
then I don't feel as bad
when I do horrible things to them
in my writings
I keep myself anonymous
so that they can show me
their true selves
because nobody expects to be observed
by a sleepwalking hobo

In high school
my friends would ask me
"how do you not care about anything?"
and I would try to say something
a grand piece of witticism like
"100 years from now
nobody will know that I existed
let alone how I did on a ******* spanish quiz"
yeah look at me
Mr. Edgy
care free
careless rebel
but nobody knew
that my greatest anxiety
is that there will be nothing
left of me
after I die

anxious nervous twitching mess
is it hunger?
excitement?
rage?
fear?
You carry around that weight
all day
everyday
when will those legs buckle?
when I'm dead

It's funny but
for all of the times I talk about you
and get all romantic and what not
now that you are here
five minutes away
and I haven't even seen you yet
I don't know what I'm waiting for
maybe it's that perfect movie moment
where we see each other from afar
and run lovingly into each others' arms
or maybe
we were just meant to be
a perfect nothing

"I think I'm done drinking and smoking."
He says to the near empty room
the lights all off and the blinds down.
suicide is easy if you have enough time on your hands
being the devil's plaything isn't all that bad
The left side of his index finger
the right side of his thumb
stained yellow by oral fixation he never quite shook
More of a skeleton than a person
with hands that don't stop shaking
until the liquid sterilizes his soul
"Yeah man,"
...
...
"I think I'm done with all that ****."
he says between **** rips
"Hey,
if you're going to the kitchen,
could you grab me a beer?"

we stopped running sprints a while ago
each 100 yards traded for a pack of smokes
our sweat smells more like gin and *****
than it does hard work
Gave up ball control so we could get higher
Agility for hangovers
the only things we stretch are our wallets

Running with the forward
in a last ditch effort
I fall to the ground
They call it a slide tackle
It's more like an "I give up tackle"
and it hurts more now that you got that drunk tattoo
right on your *** this past 4th
taking shots from the halfway line
because we've taken too many shots to run any farther
and each goal means more
like we fought harder for it
and endurance is all but forgotten when I ran up to my brother
picking him up in the air as our team cheers and pats his back
the final whistle blows
and we are victorious
despite the fact our muscles are so knotted they feel like stone
high on an endorphin rush we shake the losing team's hands
not trying to hide our winners only smile
just because we are no longer athletic
doesn't mean that we forgot about our inner athlete

The angels are calling me home
to churches at night where concrete features
bleed with the blood of artists
who were consumed by their pride
in their search for God:
Hide and seek champion of all time
which is completely relative
I’ve been on this planet since the days where
creatures fled the Jurassic blackness
a pen is just a pen is just a pen is just a gateway
into a mind afflicted with rational thoughts
and freud would say a pen is just a pen
but sometimes a pen is a *****
and that’s the world we live in
I walk the same twelve square blocks of this city
and the police chase me away from
******* on fire hydrants
drunk on the steps of city hall
I bought myself a thick glass of self-esteem
and fed it to my ego
before I threw up all of things we never wanted heard
onto a piece of paper
a hotel bar napkin
which reads I love you
The angels are calling me home
but I falter
because I want my time to fly
so I fly on the wings of dead street birds
and childhood kites
and when it rains it pours
and I collect it in a cup and baptize myself in nature
a poet is a poet is a poet
but I say
a poet is a poet is sometimes a jack ***

I think if April were a person
it would be a young mother
Loving and kind
and sometimes,
kinda ******* nuts
but that's why I love her
I woke up this morning
and overnight
the tree outside of my window
up and decided to get pretty
green foliage
becomes emeralds in the sun
and transluscent

April means birth
and it also means rebirth
April is cleansing
and nourishing
and in my opinion
the best month of them all
but then again
I'm an April baby
so I'm probably
more than a little biased

It’s a contradiction
you want to be free from it so badly
yet your body and brain screams for more
crossed live wires shooting sparks of tragedy
“Taken from us too soon”
that’s something selfish ******* say
ever been exhausted and not been able to sleep?
tag you’re it
and we don’t play that home base safety *******
soak through your sheets
so you can’t cry in public
you know -
a laugh isn’t always a laugh,
and it sometimes tastes like dirt
but they demand a clown to brighten their day
so cheers to the good life

Will I still be fun
Will my friends still hang out with me
Will they understand
Will they judge
????

People like to talk about wasted potential
as if they know a single ******* thing
I have potential
you have potential
****** had potential
we all have potential
it doesn’t mean a thing
see what we need is an inroad
or maybe just a clear exit
and sometimes Cupid isn’t such a hot shot

Will I wake up one day riddled with regret
Will I make it to forty
Will I ever be able to dismount
Will the light ever find me
????

I’m losing my mind
and I think I’m fine with that
set me free of these silly things
make me a cherub gracefully ascending
take me to Valhalla
take me to green lawns swaying in the gentle summer breeze
take me by the hand and sit me down
don’t tell me it’s all going to be okay
tell me that we shouldn’t take villains for granted
Villains are the leading cause of heroism
so I’m hitting liquid courage like she cheated on me
only to miss the point entirely
A cobra’s venom is useless if it’s caught in a trance
we dance to death and the nights never end
we flash neon smiles and slaughter the mirrored image
so go ahead and convince yourself you feel good
keep on telling yourself your genius is misunderstood
there are no geniuses
just people smart enough to realize how little they really know
and I know nothing about everything
so pay me the big bucks
so I can shoot them from my mouth out the window
like I always do

Will this ever end
Will I ever find the answers
Will I love myself
Will I find the power
????

It’s all just a question of will,
right?

Give me poetry.
Life splashed over
Blank page after blank page
Time over lust
Are you ready?

Whether you know it or not
you are armed and dangerous
your voice is far more powerful
than the droning of propaganda
being churned out of the register machine
take a roll call of the injustices
spit in the face of men masked in good intentions
take personal gain and **** it
drag its corpse behind you through ***** and Gomorrah
be the vesuvius ready to blow
the secret which they don’t want us to know
is that we hold far more power than they
we are the future of our universe
and that’s worth more than a luxury lexus
be loud
do not allow silence to fall over you like snow
tainted black with the carcinogenic second hand smoke
of what they would call progress
be politically incorrect
take risks
walk along the edge and create something which brings us closer to the divine
we need your voice
because one voice on its own is easily drowned out
but together we form a thunderous monstrosity
capable of bringing destructive earthquakes
to the temple of the holy dollar worshippers
this life has no goal
no end point
life is not a video game
equipped with linear objectives
graduation completed
move on to the family life dream
drilled into your head with vicious screams
of all of those who dared leave the pack and path
and fell short
mutilated by forced silence
they tell you
you are free to do exactly what we tell you
I say
they are only as free to destroy
as we allow them
do not mock the solitary raised fist
we all have fists
brothers and sisters clinging to each other
against an unholy rip tide
you are right
even when you are wrong
Life is a blank canvas
filled with wonders and walking waking nightmares
life is simply just
whatever you choose to make of it
will you survive through fear and cowardly silence
or will your voice rise above the rest
a blinding phoenix which dares to contest the sun
for the center of the universe?

I could get into the whole
an artist says a hard thing in a simple way
but that doesn't seem to be the case
if I have to see one more black and white photo
of an empty playground
I'll burn every camera store to the ground
and if I hear anymore about how pained your soul is
I might just shoot myself
artsy fartsy
silly *****
these words come willingly
but truth be told
I'd rather read the ingredients on my shampoo bottle

My first rejection Email arrived today
during a rainy day at work
My phone vibrated once in my pocket
We are sorry to inform you
due to an influx of submissions
we will not be publishing your piece
we wish you luck in your future writing endeavors
the staff
of course,
me being me,
my first reaction was to be *******
a child not allowed that really sweet action figure
because
"We need food"
but after stewing on it a while
I realized
I need this
because it's not success which defines us
a lucky guy can succeed
it's how we respond to defeats
the big ones
the small ones
the oh my god why don't I just quit
failures
that they'll write in the book of judgement
long after we are just dust
trapped inside of a coffin

She walked in from the street
windswept,
she had come close to breaking
everything in the outside
weighing down upon her
with every passing second
expectations
clashing
with reality
leaving her cracked
and those cracks told her story
with no falsity
it was plain and simple
and he traced the cracks
with his own yellowed fingers
smiling at her
enjoying the tale
enjoying her
not wanting to save her
or fix her
just wanting to keep her
keep her
as she is

A night is only as meaningful
as the stars which surround the moon
in a room full of beating hearts -
isn't it funny how just one rhythm
can sync with you so completely?
"She just gets me"
How every once in a while
you see that face,
a customer at work, a stranger passing by,
which lets you know
that things could be better tomorrow
that makes today not such a lost cause
They call it love at first sight
but I think it's more like
we are all pieces of the great cosmic jigsaw puzzle
wandering around - lost
looking for the people
which bring us closer
to being whole