As children we played pretend in the playground
I shot you
you're dead, you're supposed to fall down
back when we were kids
when *** heads were junkies
drunks a sloppy mess of ugly
and the only cigarettes we put in our mouths were candy
we used to ding **** ditch the entire neighborhood for ***** and giggles
and hangout just to talk
now we raise dabs of felony hash oil washed down with rubbing alcohol, cancer, and razor blades
the clocks melted before we could reset the hands
and all of the tools we need have been turned into resin covered smoking apparatuses anyway
walking city streets alone wasted in the witching hour
praying some crazed *** pulls a blade
so we can at least die in a fight

I know that the ego is dangerous
everybody sends out warnings for me to **** it
but **** it man, I love that side of me
the side that needs validation from drunk strangers
who take me to their home in the early hours of whatever day it is
or the laughter from a good joke at work
likes and views and comments on these poems
yeah ego is dangerous
but I'll be ****** if it isn't fun

I see them walking down streets with names like
old buckingham
old gun road
westchester common street
robious
hugenaut
broad
grace frankling main cary
carry the weight of a group of ****** up **** ups
trying to "make a difference"
delusional *******
difference is made from killing a status quo
and their hands shake like childrens'
take a stake in the mental quake of the plasticity of the fake looking for mates
I'm tumbling down sure fall peak
free fall
until falling free is forgotten as a quest
childe roland to the dark tower came
yeah I went to college for a little bit there
broke out when I broke out of a sane frame of mind
swallow the sludge created by incontinent consumerists
snakes on trees make better friends than invisible fathers
but get these depressed lunatics out of my sight
feeling a fight bubbling up
complaints are for the complacent
so I don't see you
fear or hear no evil
evil makes good possible
using my vice versa as my vice
quoting bible quotes verbatim
I don't ft right
jigsaw piece chewed up by toddlers
jam me into place
and cover me in duct tape to silence the protests

Let's get drunk
not later
I mean right now
let's drink so much
that we wake up hungover
or better yet,
still drunk,
let's get so drunk
that we don't recognize where we wake up
let's get so drunk
that we do really dumb ****
tell people things we shouldn't,
sleep with people we shouldn't
let's get so drunk
that the next morning
the mistakes we made
make our life significantly worse
let's get drunk
because it's better than being sober

no matter how liberal we think we are
how open minded and free spirited
we can only tolerate change to a certain point
because change is the calm before the unknown
or rather the chaos before the storm
you get the picture, anyway,
and we become so attached to our lives
and our friends
and our families
But people are not statues
they change like the landscape around us
they drift away
lose faith
or find a well of strength
that wasn't there before
They change like our lives
and it will always be inevitable
and yeah maybe change can bring ****** times
simply tests that we have to take
but maybe it will bring adventure
friendships
wisdom
knowledge
purpose
or love
and either way,
we have to take it as it comes
and be willing to let go
of whats already gone

What slice of heaven
Fell down from pie skies
To fall in our laps?
Oh,
Wouldn't you know
It's a full life

Drinking whiskey neat
ends up with sloppy drunk
sloppy moments
splashed out across our history
like paint brush splatters
everybody is high
because they are so low
and the room starts spinning
and spinning                     and spinning
  and spinning        and spinning
         and spinning
until
everythingblursintoeverything
and the night doesn't end with a bang
or a whimper
but with a jump cut
to a hung over next morning
like life is a movie

It is spring time
everything new
everything so fresh
so young
It is spring time
and we go off into the world
bright eyed
and alive to the cosmic mystery
skinned knees
and bruises
a black and blue childhood
which sounds of laughter
silly games
and we knew
that we were up to no good
but nobody ever told us to do good
the sun catches the dust
which is expunged
by our bicycles
exposed
globs of ice cream
fall off the cone
mutilated on the pier
tears shared
with countless others
before us
but we were still pure
children in the spring time
a smile on our lips
and the unknown in our eyes

It is summer
awoken in the pleasant morning
when the early sun
peered through the blinds
passion and sweat
and the knowledge of change
like fire flies
we try our best
to capture time in a jar
never realizing
that it was dead
phosphorescent smiles
which don't beam
quite so brightly
in the throes of our
adolescence
the sun is hot
and we are burned
for climbing too high
clipped angel wings

It is fall
and nothing could be so
appropriate
without our knowledge
we fell for the trap
a hole
seemingly endless
rushes past us
blind and screaming
after a while
the sensation dulls
and falling is just a part
of everyday life
but we always remember the sun
and always resent the blackness

It is winter
tendrils of cold mist
snake around our bones
tightening until they crack
we shrink down to the size of children
and gravity pulls us down
a lifetime of contemplation
has revealed
a lifetime wasted
but our eyes are dry
tears like icicles
we drive them into our eyes
we wish to see no more
we are in a cave
low light dies against the walls
and it is cold in here
but we will never get out now
at least not until next spring
when the ice melts
and it all starts over again

The sun hides behind the clouds
but I see feet beneath those curtains
on a Sunday a girl with short hair and lesbianism smiles at me
You shouldn't mix plaid with stripes
that's like fashion 101
so I walked down the street
buttoning my plaid shirt up
when I fell down a  man hole
and a mole man said to me
you shouldn't buy those Adidas shoes
they treat the workers horribly
so I took them off
and cut my naked feet on rust ladder rungs
I went to the top floor
they told my I shouldn't wear my jeans so creased
they scoffed at the words denim
so I took my pants off and made them into a sail
I went to the mirror
and it told me I should fit a size bigger
and that I should probably work out some more
I tore muscular and skeleton systems from the pages of biology text books
and used it for kindling
to warm my cold shoulders

You were trying to cover your footprints in the sand
and only ended up leaving more
a spiral of your perfectionism
look over there -
over the beach houses on stilts
and the fauna - scrap metal bushes and dry, lonely trees -
see how the sun’s kiss sets the sky on fire?
the water is licking our heels with an icy, arctic tongue
we could walk westwards until our silhouettes are vaporized
but the sand is relaxed and this beach is empty
the acoustic guitar is talking in its sleep
ADD children are doing backflips in the backyard

Night crashes and crashes and recedes into the horizon
we climbed atop one another with visions of lunar satisfaction
time slows down and each drop of condensation on the window
contains the secrets of this muggy southeastern air
the strangers are encroaching too thick to think
warped monstrous faces ripe with desire
we couldn’t answer the questions so we burned the test
tinder to our fire so we could ward off the predators for another night
but the ground is growing smaller day by day

Mr. Demon do not deviate from this round of double dutch
my shoelaces are tied together
and I am hopelessly drunk off of your ideas on romance
that mix of sunscreen, sweat, perfume, and your breath
as my fingers prune
we mistook the blinking jet engine for morse code from the stars
once the clouds part we will have an escape route
taking flight with the startled panic of street birds
the earth will shake, the seas boil over, and the clouds will applaud
with wings made of coat hangers, brown paper bags, and masking tape
we will arr through the sky
like fireworks

Brain cells fading into haze
the sky is all topsy-turvy
we were walking through the stars
with our heads swollen to the size
of planets
we drank the leftover nectar of Olympus
and our strides brought tears to the eyes wilted flowers
the moon reflected from the broken forty ounce
told stories older than darkness
and we ate that **** up
with brown and amber and green
and street lamps bled crimson eternal
the four of us in an old hippie van
those were the days
when the plastic bottle was a key
and our face the beaten path
that I walked in rural childhood daydreams
simplicity is beauty is art is pretension
we spoke of sliding into Alice’s Wonderland
love is scary but ******* feels as good
as getting away with fake sick days
so we dressed like magazines and music videos
and lived like spotlight
until all of the wool knit scarves unraveled
and all the old wounds scabbed over

It's rare you'll find me in my home town
straw in mouth
**** on shoes
i'm a country boy loving this acid washed city life of "Ima get what's mine"
but don't call me bumpkin
while I'm sitting out on a back porch
jameson and RJ Reynolds
I have a tendency to spout off words like an unattended hydrant on a ghetto summer day
not all of them make sense
not all of them are in good taste
or right
but whether it be suburban Midlothian
farming village Drax
or downtown Richmond
I find my home on page
beneath the low chattering of keys
scratching of pens
Each word you never had the heart to say
is my place of residence

logos,
cattle brands,
what's the difference?
the difference is we pay for logos.

driving blindly down the turnpike
four guys packed in the back three seats
the two lovely ladies up front
driving,
through the complete blackness
the warm ocean that is the Virginian summer night sky
they were high
and drunk
not the driver
but she still drove like a maniac
taking bends in the road
feeling the pull of their momentum
it would have been a pretty way to die

three days earlier
six young men
sit on the shore
of a picturesque canal
which ran parallel to the James
drinking cheap beer out of a cooler
and taking rips from endless shattered bongs
they swam across to the other side
running and jumping among the rocks and trees
just like they were kids again
when the sun set
and the city put on her make up
they were drunk
and they drove home after some time
speeding through the neon lights
of the wrong part of time

twenty years in the future
a man sits in a leather arm chair
nursing a neat bourbon,
he is tired,
he burns with an ice cold longing
for the days
when kids could be kids
driving blindly down turnpikes
drunk and high at the river
bending through the city like fugitives
before the bitterness
before he was so ****** tired

you took the words of wise men on a whim
dug yourself out a nice shiny foxhole
to shelter from the ricochets of words best left unsaid
but your maw aches
and those wise words
fall fat and useless
so ******* anyways
I'll find my own wisdom
I'll be laughing in kingdoms of never more
once I find the right word

Somewhere along the line
I lost control of the handle bars
It probably has something to do
with my Parents getting divorced
so even my problems
are teenage cliches
so i try my best not to come across
as some angsty kid
who posts angsty poems
about all of their angst,
so I bottle it up
behind a lock and key mouth
but It always seeps out
in a look I give a stranger
when I feel as If I need to move
at 1 million miles an hour
but my feet are cemented to ground

I never decided to write poems
to be perfectly honest
I always thought of poetry
as being for girls
ignorant?
yes,
but I never claimed to know jack
about anything
but I picked up a pen
hoping to sew the pieces of my broken heart together
and that first poem just wrote itself
it was like something out of this world
like crazies who babble in tongues at church
I loved it
but It isn't enough
I'm bombing down a steep hill
on a beat up ten speed
screaming in terror
screaming in excitement
"Look Ma, no hands"

I need to start driving with a tape recorder
with the words of artists bathing me in contemplation
some living, some unfortunately fortunate to be gone
like some twisted Robbin  Hood of poetry
I eat their words, letting them fill me up,
and then photographic flashes of images
come tumbling out of me
Is there such a thing as freestyle poetry battles?
because for every poem I write
I lose twenty or so to the dead smoke filled air
my mouth forming shapes and vocal vibrations
create a stream of sacred sacrilegious words
and I speak them out to the God of all scribblers
like a possessed religious experience
touching the pure face of the divine
I only mourn my lost poems

I am a lover
not a fighter
a writer
but not a typer
although I type what I write
on occasion
and I fight what I love
almost all the time
if opposites attract
then love is just
one big beautiful contradiction
a clashing of ideals
and I fight for what I love
on occasion
sorry but its like i said
I've never been much of a fighter
but I do fight
every single day
to find a love worth fighting for
and to type something
worth writing about

She was everything he was not
He was everything she wanted
She was a nervous wreck
he was too, but in denial
She wanted to save him
from not wanting to be saved
He wanted to protect her
from whatever might come
they were young
and yes,
they were stupid too
just like everybody else
She went away
He stayed a hometown boy
who wasn't at home
She could sing
He could listen
she was a wild child
looking for a port to settle
he was a nice guy
looking for something
not so nice
children of divorce
kindled a feeling of
let's make this work no matter what
and maybe it won't
they don't seem to care
too many romcoms
and too many chipped shoulders
all they wanted
was to write
their own love story

I just want to be honest
to not have to create
characters
settings
scenarios
walls which can never be scaled
I just want to be me
but it's hard sometime
not on good terms
with father time
and it feels like
I'm never moving fast enough
and not moving forward enough
I learned about naturalism
in tenth grade honors English
but it wasn't until
I saw my friends
the people I love
and faces i will never
get to remember
fall into the trap
and I always swore
never you Harry
you're stronger than that
but it seems that
my only strength
sn self-deception
and acceptance
My lungs swell
and I let out a ****** scream
but no sound comes out
deep in a thick ocean trench
and I never learned how to swim
But i think I'm getting stronger
I can't beat time in a foot race
But I'm going to make it work
for this victory
my journey means
becoming the person
I always knew I could be
at 12 years old
untouched and pure
I said hello to poetry
and she presented herself to me
a grand canyon
overflowing with truth
and therapeutic readings
whatever might happen to me
I tell myself every morning
You are going to make it

Make me famous
take my name and stake it in the ground
call me your savior
a blazing stranger
ranger of your unsaid thoughts
make me famous
give me the limelight
and kiss my picture each night
before you fall to sleep
only so you can dream of me
let me tell you how to be
how to live
how to give me your attention
while all the kids sitting in detention
quote my ****
make me famous
I’ll sell your shoes
I’ll be the brand logo of your clothing line
I’ll be the most loco average Joe shmo
to ever come winking across your television set
my Mind set is set in its ways
ready set go
and let the words flow poetic
so all the people can worship me: Pathetic
Make me famous
so I can reach apathetic kids
and convince them that I have all the answers they need
and for a small fee -
a tithe of everything you are -
I can teach you things you never knew you needed to know
while I drive my flashy, new car
I’ll crash it on the strip
flip a few bills to some cops
before blowing my intake at the *******
I’ll sell you a page of happiness for your soul
the sole survivor of a time the history books burned
my life takes a turn towards neon tribute
while I look for something a little stronger to shoot
If I were a little younger I’d probably be knocking on your front door
after your loot
looting words from the thin air and ****** them
making them state the statements that I hold dear
just so I can have your ear for a few minutes
and I’ll never be finished
long after my body is dead and gone
my name will be spoken in hushed tones
by young poets, scribblers, and thinkers
across the plains of save us
once they make me famous

Get drunk
Or high
Work out
Apathy
Hypersensitivity
Violence
Witty
Fathoms deep
Feel the swell of a universe
So full of life
It all repeats
Make the canvas
Something beautiful

The boy was alone
alone while surrounded
by the phantoms of what was,
a torturous lonesomeness
which hardened him
what was once warm and vibrant
was slowly cooling
like the Earth
after the cosmic soup of the big bang
He wasn't quite ready for it
to be tossed into the pit
of living and breathing
he never asked for it
but he knew he had to be tough
stiff lipped
deadly,
so he quelled the complaints
tucked them down in his heart
which had adopted the pace
of war machines
his view had shifted
a world once of wonder
was now infuriating
he wanted to end it
one great final bang
to end all bangs
so that he might be left
to whimper
to be warm again
to miss everything
he had just sent
flaming into oblivion
he was on the reaper's path
a dead man walking

Redemption came forth
and hit him
like a moment of adolescent embarrassment
it wasn't the girl herself
rather,
what she stood for
in his eyes
she was afflicted by the same world as he
and yet she found ways to dance
and sing
and love
he admired that most,
little by little
she coaxed him forward
back from beyond the brink
of primordial passions
back from beyond the tipping point
between helping and hurting,
slowly his anger changed
from something bitter and lifeless
into a fiery explosion
splitting the night sky
a second sun
she showed him how to shape it,
direct it,
sharpen it,
she showed him
how his aim may stay true,
and she made him deadlier
because she gave him a purpose
and a target,
somewhere to go.
And before long
he could remember
what it was like
to still have innocence
his rage simmered down
and became healthy passion
healing and assuring
no longer a sword
but a shield
and he had the notion
that maybe one day
this creature from on high
could even allow him
not to just give love
but to accept it
which was the greatest
gift of all

life is a marathon
it isn't easy
it isn't graceful
it isn't pretty
times will come which are so dark
even the sunniest of days feels cold
evil men sow their sins from the shadows
and it stops you in your tracks
like hitting a runner's wall
breathless stinging lungs
scream out against the lack of oxygen
like silent voices mourning a waking nightmare
but even from under the umbra
we might find something
worth redeeming
a helping hand offering us some much needed hydration
or friendly words of encouragement from strangers
life is a marathon
and we can't allow the runner's wall
to stop us from moving forward
for the sakes of our brothers and sisters
who didn't get their fair chance
to cross the finish line

Dear girl who works the security desk at my friend's dorm,
blonde hair or purple, you get me going
and I'm impatient
i don't go in for the dating game
so wouldya do me the service
of maybe
possibly
marrying me
me you and the blonde barista would be happy together
until death do us part

Me David and Jake
Jake's guest room
and an Iron Maiden CD
"You've gotta here this David"
"It's going to change your world"
"Whatever Martinez"
It was like that
I always carried my Mexican heritage around
a suitcase filled with stereotypes
I put the CD on
and the music pumped through me
so powerful
so raw
so real
everything everything is not
Even David was hooked
It was music to destroy by
to destroy everything they made
that they thought was so pretty
so perfect
so permanent
It wasn't long before we advanced
to heavier metals
and before long
me and Jake
were burning bibles
and turning my parents's
crucifixes upside down
a society based upon
spitting in societies face
what's not to love?

A purple light bulb
a purple light bulb
It doesn't sound like much
but it changed that room
from a suburban neighborhood bedroom
into a dungeon
Black metal was pouring out of the speaker
an old vinyl set up
which sounded real raw
and a purple ******* light bulb
Jake's bedroom
a shrine to the deities of rock
we mix and matched
pain killers and anxiety pills
and achieved lift off
screaming our stories
from the dark side of the moon

I'm a *******
I guess
but i always thought of me
as a human canvas
your blank slate
do I like the pain?
I've always had a high tolerance
but do I like it?
I guess not
but when it boils down to it
I'm happy
to be your punching bag
the dead air
which you fill with songs
older than time
these scars
are an ode
to your life
a beautiful poem
even the ones
which you can't see
I'm more like a billboard
than a man
but my ad space
will always be reserved
for you

She had wine colored lips
probably because she was drunk off of wine
her eyes were the color of tears
but she had just been crying
she looked good, **** good
but then again, I was drunk and on a dry streak
whatever, it’s valentines night
and I don’t think she has ever even heard of self-esteem
plus, it’s too dark in here to really see anybody
amorphous shadows trying desperately to get laid
it’s all fun and games until it isn’t
but that’s tomorrow morning
and for now -
consequences do not exist
I was watching the TV
so I could find out which ****
the worthless **** of the week
was sitting on
you know,
conversation topics
she was watching the rain wash away the snow
you know,
wishful thinking

Look at this guy
what is he even doing
He has been walking laps
around the mall
all ******* day
There are some real freaks
out in the world, I swear
Me and David
In our favorite spot
a model gazebo
In the Sears
We people watch
or shoot the ****
just hanging out

"The universe is infinite,
think about how small that makes us,
doesn't that freak you out,
to know we don't matter,
to know we're insignificant?"
David looked calm
that lazy *******
always so **** calm
here I am
telling this guy
that his whole life
is worth less than a grain of sand
and he looks like
I told him American Idol was on

"So?"
"So what?"
"Scary, right?"
"Comforting maybe"
"It means a hell of a lot less
responsibility"
This guy
I could tell
That he wasn't
going to amount to anything
not me though
People would remember me

******* summer
the pollen drives me nuts
I've always had awful allergies
and today my eyes are streaming
But the sun will go down soon
and they seem to get better at night
besides, David is here
so Is my older sister
and her twenty-one year old boyfriend
I've never done it before
but David said it's a blast
and I'll get used to the taste
but not the hangovers

The moon reigned supreme
and we came out to play
clear liquid
ripped down my throat
like a shotgun blast
which tasted remotely of watermelon
and a lot like skinned knees and cuts
I've never done this before?
where have I been
and why won't my arms
do as I tell them
who cares?
for once not me
I think we are going to become
very fast friends

Boy meets girl
girl acts coy
boy acts distant
they dance around each other
playing their games
playing their songs
their music
she would sing the songs
he would write the words
boy and girl become friends
they hang out
acting always as if they don't want
anything more from the other
to want another is viewed as weakness
and they both want to appear strong
so they don't worry anybody
so they don't attract the predators
like moths with faces on their wings
they just want protection
until they can take flight

Years pass
they're fairly close
years pass and they're still on the same level
alcohol is introduced
and they have brief moments
flaring out in the mess of time
where they catch a glimpse of what they want
a long hug
walking back with his arm around her shoulders
dancing in a dark basement
He's a coward at heart
hidden beneath steel plated armor
she's a cocoon
waiting to become a butterfly
maybe one day they'll get it together
maybe one day

Buy yourself a masochistic combo meal
for the loose change and buttons in your pocket
the fish are thirsty
and the dogs won’t stop barking
I’ve got this itch and It’s just out of reach
would you mind?
I fell in love with your nightmares
and stole glances of you through the rain drops
string theory seamstress
running wild with jungle cats
you’ve got a little me in your teeth
white supremacist **** heads live ten blocks away
but they mostly stick to themselves
do you feel the paranoia closing in?
the sun sets behind a skyline made of fire
all of the fire hydrants in the world wouldn’t be enough
to sooth these burns
nothing makes sense anymore
so let’s just say **** the world and be done with it all
I’d rather walk down aimless avenue
than check into the jaws of life motel
for every drop swallowed
there are three of four dead children
we don’t take them for granted anymore
because we know they’re waiting for us
waiting to catch us when we inevitably fall

Sunglasses stolen from Wingz in Duck, NC
a $15 thrift shop suit - just in case
the car is used
and the cashiers at the GoodWill down the street all know his face
bagged eyes
morning after hair
in need of a shower and a smile

He just bought a $200 laptop
now he masturbates in style
shoving Lenovo 2in1's and iPad's up their ***
please sir - may I have some more
status symbols symbolic of castes
and he hides among the untouchables
but this **** is loud
and I don't drink ***** unless P Diddy made it
Memento Mori
when we die -
we'll leave behind remnants of our false idol

Jesus is pounding on the bathroom door
“Hurry the **** up dude, I need to go.”
I tell Jesus to stop being a little *****
as I hold the door open for him - smirking
Jesus goes in there
and I can tell he really had to go
by the thunderous sound
of a waterfall battering the earth,
and the smell of holy water -
Jesus must be pretty well hung
He emerges and walks over to the coffee table
beginning to pack small pinches of ****
into the **** which we hide behind the sofa
and it ***** getting high with Jesus
just one self-righteous rant after another
and the old stigmata story
yaddahyaddahyaddah
but Jesus knows a Puerto Rican
by the name of C C
who gets some of the best stuff around
and me and Jesus - we smoke
and Jesus runs the tap in the sink
changing it all into wine
and we drink his blood
until our lips are stained and our voices loud
“It’s a real ****** having had to die for your sins, y’know?
because it seems that you all live for your sins.”
He says as he fishes a twenty out of his beard
and gives C C a call

I've always admired the people
who can stand behind a microphone
and reach an audience of people
these rock stars
these ego killers
preachers
teachers
they don't beat around the burning bush
and stroll down the mountain with their own ten commandments
while we waste so much life
trying to build the perfect identity
fake it till you make it
but these people -
they wear themselves like a name tag
they don't wake up hungover
in a pair of **** stained jeans

they walk among us
they are always in
the same places
seeing the same people
mixing words
with barely anybody
they seem as if they
are robotic sentinels
just going through
task after task
to us
the masses
little do we know
that while his body is here
his mind isn't
it's in a strange dark place
the only lights
are neon confusions
which flicker in epileptic patterns
they hide their mind
from the real world
so that their precious
vessel of transport
doesn't become completely destroyed
it's the difference
between 2 or 3 forty ounces of malt liquor
it's the difference between
one and two packs a day
the difference between
*** head and coke head
they aren't really mindless
they're just mentally misplaced

You are getting nosebleeds at all the wrong times
the tears welling up behind your eyes to track down  your
pale, pockmarked cheek
and that bulging in your throat constricting the airflow
let’s you know that fast can be too fast
you thrive with the sunlight
but like flowers standing tall against the oncoming winter
you wilt with day’s last breath
what time did you get home this morning?
hair all matted and stood up
smelling like a sorority party massacre
glitter, wine, tequila, coke, and anonymous ****
take another adderall
******* for the bored children
feel the electrical signals pulse from your brain
to snap your pupils to attention
wash the ***** out of your hair sweet heart
the boys back home never talked to you the way these city boys do
“girl, *****, chick, ****, ***** -”
“oh her? yeah she’s a sure ****
her legs are like seven eleven
they’re not always doing business, but they’re always open…”
So forget the night ever happened
each day brings new opportunities
but they all want you
they all want one thing from you
and you don’t want to say no
don’t want to make them mad,
be a tease, a *****, frigid
and you like the way they make you feel special and beautiful
until the next morning
with the nosebleeds and the dry heaving in strange toilets
and you are waiting for Prince Charming, huh?
as if he will jump out of cheesy romcoms and magazines to hold you steady
well Prince charming is dead weight slowly spinning beneath a frayed, twisted rope
in a dark closet next to the nameless stranger and the noble outlaw
so go ahead and smash those mirrors sweetheart
what’s seven years more bad luck?

the beast from the land
the beast from the sea
a false prophet
an antichrist
do they walk among us?
I'm no longer scared by ghouls, ghosts, or goblins
no longer do I fear the axe ****** or serial killer or ******
it's the supposedly good, god fearing, men of family that I fear
I fear the man who would see us enslaved for his profit margin to become slightly more pleasing
I fear the man who stands idly by supporting the massacre of the poor and innocent
so he can walk atop their corpses to pluck the apple from the tree of good and evil
these monsters aren't under the bed
they're not in the closet
they sit in breezy air conditioned office penthouses in the places were trouble doesn't mean the same thing as it does to us
keep your lanterns close children
and not just for tonight
don't talk to strangers
but certainly don't talk to men and women in nice suits who say they have your best interests at heart
these pigs have no hearts
all they have is hunger

Mr. Invincible
Mr. Unkillable
Mr. just walks away
I wish I knew the exact percent
of how close I came to death
or how close I came to ******
it seems as if
there is a God out there somewhere
who had different plans for me
The EMT's were shocked
by how little was wrong with me
and I signed the refusal form
and walked back out into the night
Mr. Invincible
but for how long?

Oh Mr. Orwell
why did you have to write
that book
you know, the 1984 one,
the depressing one,
because you exposed them
and they knew you had
so Big Brother was taken
back to the drawing board
and they started from scratch
It was the best trick in the world
Instead of watching us
we watch him
instead of thought police
they just steal our thoughts
there is still a box in every home
and it shows episodes
of two and a half men
or the sucker free countdown
and jersey shore
I mean Jesus
they even managed
to trivialize reality
Oh Mr. Orwell
couldn't you have just
lived long enough
to topple this tower block
of spiritual silence

Mr. *******,
Mr. Oh here comes another pretentious cry for attention
I know self-deprecation babydoll
like you know his bedroom ceiling
Mr. International
jetted out from UK to the land of the silent heroes
where the grass isn’t green enough
and everybody was seemingly either
addicted to donuts, bacon, and cheese
or 5K’s, yoga, and weights
they don’t sell **** by the ten pack either
Mr. Liar Liar pants on fire
masochistic almost autistic
Mr. High or Drunk
Caffeinated thrift shop hipster
loves the girls until he has them
scrooge McDuck
I do believe misanthrope is the word
but always first to crack the whip of jokes in bad taste
if he were homeless he’d hang a sign around his neck
it would read:
Will somebody, for the love of God, please Validate me!?!
Mr. Rational thought secretly praying in the back room
Mr. Intellectual Dropout
don’t judge me judger
Mr. I’m brave for doing this
Jesus I am terrified
Mr. I could be great
if I could just find a ******* desk chair comfy enough

Literal thinker
an analytic mind
this translates into an over-thinker
thinking that the small details that make this world
are all connecting and all crashing down among us
every potential gear slip
twisted metal in a field of flames
the no's spoken
the fists thrown
the off switch is gone. lost. broken.
living life is an instinct
a reaction
not a thought process
but some voices are hard to silence

They'd tell you to worship
the mannequins which march mechanically
like marionettes making their way
towards the main stage
But you've always been able to tell
Gods from false Idols
you fill these empty halls
with your electric electives
while I watch you
chase away the pigeons
just to see them fly
you said to me once
you're too boring
who wants to be bored?
this creature of habit
habitually picking up bad habits
like you.
I lay in bed all morning
writing my poems
I am a raconteur
you live the words
my hopeless anti-heroine
protagonist
antagonizing the ink from this pen
and no matter what happens
I'm happy to have had
my brief moment of observation

Matt says *******
Jake says **** that
David says **** me
Sarah says don't say ****
Mia says what the ****?

These are my children
the people I created
and I am their God
punishing and testing them from behind the scenes
they don't know how much it hurts me to hurt them
but that doesn't stop me
my little children
all trying to find their path
trying to grow into fine young adults
if only they could see the end I have in store for them
Are you still a martyr if nobody cares?

My Uncle Dec
was really a ***** old man
and I loved him for it
Overweight, but you'd better believe
he ate whatever the hell he wanted
bad liver bad kidneys
but he really loved drinking
almost as much as he loved the horse racing
putting pennies on the ponies
and it didn't matter if he won
he just liked going to the ******'s
a lover of beautiful women
but a loving faithful husband
He died in the shower
and I was sad at first
but I realized he loved his life

Without question
my favorite instrument
would have to be my
electronic Brother typewriter
The chattering of the keys
and the punching of letters
become the melody
of whatever I'm feeling
whether it comes
fast and furious
or slow and pensive
it always knows
what I'm trying to say
and don't get me wrong
I love a good six string
and ivory and ebony keys
may equate to beauty
but they don't compare
to my instrument
It's ancestors graced
by some of the greatest players
to walk this earth
complete with a handle
so that I never have to leave it behind
to me,
there is no music sweeter
than the stories which erupt
from my favorite instrument

Animus,
(Noun):
purpose,
intention,
animating spirit,
mind,
courage,
passion,
wrath,
living rather than simply being alive,
it's my favorite word

We were at the lofts
drinking beer and gin and whiskey
while the snow piled up against us outside
played some fifa
lost a few games of fifa
whatever I was drunk
Oh is it seriously almost three
okay me and Hayden have to go
It went bro grab bro grab
bro’s girlfriend hug
and oh look, there’s my gay friend
hug him goodbye
oh, his hands are on my face
oh, he’s kissing my face now
was that Saliva?
Oh Jesus
break away, make a quick exit
see you guys tomorrow or something
feeling like a ******* for feeling like it was ****** up for him to kiss me
am I a *** now?
**** I hope not
I like girls too much
but why did he do that?
everything was so great
he knows I’m not gay
and that I don’t care
but do I care?
the memory of unwanted saliva echoes in my head
I guess sometimes
your gay friend will give you a drunken peck on the cheek
I guess that sometimes
you have to not be such a close minded jack ***
and just deal with it

My hometown
is a place
of rustic beauty
and simple people
a population
under 200
meant that
everybody knew everybody
farmer Neville
and his sheep
always on the loose
and the quiz night
at the pub
just another excuse
to get drunker and drunker
and the private boarding school
which I attended
so rich with false academia
we learned the lessons
which would prepare us
for the false prophets yet to come
and the public school
and their ***** uniforms
where I found my friends
friends who at this point
have arrest records
ranging from assault
to petty larceny
and criminally wasted potential
oh how I miss that town
even now,
because despite the racism
and xenophobia
which infest my kinsmen
I still have to believe
that things can get better
that life there
can match the beauty
of North Yorkshire farm lands
and woodlands
and friendly knowing smiles
My hometown isn't perfect
and I wouldn't have it
any other way