Sitting on the banks of the muddy Mississippi staring toward the Illinois side we yelled at barges for hours. Not a care in the world, except the beer that was getting warm in our backpack. As Lewis and Clark stared back at us we knew we were the social obscurity.

Sitting on the banks of the muddy Mississippi higher than **** on acid, we knew our summer was coming to and end. Not a care in the world except the depleted ***** and the music’s fading battery. As we wondered the small town, we knew we were the social obscurity.

Sitting on the banks of the muddy Mississippi, up all night yelling at the moon, we knew our friendship would last forever. Not a care in world except the night was ending and the morning beginning. As we fell asleep in the morning light, we knew we were the social obscurity.

Sitting on the banks of the muddy Mississippi we stared back at the arch. We knew the Venice Café would be closing soon. Not a care in the world except the heat of the mid-west summer night. As ****** in the river, we knew we were the social obscurity.

There are times when I walk
There are time when I run
There are times when I sleep
There are times when I rest
There are times when I am resilient
There times when im vulnerable
There are times when I am anxious
There are times when I am solid
There are times when I am falling apart
There are times when I am put together
There are times when I have no idea
There are times when I think I have an idea
There are times when I feel useless
There are times when I feel on top of the world
There are times when I feel damaged
There are times when I understand my damage
There are times when I think “what the **** am I doing”
There are times when I think “I’m ok. I’m doing it right”
There are times when I think “****! What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
There are times when I think “Who cares?”
There are times when I think  
There are times when I think
There are times when I think

- J.D. Maxwell

Yes, I want to go back to San Francisco
A place where my Skeletons wont tag along.
Tirelessly wondering
I've been up for days
Again with these wine stained cracked lips
My spirit is driven by caffeine
Here I am again in mindless wondering
I attempt to grasp on to a miracle
My hopeless romanticized vision of romance pathetically lingers
Back here in San Francisco
A place where I feel like I belong
Back here in San Francisco
This time my skeletons tagged along

I took the train had a good trip on my way back i met a woman but i drank too much and threw up straight whiskey.

How's that for shitz & giz? HA!

When the wind gets tired my body aches
I feel with so much compassion i feel nothing
i am tired
i feel to the wind
and the wind blows me null
i want to create but the wind blows me tired
i die in the wind
i die in the cross fire
i feel so much that i dull myself
walking tired i try to run
those old dusty friends
the wind blows me in

the wind blows ******* the steep dusty stairs
the deep dusty stairs make me tired with old blown dust
the old blow dust lingers in the stairwells
the stairwells haunt me
the new stairs excite me
let me go up the new stairs
say goodbye to the old ones

i feel. i feel so hard
i feel so hard i feel nothing anymore
i die in my footsteps
but i live in the new ones
let me pretend
let me pretend

i feel i am an old soul
but i know i am a new one
i die in my old footsteps
i arise in my new ones

arise from the ashes of the old phoenix
you are a dignified soul
when i become the new phoenix
start with a new garden

grow yourself out from the ashes
become a new you
you my friend are a worthwhlie soul

Should I wait?

What does the spot light of a timeless glisten mean to a wondering soul?
In what ways can the myth of humans recreate the desired being of lost wondering through the trees?
Can I be there when you come to the grave?
Where does the line wonder throughout the dim roofless patterns that expose the truth?
Into the abyss I crawl with tired cracked lips spewing ***** disillusionment.

Created just some time ago, I fall. I fall into the dark corners of myself. So selfish yet so hopeful. Where are the strings to pull to bring me back?

Sitting in an old dusty bar
Not a dollar to my name
Sitting here with old dusty friends
Just trying to reclaim my name
Wondering around seeing those old live bands
Ill be sick and tired till the wind rolls me in
Roll this dust off my sleeves and ill let you in
Aimless wonder, I’ve been up for days
My body grows weary
Yes, yes I'll be sick and tired till the wind rolls me in

Ive been up since midnight, settlin ' my qualms with the moon

Papa in the kitchen cooking. Mama just cant get through

The whiskey aint strong enough but i guess it will have to do

sometimes i feel like cryin' but it still don't **** the pain

i woke up this mornin' just to go back to bed,

good lords got his arms around me and i know he's holdin' me tight

oh the dog is in the kitchen, he's workin' over time.

cooking up all that rough time. Im not sure i can handle it

but i just  keep on dancing. I pretend everything is alright

i keep  lying to my self. and  im workin' overtime.

hope  ill keep from falling, but guess ill see it through

The dog is in the kitchen and i hear the storm knocking.

You can call me a dog with out the ally.

I am not human.

I know this because I am a creature.

I know this because creatures lack the power to be human.

I am as dead as a myth of a creature.

I just want some good ******* ****.

Morning glory Hallelujah
Find me buried deep into ya
The desire's burning
But the frost is turning
i feel it getting closer
That dream, the dream of exposure
Bringing myself out!
Allowing myself out! i WANT TO SCREAM.
to be one. to be free.
to simply mean it when i say - "I’m happy"

I was sitting at the corner of hope and wishful thinking when she turned to me and said: “lets face it, there’s a good chance that you will be overeducated and working at Starbucks one day.” I said *******, puked, and took a long hard pull of the whiskey before driving off into the sunset.

There is something quite beautiful that lies in the silence  
3:48 in the morning.
You know everyone you can think of is a sleep,
blissful in their own dream space.
Alone with your thoughts
alone in time
simply beautifully alone.
Things are quieter.
Docile.
Yet, they are still sharp with your own pondering of life’s ambtions.
I do this sometimes.
I wake up.
I sit
embrace the cold night air.
Sitting in my own head
my own dream space