I remember climbing out my window,
skulking off into a violent blizzard.
Lost in teenage anguish,
my feet carried me forward through the storm.
Two a.m. and a mile I out I realize,
I'm walking towards her house
Panic slammed my body like a tidal wave,
my nerves vibrated,
shaking the bitter cold.
I carried on determined.
No plan of action,
just full of **** and vigor and something...
Something I hadn't yet known.
The walk up her street is done with tremendous effort,
like swimming in jello.
Standing outside her house,
I'm suddenly aware of another obstacle.
I don't have a cell-phone.
Which window is her room?
Assuming it's upstairs, this is fifty - fifty you sonofabitch.
Take the risk.
I throw a small stone but hear it explode like a firecracker on the window.
Silence.
I reach for another when a soft voice calls my name.
We stand in the street and talk for a while,
holding one another.
I'm sorry, I can't stay, they probably know I'm gone.
I just... I just wanted to say goodbye
I walked backwards the whole way down the street.
Streetlights and snowfall created an amber aura around her.
That,
was the first time I knew what love was.
Sometimes I think it was the last time, too.

I smoke **** as if I'm on a schedule.
Must not sleep , must maintain THC levels.
Can't stop lest the stress get the best of me.
Man, all this life is gonna be the death of me.

On occasions I find some aid in the form of *******,
it makes the days so speedy and it eases the pain.
I know it's a problem and I know I probably shouldn't,
but that's just how it goes for the little train that couldn't.

Industrial smoke stacks don't hold a candle to my habit,
I smoke each cigarette like it's the last one on the planet.
My fight or flight mechanism up and snapped,
now I'm always on edge and in patience I lack.

I'm probably more whiskey than flesh or blood.
I drink at home alone, I don't consume it for fun.
I'm just hoping I can stay wasted to the grave.
Life is ******* rotten and people are depraved.

When Death finally reaches for me,
as a cat would ****** a mouse.
I'll distract him with some chit-chat,
then punch the ******* in the mouth.
Scream, "You sure took your time!
You miserable, arrogant ****!"
I watched so many others go,
I've grown quite bitter with the schmuck.
He'll raise his gleaming sickle,
and view my end with angry eyes.
I'll laugh and laugh content with that,
before he took me, I got mine.

One day, I know
that he will ask
questions,

Children have a way
of noticing things
that are there,

seeing shapes
and shadows
that aren't,

A special talent for noticing
missing things and finding
words to help them understand
what shadows mean
and how the sun shines.

Some children grow up
and ask where the sun
goes when the shadows

grow,

I know

that the silver
lining is a cliché,
but I keep looking at the clouds
expecting a miracle,

but the rain brings
no relief,

only pelts me with reason
after reason to keep writing
to you, even though you'll
never read these words,

I know one day

he will.

The sun always shines,
somewhere,
even on the cloudiest
nights, silver lines slice
through in patches,

and all the shapes
and shadows tell
me that.

I'm traveling on, to brighter pasture.
I've gone to seek, the rest I'm owed.
I'm traveling on, to meet my brothers.
They journeyed first, they cleared the road.
I'm told that I, will find my peace here.
I'm told that I'm, no more to roam.
I'm traveling on, don't shed a tear now.
It's been too long, since I've been home.

I have a number of uncles,
though their blood does not flow through my veins.
They are my fathers brothers,
for these are men who have seen the jungle,
as he once did.
Brothers forged,
through the trials of war.
Feelings of guilt and regret.
One by one I have watched,
as these strong men,
these warriors,
have entered the grave.
Taking a piece of my father,
along for the ride.
The world is a darker place,
at their loss.
But all have earned their rest,
some peace.
I've seen much of despondence,
in this life.
But I lack the words to describe the sorrow felt,
when a warrior cries.

I was born into the wrong generation,
just a little too late.
The revolution is dead.
I see cops **** citizens,
almost every day.
And not a single brick gets thrown?
City Hall isn't torched?
Are we really this hollow?
Are you people that ******* callous?
I bide my time,
hoping my brothers will wake soon.
When they're ready,
I'll show our so called shepherds,
there were wolves among their flock.
Our teeth are sharp.
And our stomachs empty.