Now to put it plainly,
I don't believe in reincarnation.
Nor any other form of after life.
I will be dirt.
You will be dirt.
We're all just ******* dirt.
However,
this leaves me vexed.
For I feel the most nostalgia,
towards things I have never experienced.
Music from the 1920's
to the 1950's,
makes me yearn for days,
I never had.
I only feel empathy for war veterans,
some part of me feels the pain.
Maybe I'm wrong,
or perhaps just strange;
who knows?

I listened to my younger brother
on the phone.
He told me
a friend had killed himself
shotgun under chin.
There was an open casket at the funeral.
They'd patched him back together
as best they could
but
some things you just can't fix.
My brother said he looked like an alien
foreign
misshapen.
Without thinking I responded
"You're at the age now brother
where people will start dropping like flies
for no good reason
and you'll have to learn to deal with it."
My brother is nineteen.
What is wrong with a world
in which that statement
is the truth?

I formed a personal goal.
I swore I'd be a more peaceable
a more centered man.
For a while I had maintained it well but
but now I'm finding I crack under the pressure
of what is a pseudo serenity.
A restrained anger
does not constitute a lack of it.  
I can't help but think
maybe rage hurts you
and maybe peace just adds another weight
on the back of a modern Atlas.
What more than the world can one hold atop his shoulders?

We can break bread or stand and make threats.
Man we can grab the cannons, blast and face death.
When this is all over you'll have half a face left.
For the rest of your life with a limp, you'll take steps.
I could end this rhyme right now and save breathe,
but I haven't said all I've got to say yet.
You ain't a killer you a dog, now just go and play fetch.
You a coward and a liar Fido, run off and play dead.
The wolves'll ******* find you we don't often stay penned;
all the **** you've been talking will see you pay debts.
You won't find time to scream "mama this is the end!"
When I get my hands on you and open your head.

To watch a man,
attempt the washing of blood
long since spilled,
upon his hands.
Is to watch an agony I cannot describe.
How do you see yourself
when in the mirror,
there is a monster?
When in the shine of your children's eyes,
you see only reflected
a murderer?
Where do you find joy,
in life?
When you wish perhaps,
you'd been not so "lucky."

In the name of my fathers,
I will sow havoc and destruction,
upon all who dare attempt squander my freedom.
I will rain a flaming hell,
on any who would see my brothers harmed.
My enemies will learn to fear my wrath,
as they would the very anger of GOD,
himself.
All that defy my righteous hand shall fall before my fury.
And they shall know,
the face of death.

I once set down my pen,
and with free fists equipped,
a sword.
Utter savagery and violence,
the mantle I adorned.
It's long been sheathed
but woe is me
the living and the scorned.
Hands forever bloodied,
words immutably,
forlorn.

Drown it in whiskey,
smother it in cigarettes,
rather end it quickly
then have to live and die
with my regrets.
embracing death and
misery my innocence is
history
to me the truth
is a mystery
find life lackin
in symmetry
I hope the wronged
have forgiven me
will not tip toe
to it gingerly
just skip right to the inquiry
should I end it all now
or bring in the artillery?

I think you've made a most fatal mistake,
you're in the ocean son, you up and left the lake!
These are deep waters where sharks eat shrimp for fun,
where peace and love and harmony are the only things we shun.
You're not ******* welcome here that you've probably guessed.
Picked a very poor direction *****, you should have went left.
We don't welcome the civilized in this place where mongrels roam,  
where wrath and hate and savagery have settled in our bones.
Yea you should've turned back friend,
did you miss the messages we sent?
****** signs and heads on pikes that marked our hollowed ground,
Now you're staring down the wolves, yea you should've turned around.

I've wandered quite a while now, and I think it's time to sit.
I'm beaten, bruised and battered; reaching the end of my wit.
Start sifting through statistics there must be something I missed.
Or maybe I'm just chasing wraiths, that never did exist.
I no longer see the sunshine, ever shrouded in this mist
the forest plays a game with me, "Can we make him lose his grip?"
It's bad enough these ******* maps resemble twisted acid trips,
But I think my compass finally broke, the needle spins and spins.
The path is hardly visible, with incessant turns and twists.
Every time I think It's straightened, it invariably splits.
I'll slowly saunter onward I've too much pride to quit.
I may be lost forever, but that's just how life is.

I know,
I know there lies no answer
in the bottom of this glass.
On occasion though,
it certainly kills the question.
And yes I know,
this glass holds no peace,
but it certainly makes telling yourself,
you've found as much
a little easier.
And yes,
yes I know.
The glass holds little more than a slight reprieve
from self loathing,
from guilt,
from the colossal weight upon my shoulders.
But it seems you,
and hope,
are always gone.
And the glass is always here.

Stop desperately grasping,
for a life of pure happiness.
Is that all you really want?
Just joy and rainbows?
Sunshine everyday?
Because if so,
I've gotta break it to you,
that is not life, brother.
Life is loving and fighting.
Life is old men who cry alone,
And
Life is drinking whiskey with your feet up,
in the woods.
Happiness will come!
But so will the rest.
So sit down,
stop ******* whining,
and embrace all of it.
You might just come out the other side contented.
You will though definitely,
have lived.

The colors of the sun run,
like damaged tapestries.
Painting the sky surrealistic
and I wonder what it means to me.
Light reflected from waters surface
glitters for a moment then refracts,
A million different directions
leaving more questions than it subtracts.
How many lives have sparked and died,
within the never ending depths?
The waves receive the query
and to the bottom it gets swept.

The only thing
I have left.
Is the desperate hope
(an evil thing it is)
that long after I've departed
someone
somewhere
will read my words
and feel better for them.
I don't desire
to fix a soul
but I surely pray
maybe
just maybe
something I've said
will get you to tomorrow.

I'm trying to fill a cavernous gap within my heart.
I think it's leaking from the bottom; I was finished from the start.
Liquor and cigarettes just slip out between the gaps.
I keep on trying but the effort's insufficient in comparison to what I lack.

I'll carry onward I'm a man and I know my roll,
but I'm running out of fire, I'm alone and it's getting cold.
I'll keep on drinking and smoking, pathetic attempt to fill the space;
But I'm not going anywhere, feels like I'm running in place.

Maybe the whiskey kills me, I think that'd be just fine.
Either way the cigarettes will kick in after time.
I know I could use a little help in filling up the holes,
but everybody dies alone; at least that's what I'm told.

I had so much passion,
once.
It seeped from every pore.
My heart roared out of me like a lion,
hungry and proud!
I walked with a bop in my step,
fought like a savage,
loved with my whole being.
I was raw,
unfiltered,
naked!
I've come to find,
life has a way of taking that from you.
You add a layer over this scar,
a layer over that one.
The layers stack until the fire inside,
is suffocated.
I'm just going through the motions now.
I starved the lion,
and now my heart is quiet.

I'm not addicted,
liquor's just the fittest liquid
to sift through the litany
of **** my mind whips
into existence.
Aids in grippin
the intricate specifics
among twisted images
that slip from
simply cryptic to mystic.
It's not *******,
just simple statistics,
the rhyming gets better
when drinkings prolific.

One night,
while on some tremendously great acid.
I watched the snow fall,
ever so softly,
illuminated by street lights.
It was the most beautiful thing,
I'd ever seen.
And truly,
it had very little to do with the drugs.
It was beautiful because...
Because I was there,
and because it was real.

I just can't seem to get out of my head these days,
that's why I've got a penchant for smiling, when it rains.
You don't quite see the sun when you dwell in the shade,
I've grown beyond a longing for it's warmth on my face.

Nothing's concrete, I see the grey in your white and black.
It's a paradoxical existence, much like Schrodingers' cat.
Am I dead or alive? ****, where the hell am I at that?
My thoughts zip through my head like a thousand angry gnats.

Living The Heart of Darkness things seem increasingly insane,
but I'm trapped on this twisted river, heading deep into my brain.
Maybe it's because in here, I form monsters out of pain.
To feel emotion's difficult, but monsters can be slain.

I like to write when drunk and high,
that's when emotions run.
Sometimes I even find it nice,
to set ink when I get spun.
Alcohol is lubrication,
when my thoughts are just too bound.
The ******* see's acceleration,
words just flow when I get wound.
I'm  not an addict or a shmuck,
I'm a pretty simple man.
Just one who's more than down on luck;
my whole life has strayed from plans.
Yes I'm often found inebriated,
I hope you'll excuse the current condition.
It just seems to me while obviated,
I adopt a cleaner disposition.

There are places in this world;
places you'll find that'll grab you right by the heart.
Shaking you they will scream,
"This is it! This is where things are as they should,
not as they could be."
If you have the fortune to find that little slice of wonder,
absorb it as a sponge does water.
Breathe it! Eat it!
Let it soak to your bones.
More importantly,
do not ever allow yourself to forget how you felt when your heart was shaken.
Do not ever forget what you learned.

Ghosts
ghosts are real.
I know this
because I know men who see them.
Men who are...
to say the least rational.
Men who are of sound enough mind
not to believe in spectral forms
or fairy tales.
And still I've sat in rooms with such men
watched them cast a glance
toward empty corners.
Watched as their eyes glazed and brought them
elsewhere.
Ghosts exist in the mind.
And that which exists in the mind of men
is very much as real
as that which exists
in their physical worlds.

That's it,
you've let loose beast from cage.
Prepare yourself coward,
you're facing an onslaught of rage.
You cant possibly comprehend,
the ******* enemy you've made.
I'll turn your family to memory,
from the timeline they'll fade.
This is far from honored duels of old,
fought in sunlit splattered glade.
I'm a man of slick efficiency,
I'll see that you die in the shade.
Even worse I'll make it hurt,
see you leave our earth in pain.
I suggest you learn *******,
Understand that death is my name.

I never thought,
I'd live for very long.
As long as I can remember
every instinct I possess,
has screamed of impending death.
I had accepted that,
lived in kind.
As I sit here,
only twenty-two years into this catastrophe,
called life.
I feel ******* ancient.
Something went amiss.
Now I'm forced to watch,
as days fly by me
wasted.
I had nothing in the works,
for this.
I'd prepared for every eventuality,
except the one,
where life went on too long.

At twenty-two years of age
I have experienced more death
than many of my elders.
In the past year alone
one expended his brains onto the ceiling
one died a mystery
face down in the river
one died in a car crash
on the run from the law
and the last faded into an ****** induced dream.
Twenty-two years
and I can no longer count the lost.

The meek will not inherit ****,
that's a common misconception.
The miracles of Jesus Christ
were all subtle deceptions.
****, if you believe in fantasy
as thick as the resurrection,
you'd probably claim the earth was flat
if that's what society expected.
Your preacher was a mega-phone
for a money hungry despot.
Centuries have come and gone
when will you people get the message?
If he's real friends, God is dead,
or he built the planet and ******* left it.

I've always been a sucker for the deceitful,
the dissolute.
In knowing such, it's become hard to trust my instinct;
it always seems to lead me astray.
I despise wasting effort,
I grow bitter and disillusioned with ease.
Perhaps for a loss,
perhaps for the better,
this realization has forced me,
into reservation.
I expect nothing,
I assume nothing,
I extend myself,
for nothing.
I'm waiting for the universe to align things,
to tell me I'm safe to dive in.
I'm willing,
but waiting.
Show me something.
Tell me something.
Do something!
Like gasoline waiting for a spark,
I've got the potential to start a serious fire;
I just need a little motivation.

I am a straw man,
strap me up and leave me alone.
All the day, my hollow gaze
may haunt your humble home.
I have no brain nor heart nor flesh,
nay, not a single bone.
I'm just a man of wicker,
meant to frighten off the crows.

At least without you, I can be my ******* self.

Beware! My dear shepherds,
I think you've failed to see.
There are wolves among your flock!
And one of them is me.
Are you not aware?
That in a pack we hunt?
Or that sometimes there are better things,
To have as sheep for lunch?
We are patient and unkind,
We creep slowly through the dark,
You're so secure within your power,
I think it's made you blind.
We'll start with your dogs,
And then move on to you,
And then you'll know that these were facts,
You'd wished you would've knew.

The first time I saw you smile,
It was like a punch in the face that sent me spinning into euphoria.
Time stopped.
A crowded room,
mind clouded with *****,
**** and,
*******.
And I saw your smile,
like a sailor lost on a dark sea, first lays eyes on light from land.
I imagine nothing short of a
lightning strike,
could near compare to the shock my system was rendered,
by the subtle lifting of your lips.
The first time I saw your smile,
was the first time
I knew love.

All the trees I see are dead.
Leaves visions swimming in my head.
The wind roars strong I think it said,
"Son make your peace and break your bread."
Collect on all the love you've lent.
You'll need it for what's coming next.
Don't allow yourself to be misled.
Careful now with where you tread.
No going home once you have left.
You know life hangs by slender thread.

I opened the door this afternoon,
stepped onto the porch.
Greeted by a bleak and cold wind,
I lit a cigarette.
There I stood looking up at a dead sky,
shades of grey that smother the sun.
Thoughts growing dark,
in kind.
Out of this void there rose,
a melody.
Simple.
Tranquil.
"God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman"
Played as though it was just for me.
And as the church bells rang on their somber tune
I thought,
"Perhaps, it's not all so bad."

I watched,
as the stars in your eyes,
dwindled.
One by one,
they burned out into emptiness.
The void consumed our universe.

I felt,
as the warmth in your touch,
turned to stone.
With every stroke,
you left frost upon my skin.
Your ice soon circulated through my veins.

I listened,
as the music in your voice,
withered toward
detachment.
Every word became a reminder.

And I tasted,
as all the sugar on your lips
and the honey on your tongue,
went sour.
Every kiss held hints of decay.

I rise before the sun,
to start my days.
An old night owl ready
to ***** the early bird,
for the worm.
Too much left to be done,
to risk slipping into the grip,
of slumber.
I'll catch up on rest when I'm dead.

Every night as you eat a meal,
I solemnly sign a devils deal.
The agreement simply reads as such,
It's suicide I'll have for lunch.
And breakfast, dinner, every day.
All sustenance I've signed away.
I only hope the pain will dull,
the consequence, I shall not mull.
For the lessening of life long strife,
I'll trade the threat of ended life.
I know my sorrow will slowly pale,
for every breath of death, inhaled.
And if it's bourbon I choose for dinner,
I'm told that peace can find this sinner

I told him,
"I know a thing or two,
about a thing or two."
He loved the essence of the phrase.
Than he told me a story,
I'll surmise it with,
"Then the cop said,
there'll be no *******  subs tonight!"
Maybe it's too cryptic to understand,
but it was an even exchange.

It's strange to think that of my shotgun,
I'm growing rather fond,
but everyday I find that life is strengthening our bond.
I rise from bed and play my part,
in this appalling masquerade.
All the while this dreadful play has been cracking my facade.
I think I'll grab my shotgun,
prop the barrel under chin,
And with a gentle pull and click I'll end this story, fin.

I’ve wandered ‘round,
From home to home.
And found one truth,
All stones erode.
Whether wind, or rain or steel pick-axe,
All stones erode,
It’s just a fact.
So when I lay, for my final rest
I have to say I think it’s best.
Forgo a stone, that will not last.
But plant a tree, Oak, Fir or Ash!
For as time passes, and memories go,
All stones erode, but the tree will grow.

My words are stuck again;
my tongues gone almost stiff.
Guess I got hung up again.
Got caught up in the mix.

And there's no one to blame,
the tales always the same.
I'll always think of sunshine when someone says your name.

We both knew it had to end,
we both could see the rust.
I'm only sorry that I left,
before I lost your trust.

And there's no one to blame,
the tales always the same.
I will always see your smile at the end of my hard days.

When I get drunk alone,
I think of how you laughed.
Then I look down at my phone,
and I let the moment pass.

I swear there's no one to blame,
this tales always been the same.
I still hear your voice amid the murmur or the rain.

Do her eyes still change,
to slate grey in anger?
Do they still turn to blue when it rains,
and when she cries?
I always tried to tell her,
those demons would hang her.
"You're just bound and determined,
to decline til you die."

Such a conundrum,
severe desperation for sleep,
but I'm a word zealot.
As the moon increases altitude,
the pen flows,
freely.
Two a.m. when,
I'm ****** and sufficiently lubricated,
near delusional,
from three days lack of sleep.
I ***** ink and emotion on a page,
it solidifies,
I'm ******* King Midas!
That's when the magic happens... Sometimes.
I wake up on the floor in a,
putrid puddle.
No evidence of effort,
save an ink stained rug and,
cigarette butts.
Most times it's just ****.

For those who've seen,
or worse yet shaken,
Deaths' hand leaves, but little trace.
Unharmed they seem,
don't be mistaken,
Death scars all, who've seen his face.
They fail to sleep,
from nightmares waken,
Death holds strong, in his embrace.
At night they'll weep,
all peace forsaken.
Death befouls, who've met his gaze.

At time's,
I'm a miserable, lecherous, lump.
At my worst,
I'm a despicable ******* drunk.
And I'm sorry darling,
you just got caught under my little rain cloud,
I'll take the added weight of your accumulated pain now.
To say it simply,
I'm something like walking bad karma
More advanced,
I was delivered an infinitely twisted dharma.
And I regret,
allowing your pleasant essence to combine with mine,
but now that we've been severed I think you'll carry on just fine.

I always said,
"What a man has in his pockets,
says a lot abut him."
I still believe that.
A man carries what he thinks he needs,
or what he thinks will get him what he wants.
As I've grown I can say,
I like how my pockets speak of me.
Some whiskey, some ****, a couple smokes
always a journal and a pen,
or two.
An empty wallet,
and at least two lighters;
that's very important.
With a little intuition,
someone can put those pieces together,
and know me.

I lay waste to hope,
wherever I find it.
I drag it into the light,
revealing all the little flaws,
in it's design.
I set fire to happiness,
with fervor.
I love to watch,
as people's joyful little worlds,
are rendered unto ash.
For every act of human kindness,
I'll see a thousand homes destroyed.
I'll leave ten thousand quaking people,
to be consumed,
by hells most vile lords.
All shall come to know my face.
All shall come to know my name,
Despair.

Life never
turns out how you'd like.
It never steers you where you'd think it would
where you hoped it would.
Life constantly hands you a left
when you wanted a right.
Gives you a hand full of ****
when the other guy
gets a royal flush.
I've now come to know
that it's just inevitable.
Expect nothing.
Hope nothing.
Life will never give you
what you think you need.
It never gives you what you ask for.

Timing's a funny thing.
It seems I always stroll into a persons' life,
exactly when I'm most useful.
Just a stranger who pops in,
straightens up the place a bit,
then leaves.
Rarely though,
is my timing ever to my own benefit.
Too late, too early,
doesn't matter.
I can only hope that perhaps one day,
I'll find myself somewhere I'm meant to stay.

Love is often lost
and more than often it's mishandled.
For me I think I've finally seen
the entire plan dismantled.
I've given it a go and man,
it always ends in shambles.
Too much emotion both get broken
what I've taken's more than ample.
I've given up at least for now,
I just can't afford to take the gamble.