I stopped to smell the roses.
They laughed at me.
I painted the roses black.
Now I'm the only one laughing.

I had a puppy
I'm happy to say
But my puppy
He died one day

I had a mom
To me she said
******* I think
Your puppy's dead

So my puppy I took
Way out in the yard
I dug her a hole
And read her a card

"**** you puppy
How dare you die
Leaving me here
Alone to cry"

The more I thought
About her death
And how I watched
Her last breath

I began to hate
This ****** mutt
Just laying there
Her eyes are shut

How dare you die
And leave me be
"It was a truck
What didn't you see?"

Stupid dog
I hate you now
You broke my heart
I'll get a cow

A cow you see
A gentle grazer
For when she dies
I can braise her

Until that day
She'll be my friend
We'll play fetch
My heart she'll mend

So ******* dog
You're inedible
This here cow
Will taste incredible

Sometimes.
I like to imagine the world drenched in fire and carnage. The woeful screams of the entitled ****** echoing through the once fertile plains of the Midwest.
As I casually stroll amidst the piles of decaying rotting flesh whistling to myself. The smell of burnt hair and regret permeating the air around me. Smoke and ash choking out the Suns rays letting darkness reign.
And then my show comes back on so I go back to eating my sandwich and watching tv.

So after a little research (It's that thing you do to validate information shared with you instead of taking the word of a ****** meme) I have come upon some interesting information.
Let's start with religion and capitalism.
This time I'm going to leave the Catholics alone. Let's go with Scientology. I think we can all agree if they're right about everything we'll collectively eat our ******* hats.
The Scientologist won the right of tax exemption in 1993. They hold roughly 1.5 billion usd in real estate. Now with a nationwide average of property tax falling at 1.45%. I did the math for you cause I know how lazy y'all are. That comes out to a loss of over 200 million dollars annually to the rest of us.
That's just one religion of the dozens that enjoy tax exemption. I'm not going to bother griping about the NRA (non-profit tax exempt status), Planned Parenthood, or the fact that in NYC sliced bagels are taxed and whole bagels aren't (true).

Let's move on to capitalism. That delightful dinosaur of an ideology  on whose tail we desperately try to grab onto to keep from being **** on. Oh sure it's all well and good when mom and dad want to open a little store in their neighborhood. Perhaps they want to build something for their childrens future. Or maybe the guy just wanted to sponsor a softball team while making it easier for that ******* down the street to get her ****** Tang every week.
Up, look out, stand aside. Here comes WalMart. 76 billion in undisclosed overseas tax havens. They've done nothing legally wrong. Their army of lawyers can assure you of that. Regardless, mom now works for WalMart, the little store is closed, and dad is a raging alcoholic with rage issues.

My point? If it weren't for these ridiculous loopholes in our tax laws, the ****** lobbyist (why do we continue to allow this practice?), and us as a nation. Maybe we could hire more cops, build more schools than prisons, parks, playgrounds, free education, cheaper healthcare, cheaper prescriptions (prescription drug companies are hiding 2.1 trillion alone overseas). We ourselves are as guilty as anyone else. We pay no attention to what our leaders do once elected. Oh sure you're bound to run into some idiot wanting to blame the president be who it may. As if he just sits there day and night coming up with new laws.
But no. You know what. You all keep focusing on a guy who doesn't want to stand for the ****** anthem. because obviously that's the real problem.

It's raining and it's all I can hear.
I wish you were here.
I wish you understood.
It's raining here, it is all that I can hear.

Satiating my desire for serenity without having to abandon my mortal coil. This rain falls calmly, it doesn't look to erase anything. Only to replenish.

I wrote to you of my wrongs. Perhaps the rain bled my letter. The quill translated so many of my thoughts that night.
The black sweat of a bottle, traced feelings upon parchment. Erased by this cursed rain. I am held to its will and it to mine.

Of all the clocks to choose from, I think I like four the best.
Nothing much seems to happen at four, if anything.

Whether it be in the evening or in the morning.
There's a softness to four, a calm before the storm.

It was three that took my mother. Eleven, my father.
I said goodbye to my friend at eight and two once tried to **** me.

Four seems to be waiting for something.
Even in slumber it keeps an eye on me at all times.

I suppose it waits for me. To take its hand before.
And not until I'm ready to go.

We stand in the shadows.
Meandering about like blind puppies.
Repeatedly stepping in the **** we leave behind.
We can take off the blindfolds.
We could change things.
We don't dare.
We can't.
We've become to accustomed to the madness.
We've found comfort is the screaming.
Any other sort would only draw suspicion.
The darkness, the moonlight, the silence.
Bearers of our secrets and desires.

I have to think.
I have no other recourse.
My defense and my offense.
These things that come to mind.
Slain at birth for the sake of you.

I can't be.
I shouldn't be.
However I am.
Here now.
And I'm still thinking.

At my will kings fall.
Steel forms to my desire.
Anger is aroused when my fingers dance.
Destruction is of my construction.
I haven't stopped since I started.

I won't lie down.
Not with the dogs.
Or the sheep.
I'll tow the line.
To the edge of a cliff.

My ends do not match your means.

If she only knew
She is a galaxy in my eyes
A wonder to behold
Beautiful in her mysteries

A symphony of light and chaos
The longing to dance along side her
It is an ache sorely kept
A pain most coveted

Resting on an event horizon
Time stands still
The past, the present, and the future
Discombobulated moments entrance

Words not heard or felt
Lost in a vacuous void
Between her heart and mine
Too much time, too much space

It seems the hardest concept for most people to grasp.
Is the suggestion that their existence is inconsequential to the universe.

I'm not here to be ridiculed, mock, or even roasted.
I'm just not keen on this party or the guy you chose to host it.

Overhead I hear someone touting their grand beliefs.
Therein is your problem lad, who says you even need a chief?

Parties and their senators the governors and their staff.
These are your dear leaders? Am I to ****** laugh?

The Capitol is a rat king wherein their lies are entwined.
Power, greed, and pettiness plaguing their hive like mind.

I'll be honest, I don't care, my life it seems to never change.
You can elect a ****** waffle, it can't get more strange.

These things you want to happen, it'll always start with you.
You can be your own ignition, you only have to see it through.

So elect yourselves an Eggo, a ******, or a *****.
Either way I'll bet my *** in four years you'll want a switch.

So wherein does that leave I
I came to beg a differ.
She let free a woeful sigh
And once again I whiffer.

Relegated I'd say I am
To a lonesome sort of state
I'd like to say I don't give a ****
But for I tis too late

I curse thee love regretfully
For my choices are but few.
I place this curse respectfully
That you may never get what's due.

If I go forth into the night
To mourn the unrequited
To pull the hang mans work too tight
While my sins go unrepentant.

Than so too shall thee suffer
Tis my plight you must share
Let us hope that you are tougher
And find someone to care

The moon she wanders over head.
For she cares not of our pains.
She lights the way for the dead.
A song of rattling chains

The hangman he is voiceless
And your tears quenches he
A life to him is choice less
For he will not suffer me

Pull the lever you ****** fool
Says I to my hooded reaper
Your job I say has one rule
Of lives you are no keeper

The hangman he then nodded
And then removed his shroud
Anguish to my heart is prodded
The silence was too loud

For there she stood at the lever
The maiden who wrought my fate
She smiled at me something clever
My curse was to come too late

She looked at I and blew a kiss
And I could not in kind
She then giggled and said "curse this"
And my life was null and blind

Forgive me my tresspasses.

Only because I have no one, no where else to vent.
I have a gf. She insist she loves me. I've had a few others in the past say the same thing. I have never believed them/anyone.
I'm not sure why. I don't know if it's because no one has ever met my definition of love. Maybe I'm dead inside. I have no idea.
Sometimes someone will do something nice for me. I'm not sure what that is all about either.
I can wrap my brain around the concept of a black hole. But for the life of me I will never understand this love thing.
I know how I feel about certain people. But I can't say they feel the same way. At least not with any certainty.
I just can't imagine anyone feeling for me how it is I may feel about them.
I'm not crying, *******, moaning what have you. I'm just stating the fact of my confusion when it comes to how love is supposed to work.

I'm going have another drink. Then I'm going to smoke a little. Afterwards, I'll read until I fall asleep with a book on my chest.
And if my dreams aren't of you. I'll try again.

We won't stand in silence, my brethren and I.
We can find beauty in violence, what colors when you die.

We stand here now where others may have fallen.
From Friedrich William Nietzsche to Joseph ****** Stalin.

Whether they be a tyrant, a king, or an overlord.
A musician, a muse, or a thinker due accord.

These people changed the world, for better or for worse.
Some left this world a little better, some of them accurse.

Put to ink these thoughts of yours as random as they seem.
Write about your problems, or jot down your favorite dream.

One of us who saw you would really like to know.
Did you ever fall in love and how did your spirit learn to grow.

You will change the world. How much to be decided.
Whether it's by acts or words, I'm sure some will be delighted.

Except for you Gacy. *******.

You ever think about what it would be like to leave yourself behind?
Just dispose of you the you and everyone else knows.
Venture out into the deep blue nothing in search of everything.
To be the you you always dreamed of being.

To live with reckless abandonment.
Or to take that chance. To risk all your known comforts.
To fall in love haplessly. Or to burn that bridge for good.
Why is it so scary?

Is the unknown that terrifying?
I don't know now what will happen when.
So does it really make a difference?

If I want to see her.
I look up at the moon and close my eyes.
If I want to smell her.
I sit down wind of the lilacs up on the hill.
If I want to feel her.
I step out into the sun after a rain storm.
If I want to hear her voice.
I read the words she's left behind.

At times.
It seems like I've got a bag literally filled with **** tied to my waist. Because I think or I have convinced myself I need it. That I am to suffer the weighing stench my own failings.
Well **** that ****. I'm human. And I hold no doubts that there are far worse than I in character by comparison. Am I the best I can be? Probably not. However I like to think I'm doing a little better than the guy wearing a diaper while being led around the room by an under aged Cambodian girl. That ******* has issues.

Did you see?
Do you have it with you?
I do.
I take it out and look at it.
When the night is at its coldest.
When the batteries have gone dead and the music has stopped.
I unfurl the tapestry of that moment.
I hang it up in the back of my mind.
And I watch it play out.
The colors surrounding.
The silence in the air.
The smell of your skin.
It was an all encompassing moment.
A warmth unforgiving and a softness too rarely felt.
The day I kissed a hummingbird.

Some of us are in indescribable pain.
Meandering through the days while barely holding onto to themselves. Clutching at a line so thin.

We talk to them, laugh with them, and say our goodbyes. And although you might think they're fine, they're not. You've gone home and they're still mired in their own misery.

Whether self induced or not, it doesn't matter. They're stuck in a perpetual pattern of loathing, usually it's self. There's no light.

There isn't much you can do to help them. You can call them, you can be there for them, but too often these endeavors are in vain.

Sometimes it gets to the point where their pain is the only absolute they have. They've embraced it because of its familiarity.

Too often these people are lost to us. They're broken. The damage is just irreparable. To stay yourself would only suffer the crushing inevitably.

We convince ourselves of things. It's an auto response to outside stimuli. Some of us go defense, others offense. Whether whatever it is we've convinced ourselves is true or not. It doesn't matter.

Tears in the rain.

There won't be any phone calls.
No flowers at the door.
Words of solace won't ring.
The neighbors won't be firing up their ovens.
Nobody will wonder, nobody will ask.
Just as it is so will it continue to be.
Come the death of me.

What may I ask enthuses you, what makes your eyebrows flutter?
If I was to speak of passion? Would your heart not race and stutter?

If I were to be a person of a rare outstanding merit.
Would not your hearts desire be something I'd inherit?

What if I were a vagabond, a drifter without a worry.
Someone simply looking for your favor with a curry.

What say of this my only friend? For the moon she is upon us.
Before my dreams escape my grasp and fall into the furnace.

The moon she left, without a word, no praise for I had she.
You vanished with the rising sun, leaving only me.

Come Cerebrus, you cursed mutt, for me is nothing here.
Lead me to your master, so his pity I may endear.

Do you even know what I'm thinking?
It's not to be contested.
And yes I've been drinking.
Enough to be arrested.

In order for you to teleport.
And this you can't avoid.
Your consciousness we must import.
Your body gets destroyed.

Your character we'll scatter.
To places far and near.
For a moment you won't matter.
Until you reappear.

Though here I am to warn you.
Things may seem a little out of place.
See they have to reconstruct you.
And you're still carbon based.

They'll upload your very being.
Right up in this new you.
You won't believe what you are seeing.
When you step out on Timbuktu.

For it was but a moment when you were here by me.
Till you up and vanished across so many seas.
To hell with you you blasted ***** teleporting *****!
I'm coming for your *** when I walk out that other door.

There is no pause.
No stopping to rest.
It should be insatiable.
This hunger.

There are too many questions and not enough answers.
Where is the exit for the Devils Kettle? What is the hum? Gravity? Death? How can light act as matter? Is the ****** cat dead or alive?

All my life, I've asked of you to tell me something true.
Dearest brain I beg and plead, whatever shall I do?

Do I dare to trust of you, this construct you created?
Leaving out the answers so my questions are abated.

Life is indeed a symphony of terrors in the night.
A dream within a dream where there is no wrong or right.

We live an illusion and illustration if you will.
There is no magic looking glass no red no blue pill.

Senses perpetuated by a mind left unhinged.
Realities so obtuse by nature, make us want to cringe.

I ask of you, my brain, of sloppy grayish matter.
Will I ever know the truth? Before my ashes scatter?

Me thinks the reaper be, not too far behind.
A specter not foreboding, his deeds not all unkind.

Did I ever tell you my loathsome friend of what has yet to be?
The falling of your heavens and the boiling of your sea.

How the dead will not suffer the living to pass.
Or how the sun will scorch your fields of grass.

The dogs of war will howl when the moon turns to blood.
Screams of woe will die in vain in black volcanic mud.

Anubis will awaken to drink of the Niles tears.
While Odin's in Valhalla, where he'll stay for many years.

These events they will transpire and there's one thing you can do.
You can have a drink and dance my friend, accept you are the fool.

No summer breeze to quell your pain no balm left Gilead.
You are but a Hector in that cursed book the Iliad.

There is a thing you can try but this task you mustn't botch.
I can't stop the earth from splitting but could you get for me a scotch?
On the rocks.
No lime.

I've been happy.
That was nice.
I've been angry.
I didn't much care for that.
I've been in love.
That one is exhilarating.
I've been betrayed.
That felt familiar.
I've been hurt.
This one never left.
I've been excited.
It's like a first kiss.
I've been disappointed.
So I avoid people.
Nowadays I'm apathetic.
It has no highs or lows.
I wonder though.
About the other ones.
What they feel like?

It seems to be my lot in life, the manner by which I live.
It'll never matter what I do or say or think or what I give.

I read somewhere if it is that they won't make time for you.
Then it is that they don't care and have other things to do.

Maybe they're too busy and there's others they want to see.
To assume my name is on that list, would be a fantasy.

I do not hate or wish ill will for who am I to blame.
If I were you and you me I would probably feel the same.

Here I sit.
I don't believe I'm sitting. I don't believe in anything.
I can think I'm sitting. As long as I maintain that I could be wrong.

I don't believe in love. Even if I wanted to.
I can tell how I feel when you're around. And how I feel when you're not.

I don't believe in life. Or death. How could I ever rationalize a belief in something I don't understand?

I think. About fireflies, world *******, scotch, and jokes.
The jokes are to make you laugh. It's my favorite song.

I don't believe in anything. I envy those that do.
I'm just a lonely nihilist who wants to believe in you.

The truth will set you free they said as they pulled down the final curtain.
Me thinks they're full of **** I say, and of this I think I'm certain.

Dare I jest or tempt the feathers of that cherub and his arrow?
Curse that lad for he's a fool and he looks a little like a sparrow.

Quell my words and rest my tongue, for its not I who holds her heart.
To tell her so would bind my time, and the clock has yet to start.

I've barred such freedom from my dreams, this lie is all I need.
This illusion is all I have for now, for I am measured by my deeds.

"You remind me of my friend." I said.
"Who's your friend?" She says.
"The moon."

Amber soaked sunsets on warm summer nights.
Are just some of the things I can't enjoy without you.

A walk amongst a field of fireflies, is like a walk through the Milky Way.
Just so long as I can look through the darkness and find you.

Somewhere
That icy feeling of loneliness is squeezing the heart of someone you know.
Sometimes
It's just easier not knowing.
Someone
Hasn't stopped thinking about you since you left them.
Something
Could have been worse had you not been there to make a difference.
Anytime
You think you're right, there's a chance you could be wrong.
Anyone
Could do it. Yet there you stand.
Anything
Could be everything to someone else.
Anybody
Will suffice when there's nobody to be found.
Anyway
There it is.

I don't write because I want to.
I'm compelled to.
I'm not even good at it.
The devil may take me if I'm lying.

I think too much as I've been told.
And I'm under a train of thought.
I typically don't care what anyone has to say.
So why should they care about what I think?

In knowing this. I write.
I drink, I read, and I write.
That pretty much sums up who I am.
Which makes me nothing much.

Huh. Interesting. Not really.

There was once a fuzzy bunny.
And wow he liked to ****.
But just as life would have it.
He was **** outta luck.

So the fuzzy bunny away he did go.
To try and bust a nut.
He hopped down to the deli.
Where he hoped to find a ****.

Awkward was the fuzzy bunny.
For he wasn't well endowed.
He talked to many ladies.
Though none of them he plowed.

Then the fuzzy bunny he just went dark.
Depression took its toll.
He would snort pancake mix.
Smoking whatever he could roll.

Well things they just don't end well.
The fuzzy bunny took his life.
Things escalated quickly.
When fuzzy couldn't find a wife.

I wonder if anyone has ever thought about me as much as I've thought about them.

I've watched the stars.
Pondered their journeys through time and space. Wondered what they could tell me of the past.
I've stared at the moon. Locked in its ecliptic dance as it plays with our oceans, hearts, and minds.
The sun too has held me in a trance. Apollos burden radiating incessantly against its own eventual demise.
All of these things so beautifully elegant in their mysteries. Enrapturing the imaginations of mankind for thousands of years.
I close my eyes to their wonder, beseeching them all to measure up to what I see in my minds eye. Forever enduring to fail despite the arguments they pose in opposition.
For when my lids are down and that smile stretches its arms across my face, they know. I am thinking of you and not a one of them could ever live up.

You could sit down and write a thousand words or none at all.
And it would still befit her.
You could detail for the reader everything you know.
And then call it fiction.
Why?
She is love incarnate.

I have but one friend, and she is a cat.
A passive beast, she won't **** a rat.
She's rather daunting when to be fed.
She'll probably eat me, after I'm dead.

I like conversations in the rain.
Empathic words soaked in urgency.

I like fields of tall grass layered in fog.
Tired clouds on beds of green.

Tattered flags hopeless in salvation.
Beaten down by years of neglect.

Unwarranted smiles from strangers.
Moments of blissful silence unheralded.

Few are the things I can relate to.

So what if I lapse?
I'll catch you.
When I fall?
Yes.

I've fallen before.
You will again.
You weren't there last time.
Wasn't I?

It's getting darker.
It usually does.
What'd I do?
You feel your way through as you have before.

They told me it's always darkest before the dawn.
And then they told me all hope was gone.

They lied about the dawn and they lied about the hope.
Tis too soon to hang thyself by an apathetic rope.

It lies in my perception these answers that evade.
The world I see around me is the world I have made.

And when I look inside to my blackened rotting heart.
Standing there before myself, to see my ego fall apart.

I'll find the hope that springs eternal as I've heard them say.
I'll clinch my teeth and gnaw the bit until my dying day.

I don't need you there to catch me if ever I should fall.
And should you say my name in the dark, I may not hear the call.

Rest assured my weary friend for there will come a day.
Until that time my trusted friend there be demons you must slay.

One night I happened upon a moon.
A hunters moon I believe it was.
I took a seat upon a rock.
I took a seat just because.

I thought of her not long ago.
It was in the fall if I remember well.
A smoldering spirit awaiting air.
A sleeping inferno under her spell.

The moon she laughed as she often does.
A hapless soul lured into her light.
She favors none, not the old or young.
A sentry of the earth at work at night.

I doused my pipe and set on my way.
I should think not of her for I am lost.
Amidst the ashes of dreams forsaken.
My task to fruition at any such cost.

A wolf long in fang chases the moon.
It's hunger it seems has made it insane.
I must **** this beast to query a favor.
So that the moon will give me what I must obtain.

The answer I seek I believe she holds.
This wolf can't deny me my heart's desire.
The moon if spared can answer my question.
Should I continue or suffer in fire?

Will she ever see through what I have built?
Will her touch be mine to lie underneath?
Or should I waiver to just tumble and fall?
Should I give taste to my heart the knife in my sheath?

I don't want to dispel you,
much less repel you
from these things you may already know.
I seek not redemption,
I'm not worth salvation,
I just wanted to see the show.

Let us forgo the pity, the pious,
and pompous
and share just a thought or two.
Life in illusion, the ***,
and confusion.
With no understanding or clue.

Of course I adore you.
I long to explore you.
Your crevices and your thoughts.
I won't allow you to blame me,
much less shame me.
This cheetah isn't changing his spots.

Yes I'm convicted
but it's you who's conflicted.
I know exactly where I stand.
I've been through the trial,
I'll wait for your smile.
It's better when it isn't planned.

I still remember her breast,
along with the rest.
I imagine it looks nice in the sun.
Close your eyes
and I'll tell you no lies.
To my heart your words hold a gun.

I'm caught in your current
I spin like a torrent.
When the sound of your silence expires.
Hamper me naught,
in your web I am caught.
I'll be here till you decide to retire.

She said "dear, inspire me", when the truth is that I can't.
It's not that I don't want to, but all I do is rant.

Some ******* here, a comment there, as if I feel I must.
I'm throwing around cynicism like its ****** fairy dust.

The fact is dear, there's nothing inspiring about me.
I'm mediocre when at my best, no reason to ever doubt me.

Oh sure I can tell you all about the mysterious Devils Kettle.
Or talk at length if you will about the Spinxs favorite riddle.

I know the Raven to and fro, but no one wants to hear it.
I can tell you if you crock that roast, it'll be better if you sear it.

I cannot grow you flowers or always make you laugh.
I can't even say you'll be impressed at my version of a staff.

I'm sorry dear I truly am, for my game is truly lacking.
My talents few and far between, I'm not even good at stacking.

I can keep you up for nights on end with what I know of Russia.
Or spit for you a thousand tales just one shy of Scheherazade.

See what I mean? That last verse barely makes any sense.
Kind of like that inferno opera The Pirates of Penzance.

I will tell you if I may, it's not entirely my fault you see.
For once you take up nihilism you may cease to even be.

I will tell you my good friend, that you are indeed my friend.
Someone there to read this **** and maybe smile at the end.

Sometimes I want to tell her. I'll stand in the doorway and watch her do her hair. It amazes me how wonderful she is most of the time. I'm not going to paint her as a saint because we all have bad days.
I want to take her hand and sit her down. I want to look into her eyes and tell her the truth. I want to hold her and tell her it's going to be ok.
I'll never understand why she's with me. She tells me she loves me every once in a while, usually I have to say it first. I don't let myself buy into it though. I know the truth already. I know she doesn't. She couldn't possibly. It was made clear to me a long time ago and I'll never forget it.
Still though.
I want to tell her. How amazing she is. How happy she's made me. How awesome it's been living the illusion.
And how my heart is in the process of calcifying due to a condition called valvular stenosis. And how my prognosis isn't good. How my heart gets tired sometimes. How I can take her shopping and wait while she tries on clothes. Make jokes just to get her smiling. All the while my heart is killing me.
"Honey. I'm dying at a much faster rate than you. Wanna get drunk?"

I remember with staggering clarity the moment it happened. I remember wondering if anyone else experienced it. I thought maybe it was a stage. That I had released the booster rockets and was now drifting amongst a collection of others who had come upon the same realizations.
Everyone just seemed so callous at the time. Apathy had been branded into them. I couldn't understand it. I insisted that the world had become confused and mired. I implored that we must continue to care, that despite life and its failings we must do our best.
I got knocked down. I got up. I got knocked down. I got back up. Except now I was different. I had decided that I would become the mirror. That I would show the world it's true nature by becoming what it had wanted me to become all along.
I became hate incarnate.

I'm not in the mood to write a poem, it just isn't in me to write tonight.
Others compose and some transcribe, while I ponder my plight out of spite.

I can't go a day much less three, without spilling some ink to thought.
I have no agenda, it's not very good, and most would prefer I not.

But I'm compelled I'm not sure why, these whims they must be contained.
Sorted and stacked in no real order, till nary a thought remained.

Placed before a very few, it is a banquet of souls exposed.
We pick and choose what we like, at times we turn up our nose.

It just doesn't matter if you like this poem just as you don't like me.
It isn't my soul, it's just some thoughts of what could and couldn't be.

Alas though here I sit, because something inside says I must.
The beauty of the irony is, it is this something I do not trust.

So I write more times than not of a woman I may not ever know.
Of how my heart wept on a cold winters night not so long ago.

The glow of her skin, the things she said that probably were not true.
The feel of her lips like petals I'd say perhaps roses caked in dew.

Or maybe I'll pen a little something that maybe makes no sense.
It doesn't matter, I have to write or else I get too tense.

So I'm done now, I've said my piece, and I thank you once again.
It's not for you. It's for her. I call her my favorite sin.

Ok. So I guess there was this rabbit or some **** you may find cute.
She only had three legs. She was also deaf and mute.

She happened upon a stream one day and decided to get a drink.
She never saw the eagle. There was no time to think.

She didn't die immediately for she was quite the little fighter.
She kicked her legs frantically until she felt a little lighter.

The eagle he flexed his talons and her rib cage he did crush.
As he soared towards the cliff her innards turned to mush.

The eagle feasted well that day upon our little friend.
Let's face the facts our little friend was ****** until the end.

I suppose that's how it goes, in the survival of the fittest.
You can be the prince of speed and still not make the list.

Sometimes it doesn't matter. That's when you do it out of spite.
Rage like Dylan Thomas, against the dying of the light.

For like our friend the rabbit, that hapless little *****.
Kick against that final breath until your final twitch.

**** death. (mic drop, bow, pick up the mic and hope I didn't break it cause it looks expensive and how many millionaire poets do you know?)

After years of thought on the matter on whether or not it matters.

Implicated complications frivolities and such.
Demand my time and suffrage, a very gentle touch.

I seek to find a reason for these things I don't control.
Why must these things happen? I tell you I must know.

Does karma as it does hold a certain sway?
Or do the gods themselves decide on judgement day?

Perhaps I'll ask Ganesha, he should know of what's become.
Maybe I can trade if I tell him where he's from?

Do I have to leave my mortal coil to come upon the truth?
To finally hear my dark side speak, no matter how uncouth.

To **** the nature of anything is really quite obtuse.
Failure to understand this thing, doesn't mean it's of no use.

Your beliefs my friend have failed you, there lies no right answer.
Ignorance prevails again, like an existential cancer.

I think I'll stick to thoughts and leave my mind open.
It seems to be the fairest way and easiest with coping.

I hope you find your happiness, your illusion be it good.
Me? I'll just keep hanging on and let it be as it should.

Fireflies, candles, whispers, and ****.
Blah blah blah
And lickety spit.

You hate your job, I really don't care.
Hike up your skirt.
While I pull your hair.

It's all an illusion, don't be so picky.
Give it a few.
And we'll both be sticky.

The whiskey's gone a cigarette's out.
I'll go get more.
You don't have to pout.

Socrates, Kant, and Tesla as well.
Would stand in line.
To get a whiff of your smell.

We can go again later if you're still here.
I'll get you a towel.
There's some over there.

I'll make us breakfast while you stay in bed.
I'll make you an omelette.
But I want head.

I know it's all sordid and rather risqué.
But life is short.
We all go the way.

Own who you are obscenity and all.
Stand while you can.
For one day we fall.

I can think of no comparable rapture than a electrical storm.
Power, chaos, and fury moshing it out and the earth is their pit.
It's like watching three brothers fight for the front seat.
There's so much passion condensed into a small area.

Ages ago I'd climb into the safety of my car and drive.
Once I reached a spot void of light pollution I'd **** the engine.
Just to hear the rain hammer the roof of my car.
To feel the power in the air and watch the streaks of light.

I'd think about life or the lack thereof and her of course.
The darkness enveloping the turmoil that lie unseen.
A certain beauty to the chaos if looked at from just the right angle.
Though unlike the other dogs. I stayed behind to finish the game.
The storms just never scared me.

The shadows on her chest eb and flow like the tide.
With every breath she takes from me I watch her chest heave.
The candle flames dance, as if to garner her approval.
You're too late Hephaestus, tonight her heart is mine.