Actions have consequences
If you keep cutting someone
Eventually they’re going to bleed out

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?

what’s left of me is lying right there by your feet
and I can save you
but you gotta pick that up

The moon pulls back the shimmering blue sheets before the rising sun
A world awashed overnight
Made anew
What was here last night is gone today, replaced by something never seen before
Time here is reset again
Another chance

Is it another chance for all? Are we to begin each day as if yesterday never was?
To try again, again, and again
To learn
Duality restrains for the sake of a conscious far too young to grasp the ultimate truth
Harnessed by necessity
We relinquish

Words upon words upon words
Stacked like chips
Towers of volumes
It would look like the pillars of creation
Sunlight will crash through the blood stained windows,
I ran out of ink so I had to make do,
breaking upon piles of ink and paper
Some were crumpled
Those are the ones that forbade me the words I needed
Pardon the whiskey spots
At the top though
You’ll need a ladder
It’s just a single piece of paper
With only one word
“You”

****** if I know
I just have to write
It’s a compulsion
There’s nothing to fight

It comes and goes
I give it no thought
I will not take the blame
It is not of my lot

I wish I were cured
That I wasn’t afflicted
It wouldn’t be so bad
If my writing was gifted

But no it’s not praised
Not garnished with stars
It’s just the nonsense
Of an old guy with scars

"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.

I may have forgotten that thing you said, I was probably thinking of bacon.
Yes my dear I love you my dear your words are never forsaken.

It's just that you see, bacon to me is not unlike the forbidden fruit.
There's no need to argue, it's plain to see this topic is clearly not moot.

Let me assure you as I remind you of that night I saw you first.
I came to the bar and saw you there and then I lost my thirst.

I drank of your smile and I could see where your rivers ran so deep.
A soul well scorn and nerves well worn by nights bearing no sleep.

We talked for a bit you gave me your time and poured many a drink.
So rare I had pondered when was it last that anyone made me think.

So now you see and cannot moot for somethings I do remember.
From the Chinese food to CVS and that one time in December.

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.

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.

They’ll pull out of the fridge
And they’ll say
“Do you want this?”
“If you don’t want it I’m just going to throw it away.”
I have to smile to myself.
Because I feel the same way about my heart.

I lost track of what's considered sane and what's considered insane. The internet came along one day. Kicked in the ****** door and the world said "**** yeah!"
Now you can watch drug dealers chop each others heads off on one tab, Rachael Ray cooking a shoe on another tab, all while playing strip poker with three Filipino chicks, from another country.
So now I tend to lose focus.
Because of the variety of things to explore online.
That's why I smoke crack.
Crack has gotten me to focus harder in my life on my goals. I'm always focused on getting more crack.
Which, thanks to the internet, has gotten a lot easier. It is a buyers market after all.
Yup. Thanks to crack and the internet. We can explore the world via the online experience at our leisure all while staying focused on that which is most important to us. You guessed it. Buying more crack.
Taking in the beliefs, ideologies, and cultural differences calls about or should I say demands a new perspective. The rules of civility and morality are going to need a rewriting.
And as soon as I get more crack. I'll start working on it.

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.

They'll arise, the people I knew.
Most will get a coffee.
Others may light up a cigarette.
They'll ponder the day ahead.
Their jobs, their kids, their lovers.
Grabbing their phones.
They'll check their messages.
Assuring themselves they have everything they need.
They'll begin their commutes.
Destinations known awaiting.
Acknowledging their coworkers.
They begin their work.
Perhaps lunch for some.
Thinking about their new favorite shows.
Eventually closing out their workdays.
They may make a stop or two on the way home.
Walking into their front doors with dinner on their minds.
Three or four of them may pour a drink.
Discussing their days events with their families.
Netflix will help them while away the evening and escort them into the night.
Others will make love, some will drag on butts while staring out into the night.
Eventually they'll all retire to their beds for the night.
Maybe one of them will think of me.
This being the day after I died.

So where were you when the light shone through and the curtains went up in flames?
I was down by the river sifting for hope while watching the wolves play games.
So where am I now and what is to be of what was and can I ask why the **** not?
These questions you ask in folds too many are you hinting you think it's a plot?

Question not my questions fool who's forsaken to the winds of fortune and luck.
I'll answer your questions you conceited *** if not for words of which I'm stuck.
Please take this pipe and riddle me this old man will not my spirit be spared.
No it will not, you'll take what is given and what you seek cannot be shared.

Then he hopped away this talking roo, with the blue velvet three shaded collar.
As I sat grounded somewhat dumbfounded I'm looking at all this squalor.
Could this be the reason for her act of treason to what I had hoped we shared.
Could I have been wrong, to sing her that song her ears I thought not to spare.

Tell me Santa who drinks my last Fanta and you know how much I like grape.
Yes I took shrooms, I've trashed many rooms, so my dreams have already escaped?
I need more of that whiskey, just so I don't miss me when I'm sure to misplace my mind.
I know you don't know me and I doubt you will find me when your time turns in kind.

You may taste the acid the surge and the rush as the smoke dances over your head.
It's a ****** up road and a darkly path where better men have wound up dead.
Heed not my warnings my rantings and such for you see I am just too far gone.
Take it from me the guy with one shoe who just woke up out on your lawn.

From wherein did I say I was something way back when?
Excuse me for my grammar, it's this ******* mescaline.

From here on out where were we before the barmaid came to call?
Before I have another whiskey and demand we hear The Wall.

Ahh, you were just about to leave me where others flown before.
Well please don't let me stop you. Here, I'll hold the ****** door.

The amber potion may make me numb.
The sticky leaves may make me dumb.
But the sunsets never go astray.
Here for me lest everyday.
As if they'd nothing else to do.
But remind me every night of you.

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 never have to check my phone and so I watch the candleflame dance
Fingertips grow numb to the soulless rocks glass
My cigarette whispers secrets to a callous night
And I think my cat died
I’d check but I can’t take another hit tonight
Unless it’s off a pipe
She’ll still be dead in the morning
Silence hangs about like an ugly hotel painting that’s been inexplicably bolted to the wall
If I were to put a **** out on my chest to punish every thought I had of you
I’d spell out your name
A thousand times

There's no rapture here.
No balm in Gilead.

Synaptic starvation.
A void within a void.

External stimuli extinct.
Internal stimuli forsaken.

To what then do I owe the pleasure?
If there's no pleasure to be had.

A loveless existence.
A spirit left to dry out over time in the pursuit of futility and meaningless exchanges of niceties and things need not said to people for whom we do not care at times we don't have to spare in a world left so cold to the idea that it could save itself if it only tried that it reeks of contempt and suffering.
Everyday people suffering and mired in the things that haunt their essence of being on a level they rather not have to contend with because they know the truth is anything other than what they hoped it'd be and any attempt at reconciliation would only be a foray into a vacuous madness.
So wrought with strife and teetering on an edge of a knife we choose instead to adopt the illusion that best suits our needs so that we can just muster enough strength get out of bed in the morning and swallow that bitter pill that we can only hope will help mask our never ending desire to see an end to it all so that we may at last find some peace whether in this life or the next.

She lies in the ashes, like a phoenix that hasn’t learned to fly.
Colors afire swirl about her reflecting her spirit.
Ever changing in tone and hues, she’s alight with passion.
The rain falls harder the heavier her heart.
And the sun feels like cotton when she is happy.
Mysterious forces pull at the will when she smiles.
A ****** like rush surges to your heart.
Insatiably compelled you feel like you can’t live without it.
I can only imagine.
I can only, imagine.

I toss my thoughts out into a void.
They won't inspire like the stars.
Themselves scattered.

They disappear into a murky void.
Like the rocks I've fed to the rivers.
Themselves forever lost.

My heart speaks out in some thoughts.
The mind interprets what it can.
Things get lost in translation.

Youll find no joy, no sorrow, no love.
These words of mine have been tested.
No affects do they bear.

Nonetheless they were never mine to begin with.
Like everything else.
These thoughts are about you, for you, and without you.

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?

It's crossed my mind.
Perhaps more often than I'd like to admit.
The thought of stepping through the door.
If for no other reason than to see what lies on the other side.
It's a two lane road.
The cars are travelling in opposite directions.
Just gotta swerve five feet to the left when you see the next Peterbilt.
Two objects travelling at sixty.
Meeting head on.
To know in an instant what awaits a tortured soul.
Would you remember to put the silver on my eyes?
For the ferryman.
These thoughts aren't birthed by sadness.
It's more of a "I'm bored. What's over here?" feeling.
One day.
One day the Call will shout over the other voices.
The ones that say "what about?"
I can step off into nothing.

A wretched soul kneeling before the fire as it reaches out into the night.
She closes her eyes and soaks in the breath of someone other.
Wrought with rot I raise my head to the rosey glow of the room.
Comforted only by the flapping sound of the winds wings.
Oh to hear that voice! To be quenched of woe by the sound of her singing.
My songbird has but flown into the arms of a world unfamiliar of her.
Charred by envy I'd cast myself to the will of the gods.
Save for one problem.
I do not believe in gods. Only monsters.
Her hand reaches out from the darkness in my dreams.
Soaked in the blood of loves gone by.
I stretch my hand out to hers.
Only to have the apparition slip through my forlorn fingers.
The darkness consumes my will.
I succumb.
For my light, my love, she wanders still.
And I. Alone.

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.

Nullifying objectivity I've chosen to stew and rot.
They'll tell me to appreciate the many things I've already got.

I beg of you you hapless fool spare me your advice.
I haven't the time to pardon you, much less play it nice.

My heart is tired this game is old just give me what I need.
My questions many my answers few, at no time will I heed.

Tell me sir is it so, the great Pan, is he dead?
How about poor Tantalus, has he yet been fed?

Answer me you witless *****, have you lost your tongue?
So help the gods of Jupiter, your neck I'll have rung!

Was cold fusion a reality? And are we all alone?
Can you explain the Tao Hum? The origin of that tone.

How about Alexandria? To what means did it fall?
Why are all those Easter statues so very ****** tall?

I'm done with you now David, if that's even your real name.
The doctors tell me you're a statue but I like you just the same.

Here they come with my shot it's you they should meet.
Mikey shorted you on your **** but gave you Hobbit feet.

So little time afforded.
Life lost to necessities and chaos.
Pulled to shreds by people, places, and things.
What is left for us?

What of ourselves do we get to keep?
What do we give away?
What parts of ourselves do we sell?
For how much?

Do you even know who you are anymore?
Are you who I think you are?
Are you who you want to be?
There are parts of me I left to rot in your hands that I'd like to have back.

Hoping the answers I get are wrong.
Hoping those voices from the dark recesses of my mind are wrong.
To all these questions.
I'm just so tired of asking.

I'd toss you down then roll you over and give you a slap on the ***.
I'd tell you I love you then then slap it again and call you a ***** of a lass.

You'd grin a little then slap my face the moment it was least expected.
I'd tie you down and grab a pillow to do what you least suspected.

I'd take a nap after eating some onions then give you the stinkiest kiss.
I might even blind you then run up behind you and hope I didn't miss.

Like bears in the woods we'll grunt and we'll hollar trust me it'll be good.
Come round two you can be Marion and I'll be Robin Hood.

When it's all done the sweat is drying and I've forgotten your name.
We can meet up tomorrow here and again this time we'll play your game.

I’ve given you my ****** heart!
I’ve wept for those torn apart!
Really folks, what does it take?
Fourteen words to describe a lake.

I’ve written of darkness and lasting pain.
Raised the question to if I’m insane!
Perhaps to you, it doesn’t matter.
You’re only here to lie and flatter.

Really though, what is all this?
A digital spot to ***** and ****?
Tapping out our daily woes.
In the hope of reaching a few lost souls?

Passionate pieces and playful taunts.
Forgotten moments, remembered wants?
Why don’t she love you? You’re not worthy.
You got ****** up teeth and a bout with scurvy.

Look, I get it, you’re looking for meaning.
A demon ***** with eyes a gleaming.
But it’s not here, not by a stretch.
Just a thousand writers and a ****** wretch.

No rapture greater.
No peace more exquisite.
A friend, an enemy.
Comforting when contained.
A demon when set free.
In the absence of love.
My friend the flame

My legs they hurt.
The pain's in my knees.
Could you bring me a scotch
and my cigarettes please.

Now tell me a story.
One I've not heard.
Perhaps your life.
Spare not a word.

Tell me your sorrow.
Speak of your dreams.
Of soft Sunday mornings.
Or crystal clear streams.

I'm here for you now.
Not always I'll be.
So tell us a secret.
It'll die with me.

"I could write you a poem", I said,
hoping against all hope.
"And what would I do with that?"
she reached for a cigarette.

"Perhaps it would make you happy?"
"Is that what you want?" she said.
"To see me happy?"
"Moreso than to see the morrow." I pleaded.

"What about what I want?"
The ember glowed highlighting her cheeks.
"Name it." my hand reaching for hers uneasily.
"I want you........(she smiled to herself) to go away."

It has been many a night,
many a dream has come to pass.
Her skin a reflection of the sun
as it brushes amber stained glass.

The softness of her lips,
petals of the sweetest flower.
The aching of these memories
ceaseless every hour.

The temper of a hurricane
meeting a tornado in a bar.
The passion of a new moon
even with its celestial scars.

Time has made her a spectre
it is my dreams she haunts.
I left without an argument
I gave her what she wants.

Cursed am I to exile
to ponder what she is.
A beauty yet unrivaled,
what was and never is.

Pick a day
Any day
Everyday
It doesn’t matter
Not a one goes by when I don’t think about you
Not just your smile
Your laugh
You
Every single day

So many lies to tell.
The black lies are the ones that matter.
These are the ones that destroy lives.
Reinforced by the need for the illusion.

There's a reason they call them little white lies.
Because they don't matter.
So is that what we are?
Little white lies.

So therein lies the problem I'd say.
Stop. Telling. Lies.
Or, never start to begin with.
What would life be then?

Still a lie.