I have a red room
Down the end of the hall
It’s quiet and warm in there
My crimson red room
At the end of the hall
It’s when you’ll find me where
I have a black pipe
In that red room
It’s resting upon a table
It’s always there
Waiting for me
Even when I am unable
You can sneer
At my blood red room
Please go ahead and scoff
I’ll be smoking
My pipe in there
And you can just *******

Just hand me the world
I’ll give you my life
I’ll dust it free
Of peace and strife
I’ll put the horse before the cart
And where you finish is where I’ll start
Just put it here upon my shoulder
I’ll be right here when it gets colder
I promise not to fumble this
Muddled world of **** and ****
Just let me wipe it shiny new
Remake this world just for you

A nihilist wishes for nothing
Because nothing is as it seems
We suffer neither highs or lows
And our lives are merely dreams

There is no way to know the truth
And the truth may never be known
Any values you have are created
And purpose ain’t flesh and bone

Your moral values just meaningless
Your peace is chaos to the fly
Everything dies uncertain
And the rivers still flow on by

Light me a fire and tell me your sorrow.
I promise my friend I'll be here tomorrow.

Speak of your pain and tell me what ails you.
Speak of your worries and what entails you.

Show me your scars your wounds that haunt you.
My ears are yours, I'm not here to taunt you.

It's not that I care or that I'm empathic.
If my trust you seek your story be tragic.

Suffering takes courage and its courage I trust.
If you want my hand, it's courage or bust.

If you’re wondering
Upon a grassy hill
One fine day
And in your wondering
You wonder
If I’m out there
Somewhere
On another grassy hill
Wondering to myself
And in my wonder
I find you?
Everyday.

I’m sitting in this huge theater.
Looking at this enormous picture.
It’s so big you’d think you were looking at the past, the present, and the future all at once.
You don’t need a ticket.
You can just come in and sit down.
I’d love to talk to you about it.
I know you won’t.
Come in.
I’ve been here for a long time.
Nobody ever sits down.
I guess they don’t see it.

I’m too tired to be the monster I was anymore
So, I can’t fight you like I once could
I do have sulfur though, I have my wits
Enough to burn a thousand bridges

A genuine person, wouldn’t be a genuine person.
People, whether as a group or as individuals are disingenuous.
It’s a human thing.
You see.
We’re a fairly young species.
You must keep this in mind when dealing with us.
You’d think that having been around for thousands of years,
we would’ve learned a thing or two.
We figured out the technical stuff.
We went to the moon, cured polio, and found the goats ****** is very similar to ours.
Though, that’s about it…..figuratively speaking.
Though when it comes to being better versions of ourselves.
We kinda threw the baby out with the bath water, into the trash, off to the dump, and set it on fire.
You see.
Despite our extremely advantageous position in the tree of life.
We're not very high up,
ethically speaking.
It’s because we are so young.
And stupid
**** are we stupid
I don’t know if there’ll ever be a world
where we treat each other with unbiased kindness.
Champion empathy and compassion.
Crave honesty unto ourselves and others.
And abolish The Red Hot Chili Peppers because **** if they aren’t just awful.
It’s a nice thought though,
isn’t it?
Kind of like how an **** where everyone pronounces you the king and you get cake and balloons fall from the sky and **** all your enemies, is a nice thought.
Tis all it is though.
Still,
one day we might get there.
Hope springs eternal.

Until you’re declared the lord of all creation.
Give things the benefit of doubt to be something other than what you perceive them to be.

I got grass all over my lil white rug. So I rolled it up like you would a body. Then I set it on fire and took a deep breath.
I lifted the eyelids of my house to see if the world had changed. I saw the coyote that killed my friend and not much else.
Another Saturday Night.
Two flames aloft in the darkness dance to a song I used to love and I need more ice if I'm to ever see through this amber haze.
I've been cold for so long you'd think I'd be laughing by now.
It's a solidifying existence here.
I made us each a plate. One has cyanide, the other morphine. It's a win win.

You ever feel locked outside of yourself?
Detached from yourself, by yourself, for yourself.
Yourself.
It's a funny word.
Sounds like the name of a middle eastern shoe salesman.
I sometimes wonder why I don't have more friends.
Then I remember, me.
I'm the reason.
I keep you all at bay.
All two of you.
Just strolling around the ******* at bay.
It's not for me that you're there.
It's for you.
Take care of yourselves.

I wrote you a poem.
You said that you liked it.
I added a ****.
You could say that I spiked it.

You left me no comment.
You said not a word.
Now it sits there unwanted.
My poem's now curd.

I could write you another.
A little less rhymey?
Something romantic.
Not nearly as grimey?

I'll leave out the ****.
The ***** and the lows.
I could write you of sorrow.
Of heartache and woes.

Just tell me dear reader.
What do you want?
Love and raw passion?
Except leave out the -unt?

I envy the preacher and shaman. I envy their faith and their flock.
Those deluded non sensical *******, just running down time on the clock.

I adore the rabbi and lama, the beards and the tans are the tops.
And whenever I want to party, the imam is pulling no stops.

They live in worlds of certainty, where convictions are set in stone.
While I’ve been somehow left to wander my world all alone.

While others were able to forgive a world that can’t be rationalized.
I got stuck, became enamored, and now I’m pasteurized.

So I’ll laugh until my eyes bleed from staring at the sun.
And if we meet again one day we’ll say “yeah well that was fun”.

I hate the knowing.
The knowing of what's going to happen before it happens.
I know what she's going to say.
I know what he's going to do.
Predictability.
People.
Reactions.
I've been here before.
I don't know how much time I have left.
But.
I know it isn't much.
So.
Can we just cut to the chase.
I'm going to say.
Then you're going to say.
Then I'm going to counter with.
And you're going to react like.
So I'll reinforce.
You'll roll your eyes.
And the dance goes on.
How about we just say "*******" and call it a night?
Then I can go back to drinking.
You can put down the facade of empathy.
And.
Well I guess I don't know after that.
I suppose.
We'll both find someone else to dance with.

If you truly loved me.
You wouldn't tell me.

Love is commonly.
A fleeting thing.
Here one day.
Gone the next.

So favor me with silence.
Let me think otherwise.
For the pain I shall endure.
When you pull your love away.
Is far greater than any other pain.
Even that of unrequited love.

There’s nothing here.
I’m just trying to save you a trip.
Become a hedonist, a pacifist, a sardonic mop.
Just don’t bother going any further than where you are now.
I’ll send you a pic.
Don’t bother thanking me.
It’s nothing, really.

You’d think by now I would have thought to myself to consider whatever you’re thinking.
Really I would, the truth is you see, that I may have or might have been drinking.

It could have been then, it’s for sure right now, and I’ll probably be high tomorrow.
There is no balm, suffer me not, for I’m nothing if not sorrow.

I take my morning walk.
Through tunnels of bleached trees. Over the remains of names long forgotten by those who promised never to forget them.
I close my eyes.
To check on the multi car pile up of words in the back of my mind. A twisted burning wreckage of things left unsaid, things I’d like to say, and things I wish I didn’t know.
It’s been going on for so long the death toll of ideas is immeasurable.
There’s nothing to do now but listen to their screams.

I imagine it’s like closing your eyes to the sun on a cool November morning.
The sun places a kiss on your eyelids and you fracture a smile.
Everything fades to black.
You see fireflies and fireworks.
You want to wrap your arms around it.
And hold it till the moon comes up.
Just so you can tell her all about it.

I imagine I'd make a good dog owner.
Because I wouldn't establish myself as it's owner.
The dog and I would be equals.
I'd let it up on the couch.
Take it for car rides.
Reward it with treats.
And teach it to be disgusted by children to the point where it starts gagging whenever a child comes around. It'd revile them for the ineptitude and ignorance.
I could teach it how to sit and how pass judgement on people before getting to know them based simply on their hairstyles.
We'd go to the park and play frisbee then we'd get high and mock others openly.
I'd probably name it something cool like Cerebrus and then whenever anyone asked what it means the dog and I would look at each other and laugh while pointing at the inquisitor.

The dusty road hath grown grey
Time has been here too
A nomad appears from the east
And I ask of you

Tell me where the flowers grow
In hues of red and black
Tell me where the sun was last
And when will she be back

A tired wind pushed him forth
For he had spoken not a word
I wrote I love you on a ravens back
And I cursed that ominous bird

Cigarettes and crescent moons
Dead soldiers on the ground
We could say a thousand words
And never make a sound

You told me once long ago
How you wished it ought to be
And through the dark and stormy nights
‘‘Twas you I longed to see

Shall I set the world afire
To help you find your way
Perhaps if I destroy it all
Then maybe you’d stay

She's a momentary lapse of reason. A case of temporary insanity. Your entire perspective on life will change the moment she licks her lips.
She's poetic chaos set to Tchaikovsky against a backdrop of life moving in slow motion.
Much like alcohol she is both the cause and cure to all of life's problems. Even going so far as to leave you wondering if you're the problem.
You're that one guy at the poker table who's spent the last hour trying to find the sucker only to realize it's you.
She's a satin sunset that can move through you like the ghost of every dream you ever had.
Her eyes can leave you feeling stretched. Turned inside out and yanked from your mortal coil.
You'll learn to transcribe Ulysses in Latin from memory before you ever understand her fully.
She stares at the moon because they understand one another.
The trick is to let her run herself out.
Once she's exhausted all her tricks.
That's when you find out who she really is.

What am I
If not nothing
Am I what you see
Or am I what I see
Does it matter
And if not
Does nothing still apply

And

You were the love of my life
Right up until
You told me I was the love of your life

We spend our lives emotionally counting coup on one another.
Hoping to get away unscathed.
The trick I discovered.
Is to slit the throat of everything inside that they could touch.
Don’t move the carcasses.
Leave them as a reminder of what could be, and what was.

I like to imagine each new day is like a fresh page in a book.
As the day starts it’s spiral down the drain, I rarely hold the quill.
I’ve always kinda just let it do it’s thing.
Because I didn’t care.
At the end of the day I skim back over the page.
I don’t read it, the events of the day are of no matter to me.
I’m just looking for your name.
As long as when I look, I can find you there.
I don’t have to tear that page out.

Stars are like glowing snowflakes that have yet to fall. Now show me your *****.

I guess there’s not much more to me than what I say to you
Butchered words, arranged just so, to make you think they’re true

Fact remains, it’s not just me, it’s me just as I’m not
Charred, broken, underwhelmed, and hiding what I’ve wrought

So here I am to try my best and make you feel what I can’t
Drinking whiskey, packing bowls, and penning out a rant

I’ve already banged you, held and restrained you, caressed every ******* scar
Here in the swamp I curse and I stomp, even the rats know who you are
Are you really surprised when they look in your eyes and tell you I love you
What do ya want, you silly dumb ****, do you not see the things you do
You’re a reminder, a lost soul finder, a bodhisattva of evil intention
I’d hazard to guess, the one they call Mess, is a soul without retention
But what’d I know, another ****** soul, another victim of apathy
Perhaps one day late into May, you’ll stop and think of me

Some of you just don’t like Christmas. You’d rather it just *******. Anytime you hear Jingle Bells, you change the station and scoff.

Perhaps it has been ruined, by things that happened then. So while others are laughing and singing, you’re only thinking of when.

Was it a touchy old pastor? Did a reindeer **** on your shoe? Did your elf on a shelf touch himself while smiling and staring at you?

Maybe a coked out ****** in tights tried to bite off your tongue. Just as the snow was falling and those church bells had been rung.

How can you not like the lights? The smell of snow in the air? Is it because you’re spiritually dead and can’t muster the courage to care?

Maybe you had a bad mom, who wore ****** clamps in front of your friends. Who wore acid wash jeans everyday, no matter the fashion trends.

How can you not like the sounds? Of fires that crackle and snap? Of cookies and cider and cinnamon **** and all that Christmasy crap?

Well whatever your ***** *** reason for hating this season so. Please take your ****** egg nog, and go stand outside in the snow.

I never got the chance to........
There was this light.
Just a bulb hanging from.
It'd sway sometimes.
I don't know how.
As if it were searching the room for something it'd lost.
I used to think maybe there was a melody to it.
Or a reason.
Nope.
We're just, here.

I’m going to tell you that I love you
And here’s what you should do
Take this here I love you
And keep it as a clue
So that when you ask the stars at night
Who it is that holds you dear
Take that there I love you
And know that I’m right here

Where the wind runs it’s fingers through the fresh grass of spring
Or those moments of solace to which we all cling

Where the waters are warm to touch with cloud capped dunes
And fireflies play under soft crescent moons

Where the mist gathers and turns the world cold and grey
When you think of that night, that story, that day

That’s where you’ll find me if you’d fancy a chat
Just look inside
I’m where you’re at

We’re coming close to the end of things, of things I’d like to say.
Here’s a list of some of those things I said before I pass away.
I called an old woman a **** one time for reasons that are my own.
I don’t regret it not one lil bit and let’s just leave it alone.
I once told a small child I’d cut off his face and use it to wipe my ***.
But to be fair he was stirring my scotch but he went and chipped the glass.
Then there was that time in church when I said “what in the **** is a ******”.
Or that time I told my girl that I might as well go **** a sturgeon.
The end.
Don’t forget to tip the coat check girl. She’s homeless and afraid of homeless people.

I’d write you a poem but my hands are too cold
There’s little light where I am
And my will is growing old

I’d say the last time I saw you, under an electric moon
Was the last time I felt warm
And you took that warmth too soon

Bast and I still speak of you, over fires and amber soaked rocks
That smile that lit a world
My sadness that memory mocks

I have no one to send this to, no one I’d expect cares
Perhaps one day you’ll read this
And see I’m always there