One single minute ago it was yesterday.
But now it's today.
Minutes are a funny thing.
They can go by in the blink of an eye when you want them to last forever.
They can take forever to pass when you just want the next one to arrive.

Hours are an even funnier thing.
Just one hour ago I was shivering.
I was cold and I was alone and I was sick and I was thinking about you.
Now, an hour later I am uncomfortably hot and I am thinking about how to get my next pack of cigarettes.
One hour someone could be in love and the next they could be hateful.

Days are odd as well.
One day ago I was happy.
I was in a place that I love and I was enjoying myself.
Now, one day later I am home and yet I am home sick.
One day someone could be alive and the next day they could be dead.

Months are ridiculous.
One month ago I was carefree.
I smoked anything I could get my hands on and I was the highest flying bird in the sky.
Now, one month later I am recovering and I am paying the price.
One month someone could be scared for their life and the next they can be living without a single thought.

Now years, there's some tricky business.
One year ago I had morales.
I was strong and I stood by my beliefs and I was surrounded by love and friends.
Now, one year later I am intolerant and in need of a soul search.
One year someone could be the king of the world and the next they can be the one shoveling ****.

But lifetimes, don't even get me started on those.
One lifetime ago I could have been a priest. I could have been a king. I could have been a drug dealer and I could have been a drug addict.
Now, one lifetime later I am myself and I am happy and than sad and than happy and confused.
One lifetime can see a lot but it can also be blind from what's going on.

Time is a man made concept.
It is not real and it will never be real unless you let it.
You can let it control your life and make you decide on subjects you are not ready to.
Or you can **** on time and live your ******* life however you please.

"The past is a liar, the future a *****."

Now, there is this thing called distance...

These cancerous drugs,
Have given me great pains
Like needles dripping heavy lead
Into my weakened veins
Like drunken lullabies,
slurred from sloppy lips
And promises spoken,
With hands upon the hips
Hypocrites can talk their words,
Yet poisonous lies flow forth
Talking over and again
of what has greater worth

I need to write something
No, no you don’t understand

I need to write
I need to prove something

(Though I do not know what it is)

That I’m talented?
That I’m alive?

That despite weeks and weeks
And months and months

Of retreating into the darkest corners of my mind
Giving you only dark, depressing drabbles

If anything
To go by

So despite being well aware
That this piece is going to be

Complete and utter ****
**** that’s hot and moist

Plugged with pine straw and grass

Beneath the glorious writers
Of HP’s feet

I need to make that sacrifice

I am here
I am *alive

You said the anger would come back
just as the love did.

I have a black look I do not
like. It is a mask I try on.
I migrate toward it and its frog
sits on my lips and defecates.
It is old. It is also a pauper.
I have tried to keep it on a diet.
I give it no unction.

There is a good look that I wear
like a blood clot. I have
sewn it over my left breast.
I have made a vocation of it.
Lust has taken plant in it
and I have placed you and your
child at its milk tip.

Oh the blackness is murderous
and the milk tip is brimming
and each machine is working
and I will kiss you when
I cut up one dozen new men
and you will die somewhat,
again and again.

Happiness
Hit her
Like a train
On a
Track.

Knocked her out,
Tied her up,
And took her
Back.

And Happiness
Loved her.
And Happiness cared.

She clung to Happiness
As much as she dared.

But when Happiness
Left
Her
As Happiness
Will

Her body
Closed down,
And in came a
Chill

A cold front
Clouded
Above her head.

She spoke not a word,
Until they found her dead.

Happiness
Hit her
Like a train
On a
Track.

Coming
Towards her,
Stock still,
No turning back

blank season--
cherry blossoms still
wound an aging heart

I kind of hope it does,* he said,
forking at a piece of chocolate cake
too large for the plate he chose.
We didn't say much in the flat moments after.
It thickened the air as we turned
back to the TV and watched
the pretty people wryly wonder
if the world would really end.

Why are there gates into Heaven if it's never too late to be forgiven?
Can we not just fall to our knees and beg for mercy there at the entrance?
I just don't see the God that you preach as someone to say "too late".
I can't see how he can stand to watch his children burn in Hell.
For Heaven's sake.

I don't understand
how a man
with so much virtue and honor,
can be someone
who allows his children
to be accepted as goners.