Nights move  like a forgotten  ghost unwanted by all.    
A vision  unseen to all but one.

Down damp streets he haunts the same path every night just befor the dawn.
The empty hearts gather to drown togther in the sea.

Togther feeling so very alone.
Can we cast shadows in the darkness project happiness in such gloom to return the   same old haunts again and again.
A wheel  rolling  without question.
On into the emptyness of my night.

Waitting for a return that  never will be.
Cursing the problem never understanding it was her and me.
As the dream turn to the drunk.

The painter paints no longer sunsets but
Nights and his thoughts of blue to gray.

Warmth in the darker corners gives a view to
the young and  the still hopefull.
Tiping my half empty glass I wish them to never know pain.

Finding a home with other empty hearts caught.
In ***** sheets im haunted by the ghost of my
former self.

A puddle stepped in cast waves of reflected neon light.
As we play a roll unknown to all  
At typewritter  I sit.
Listening to To the bar and bottles clatter men and women's
laughter and soon forgotten fight.
Yerning to be free so is the emptyness of my night.

To it they all fall.
Nameless faces to the game.
Boroken in shame into empty spaces they do crawl.

One has to win for the other to lose.
The road takes many turns.
But we all meet defeat no matter which you choose.

Busted knuckles burnt bridges leaving
a callus heart sore.
Life appears in many forms from the floor.

Ive tasted bitter endings claimed
in regret.
Nights the soul does drift.
To a place I yern to forget.

Its a dream we no longer recall.
So distant to us now.
We question did we ever want it at all.

i'll gather my fragments oh a jaded heart
as I act blind while you head out the door.
Then colapse and take it one more time
from the floor.  

P.S.  Hey got Twitter   JohnRobbins  its just like stalking
Ineed followers okay that sounds weird haha.

What I want for christmas dont fit under that
tree.
Cause it dont involve to much shopping.
Just very little clothes a warm bed and you and me.

You can warp yourself in a bow.
Well share some special holiday cheer.
Over the bed is the perfect place to hang the misletoe.

What I want my dear ya dont have to buy.
Have Ibeen good all year.
Well honey I did try.

Why miss claus I never knew you shopped at
fredricks of holywood.
Spike that eggnog turn down the lights.
we'll try to keep it a silent night
but I dont think we could.

Baby I want the same pressent every year
and for that matter why not every day?
Im just in the holiday spirt what can I say.

Yes from santa I expect a lump of coal.
Makes me wonder why santas so jolly.
Hey I wonder do they gotta ******* at the north pole?

What I want for christmas is a bottle of wild turkey
and you in my bed.
Yes it's more like the ******* mansion.
Than sugar blums dancing in my head.

So my wish for this christmas to yours and you.
keep these holidays happy instead of crazy pulling
out your hair listening to Elvis singin bout a christmas
so blue.

No Matter The Floor You Pass Out On

I awake as any other madman slash poet.
Apon the floor  naked  pizza box for pillow a members only jacket for a blanket.
yes the libary sure has changed over the years.

less and less people were reading buggets were cut meaning
libraryies were under staffed and rarely did anyone dare venture into
the stacks  and thank good for that. Cause being i preffered free sleeping
it was probaly for the best.

but no matter the the floor you pass out on most all fine
american men wake up with are god given birth rite.
That which after a trip to the restroom like
that early morning madness that was christmas  pressent openning
was over way to fast and was kinda disapointing.

Floors werent the best beds in the world in fact they
****** altogather but drinking and common sense dont even
belong in the same room togather.

Portsmouth Va  was a strange world indeed a place where upscale colided with skidrow.
Me I preffer the company of a outdoor sleeper to that of a
spoiled spoon fed yuppie ****.
the art school cranked out angst ridden buble people by the second.

They walked the street soaking in the pain of life.
there heads stuck so far up there ***** I always felt compeled to trip them as they walked by.
acting as though they were outsiders  yerning to be mainstream
they'd **** there mothers on a mtv reality show as dad cried in the background.

Just for a taste of stardom.
True talent who needs that?
but no matter the floor you pass out on one
thing was clear.

In a world were you could have a bus load
of kids and get paid for it.
fame wasnt such a rare thing anymore.

The floor I passed out on was cold and cruel but surrounded
voices from the past.
the floor these hollow  reallity show bottom  feeders
passed out on.  Had to besoft as there heads.

Otherwise there brains would splatter across the floor.
And some TV exect would have a brainstorm  to have a show
were washed up celebrities would have a contest.

To see who could bore us the most with there sob story  
Yes friends id rather have a pizza box for a pillow
than a reality show  pillbox for a brain.

and the truth effectsus all form no matter
which floor so you do choose to pass out on.

The bright sky after the storm.
The rains smell washed clean.
confessions of the innocent gentle and forlorn.

As in visions we seek the a place beyond
what others can claim to have seen.
As the view does vanish.
we reflect apon its perfection as is
caught within a dream.

Hands of ice thoughts as stubborn
cast in stone.
To bitter to admit the pain
So prison from a view unknown.

In a dark landscape there may exist light
over the next ridge but who will journey to see.
It's a choice we must make to try and fail
or wallow in misery.

Children dream without limits so why should
we stop with time.
Age effects all like the pages
of a book of rhyme.

We dream so long only to marvle to the
monsters weve grown.
Thoughts for sale are a mystery.
from this view unknown

Were we a trainwreck  never ment to be?
So many opinions on you.
Yet the only one that ever mattered was from me.

Messages written last words scribbled apon my wall.
That ill fated lovestory  was my life.
So I recall.

Old friends make great rivals it does seem.
The journey took me from the nightmare.
To awake in a dream,

Such a small feeling soul standing  so very tall.
It was a delicate dance.
It was a perfect disaster  so I recall.

To lean apon a shoulder that looks to rest apon another.
Taking long walks to nowhere.
Looking into the empty eyes of a man once known
to me as a brother.

I've seen dreams fade with the setting sun.
When all hope has been lost.
To whom should I run.

First we stand untill we crawl.
These lessons of a tormented youth.
So very often I recall.

From this barstool i have sat waitting for some moment
of inspiration to come to me.
But the only thing that that comes to me is
a bartender with another drink.

And in empty reflection lost in a jukebox's song
played by a lonley heart shooting pool.
I cant recall where the spark went.
maybe it fell to floor like the ash from a cigarette.

the page waits at home like a wife waitting in worry as her husban is off doing God knows what.
So worried only wishing he'd return.
And when he does the fear fades and the anger kicks in.

The bottle doesnt hold a key but it does know me well.
I kiss it's fiery lips and cant resist it's charm.
so I sit with it passing hours in a dance that will end in
nothing but another wasted night  and a bitter morning taken
out apon my  mind.

In a swirl of hungover thoughts id leave half written pages.
To soon find themselves collecting with my ever growing arsenal  of
drunken rants.
All ending bitter and cold.

But when the whiskey hits I'll make such great plans
that will never be.  
I'll write that epic that will keep in the minds
other writers.
And in the warm arms of women who wanna love a
trainwreck just to say they've known what it's like.

Whiskey wishes are like sparks from a much larger fire.
the sparks fly off into the midnight sky.
only to fade befor are very eye.