Your mommy thinks it's great and rewards you with a bowl of ice cream and a sticker after she just gave you a bath once being your twenty two is a little strange I'm just saying.

When all your Facebook friends like it and yet you've never actually
met one of your two thousand Facebook friends.
I'm not saying your a loser cause you live your live online
well yes I am sorry I'm a ****.

When you write endless poems about how everyone in this world *****  look  sure people are a pain in the *** .
But maybe instead of listening to hours of music about suicide and
other teenage horse **** maybe you should step out the door go into
that strange place  called the outdoors  get a drink get laid and try having a life instead of just ******* about everyone else.

When other people are brought to tears before you read the first line.
Yeah sure I want to listen to hours of spoken word poetry.
And maybe have a root canal as well.
Well at least with a root canal there's some free drugs.
Look get a keg maybe some other party favors and a wet T shirt
contest and that's a poetry reading you can count me in for.

When everyone on a website gives you a hundred likes and not a single comment  yes the like button I hate it if you didn't know.

How do you know when your poetry ***** .
Well when it's used by the government to interrogate  suspected terrorist  at the airport and suspect screams out in agony .
Look whatever happened to good old fashioned water and car batteries and jumper cables ?

When your favorite subject is the girlfriend that ripped your heart out
and how your life isn't worth living since she left.
When if you had spent more time hitting the sack and less time working on her tenth sonnet.

Maybe she wouldn't be getting jack hammered by your best friend.
Hey write about that video they put out she's a total freak.
Sorry bout your loss now what was her number?


Yes bad poetry it's enough to drive a mental man sane trust me
that's why I drink so I can forget half the crap I've read .

Stay crazy kids .
Drinks on me Gonzo

I was half hung the **** over and feeling like total **** left to die.
The ***** was gone and the room looked like someone had set a bomb off in a ******* .

The phone rang out a ******* annoying *** banshee much like a Selena Gomez record sure everyone likes spoiled little ****** just not with the  sound on.
I answered the phone with all my southern charm.

What the **** do you want ! ?

There was a dead silence when finally a voice spoke on the other end.
Um MR Robbins  is this a bad time?
Well considering I haven't had a drink and my head feels like it was
hit by a plane nobody can find yeah sure it's a great ******* time.

Well MR Robbins the man continued on about **** I could care less about going through his whole pitch trying to sell me some over priced life insurance .
Yeah you got to love a paycheck you'll never see newsflash after I kick the bucket  I don't give a **** if you roll me up in a carpet and toss me in a landfill .

Well MR Robbins can we sign you up ?
I paused just to simply to hold up the works and make you the reader say where the **** is he going with this ****.

My friend I get this is your job but the only thing certain in this existence  is death  and I have far better things and strippers to waste my money on than a fund  for  when I kick the bucket .

Sure I could put money aside for a time I wont enjoy it, yeah and I could settle down get married become a regular dude who works his *** off till I retire to sit in a recliner **** myself and watch commercials about pills that'll give you a stiff **** and so many ******* side effects you'll do everything but glow in the ******* dark.

There is no ******* promise of tomorrow kids so live your **** off today and **** the future we can only know the present.

I slammed the phone down and poured what was left of a dead solider in a pint glass .
It was bitter and almost warm and as I chased it with a good cigarette
and thought to myself  as the jukebox came to life .

Dam I sure hope that was a beer if not someone probably needs to go to the free clinic .

Stay crazy hamsters .

Gonzo

No drug on earth can match that which fuels the ego as fame.
As everyone wants to be someone and only some may be.
I spark my own urges and fueled my own flame far too long maybe this runs finally over, maybe I truly don't give a **** anymore to begin with.

As for the dues I've paid you
simply couldn't understand.
Broken body parts burnout relationships sleeping in the streets the backdrop was always there I need only to open my eyes to find a source of inspiration.

My footsteps cast as my shadow does loom I would pity those who try to follow but remorse never suited me very well.

And to grasp that faint chance.
I've just a moment and sacrificed many.
If you believe I am a parody and I'm to believe your one to.
Quicksand logic will always be a bitter egos demise, and I've long since passed the mark of any to sort of return to normal .

I played the stage as I played the audience fine-tuned my craft using it only as a weapon it soon became far more than I bargained for.
I'm tired, I am broken I'm all that which you probably believe and far worse.

It isn't for the lack of imagination it simply I could give a **** less.
Do not choose to be a chameleon to blend in simply to exist.
I stand out not to be fashionable but because it simply just who I am.

My road was carved through frustration and turmoil the homicidal chaos leaves little mystery care to challenge my point?
And though I certainly embrace my demise I certainly I'm not the fool who is imprisoned to a act.

We only know what others let us see, and the rest we simply fill in the blanks.

My dues have been paid in emptiness a skill forged in hell cast to leave the page to bleed.

The footsteps left behind are my own.
Make no mistake with anything in life somebody always has to get hurt.

I've seen it said before so many times yet like words spoken of a handed down nature the pompous always tend to ignore great truths of the past.
I've seen great writers turned absolute **** with the stroking of their own ego.

I'd seen critics forged their own wants in the weakness of others who listen to bull crap wanting simply to be accepted.
Some chase what they believe to be a set path, there is no roadmap to success simply an afterthought to the losers who chase dreams often not their own.

I never chased ****!
I was always me not some watered-down version of another character I thought I could be so that's what you assumed.
Well you can assume your *** right out the door and out of my ******* face!

I live with no purpose I simply exist I thrive in my own madness and care little for the opinions of others.
I never force the write I simply follow it to wherever it leads me a river has only one direction.

Never truly believe your own *******.
Never think you're better simply know who you are.
Don't toil over the works of others admire it for what it is but don't let it **** with your head.

I never became a writer I just always was it wasn't  the cool thing to be it's just ingrained in my DNA.
The drinking, the drugs, the fast life wasn't some stylized afterthought  to seem hip it's just who I am.

You see my friends anyone can write but few can truly connect.
The page knows me better than I know myself it is here I'm vulnerable, it is here I am real for this is my existence.

It is my passion.
It is my life and ultimately it will be my death.
There is no gimmick and I never cater to a critic for one pompous ***** opinion matters less to me than a man who sits beside me and shares a drink.

Honesty is a poison in a society loaded with *******!
Never fear rejection and always embrace defeat without thought of a backup plan.

My work is my soul dark as it may seem never hasn't been considered fake.
But then again what do I truly know?
For to many I'm just a joker the town drunkard who sees more through dark glasses than many see within the light of day.

Never believe your own ******* because the moment you start to is the moment you begin to decay.

I cannot say it wont be missed it's simply my soul much like the piano has long since been out of tune.
A half herd chord and a bruised liver wont **** the memories .
Maybe another round with a bitter pill chaser will do the trick that never
felt so desolate until right now.

Maybe some can take comfort in shadows I've found them strangers
for far to long tell them I said goodbye before are words shall be taken from context.
Lets just  exist in these lonely hours once more.

Can I borrow your hearts one last time will we connect as friends or vanish as smoke rings a display to magic and a old fools logic .
Can you play me that song and leave out the ending we see fit to declare .

Will you hear me last as I speak my words nothing was are destiny,
shall we dance to the tune long after the music's fade to people in form of a portrait and nothing more tonight?

I have ran miles now I simply rather sit here alone with you.

I'm not putting it down simply putting me first it's been far to long so sorry if you cannot grasp.

no hidden message need poison the pen for my words have always rang true to those whom understand.

The music fades as so must we all one seat a place not to be removed
what we cannot grasp so easily replaced .

The lights have went dim and the ghosts leave to haunt there corners of existence as so must I.

Standing upon a empty stage underneath a lone spotlight.

In smoke rings half filled glasses guilty vices filled underneath the darkness don't forget to tip your server.
The devil thrives in the empty hours, it was designed to drive you insane in these thoughts that haunt you for eternity.
I'm alone with you now take it for what it's worth.

Where do you lines separate?
Where do we say here's where it stops, here's the barrier between my life and you.

I have driven myself on pills and other assorted drugs displayed my existence the demented soap opera for your entertainment.

I am the closest you can come to the razor without feeling the blades cold burn.
Read in comfort while exploring the depths I'm worn from the play.
Squeeze the wound only to gain one last bit of soul upon the page.

As the wolves ask all can we quench this thirst, giving  no regards to ourselves?
I exist on the other side of the window pane.
A stark reflection of the tragic flaw no one should understand better than I.

For their are little rewards in others gain.
They hand you new vices to replace all for which they have stolen from you.
For other's see delusion as a dream, they admire you yet offer you lust in place  of depth.

And the flesh is a favorite vice of mine when lights are always turned low.
You may grasp the keys to your own prison, hold the bars in place of friendships.

Was it all an act?

My friend you tell me.

Spun from tracks a one way Outlook seldom lends to a bright vision  escape.
I've come to grips with the losing side counted hours borrowed change.
Where it all ends at sunset even beautiful is simply a passing moment all too soon forgotten.

A needles sting in long sense forgotten fire, cleansed of existence and newly paved highway lent to a dead-end mindset may the ******* glorify this moment!
For shallow truths seem to vanish in contemporary romance of addiction.

A window seated view to the trains derailment is a one way trip not worth the mention?
Embers of the spark have long since become outcast of the fire.
Tonight I only need to connect in the worst way possible, can you spare a moment only to cast it in regret?

Art is easy life is not the page simply an afterthought of our existence.
Never cast in stone what would never take to mold to begin with.
I never linger on others mistakes for I have far too many flaws of my own.

To head off the rails is not to find solace in the legend, merely a side effect of life lived by the sword.
We glorify the mistakes of others only to forget our own.
The cast judgment and yet another bitter pill.
How very tired of become of the scene.

Maybe we embrace chaos only to chase some semblance of distorted peace.
Maybe there was really no plan at all to begin with.
We are the after effects of the wreckage left to be viewed far better than we truly ever were.

A snowfalls mirage hides only with season, nothing shall stay buried forever.
Captured a image and hold it closely .
Say hello to delusion for me art was never intended to be safe.

Off the rails was it's direction there is no glamour in an untimely fade.
The intentions are always pure just somehow everything gets ****** up in the end.
Remember it as you like.