Some people mean well but when they ask you the question
are they really prepared for the answer?

How am I?  Well let me tell you.
Life is lived daily by the frayed edges of well worn rope.
My stale cigarette is just one inhale away from burning my flesh.
Lovers?  I'm one **** away from a grand STD because I don't care
enough to love anymore.  Just into the harsh slip and slide offered
in the back of the sticky floored bar.  It's filled with people like me here.
We don't talk, we stare, we smoke, the burn of the poison going down
strokes a fire that makes us feel alive.

They want me to change.  Change is was what brought me here.
Ironic isn't it?  Massive waves of stench roll over my light filled
soul trying to dim.  That, they can never have.  No matter how far
I've gone into the dark night of the soul...no one gets my flame.

A poison push just another shot then we simply say are goodbyes .
Can we even see beyond the miles now we walked through hell and just as many walk through that door.

Is it malice we take are bitterness sharing with every one night stand .
Junkies are all the same with far better titles 

Alleys of emptiness and rooms cast in shadow will the night corrupt us all turning the meek into rats .

Afraid we no longer recognize are reflection hidden in coffins and that early graves promise .

Can you take me with my burden or simply say ******* goodbye?

We all fall down sometimes and others simply prefer to crash and burn.
One more round turns to seven more years the trap was set and you simply put your hand within the fire .

We are all over-sized children playing a fatal game~

You were born on Wednesday
Almost a year to the day
Since Mamma had passed away.....
Elizabeth Anne
Head full of dark brown curls
Just like your mother
My sister
It was my first time seeing a baby born
It was beautiful and a little disgusting
All at the same time
I may or may not have had to hold up
the wall for a brief moment or two :)
Just goes to show you something beautiful
did come out of this evil darkened world
A world so cruel as to take a mom
from three daughters who still needed her so
I was just eighteen and beginning my freedom
and you were just born and beginning your life

Tonight poets will find the words
to color their life and dip their pens
in wounds that aren’t even their own
and some will stare at the moon
seeing an empty plate, hungering
for something without a name
or a clock with no numbers knowing
time carries a dagger and a sword
for the hours that wound and nights
that cut throats, arrows that pierce
hearts fiercely until they lie still,
cold and bled out on a bed all alone.

It was a graveyard and overcast sky
and I sat with book and accordian in hand,
hearing the world with its screams
swallow up around me.
The people whom I had loved and lost,
Papa with his silver eyes
Mama her sharp tongue and tough love
Rudy whose hair the colour of lemons
and questioned why, the living and dead,
worlds apart, yet both did not have a choice.
I stood and screamed so that everything shook
the burning rubble and ash and dust
willing my words to bring it all back
but it did not come, and my breath rose in gasps.
Death had looked me in the eye and said,
“It’s not time yet.”
I would shut my eyes to the world
only decades later.
I will understand that there was hate and pain
there was sadness
but even more so, there was love and joy.
I will know that the people I loved had reason
to kiss goodbye
whether it was their own hurt
or saw it as a necessity,
but they were never truly gone from me
always somewhere nearby,
in the thick and thin
frail and worn
of times.
I would learn
to forgive Death that day.
I will understand that
and I will be hurt,
but I will be okay.

~

Not all deaths are sad.
Some, meant to ease their own pain,
Are called freedom.
While some,
Meant to ease the pain of others,
Are called love.

© BT

Does the time make us fools or simply were we always so to begin with .
Sketches faded now remain a ghost that haunts only the artist and nobody else.
The clock strikes midnight, but time stands still in this illusion of borrowed hours
Will there be a moments peace within the turmoil which ever lingers upon this day
The hours are toxic to a idle mind.
Falling in a routine and a favorite vice the blade still glimmers even after all its use.
We always find misery easily where others just themselves

Voices speak to me of freedom
But freedom is not something I desire
I beg and plead with you
But hell
what do you care
I'm lost
But don't treat me like a fool
A fools freedom in your smile
Is not freedom at all

As I walk now past empty gardens that once knew life of summers embrace .

Winters chill is a empty ended promise .
Now simply scorched is the earth that does remain.

The clock upon the wall simply keeps time we only hold memories and nothing more

Life has been a listless game of joys and sorrows  
I've spent my joys too quickly and they nowadays spread themselves thin upon the stage which is my life
Sorrowful me that lingers on the edge of reason
May reason be the saving of my sanity and not its end

I dwell alone here,
a prisoner within
my own mind and life,
encumbered in burdensome
shackles of my own invention,
locked restraints of self-delusion
to which solely I possess the keys.

I take off my boots
and throw one at the moon
tonight, the starlight is mute
after listening to the news
watching politicians kissing
the President's *** like it
was a ruby on the Pope's ring
while the people weep
in the streets, crying out about
all the orders from above,
no more doves or butterflies,
no gardens, no dreaming, no
poets, no brooms, no hope
for the sick and weary, only
last straws, executive actions,
anti-immigrant policies.