A week's respite is quickly guilted by the call of institution,
resounding inside our ears, harangued to not be...

beguiled we sigh with inadequate sorrow
tricked into self-degradation, Then finally, we're back
Alas!
inside cozied up, yes man! Writing down enumerated tasked
unraveling us back to the scorn that earlier was reversed
Under a rough stack of paper
And an ever-beating heart
Under a disillusioned smile
And a blanket of anxiety
That's been pervaded by Ritalin
signed by the future I call myself to...
Smile!
sigh
relief
comfortably numb
Thank you sir
may I have another?

I thanked god for my Taco Bell

And waited for you to speak

I got taller as you cried in my arms

I think they shorted me baby

The moon's a coward tonight

He lets clouds in bed and freezes as they pass him by

Stick your fork in the socket

Your eyes are a speckled green lightning

And your hair is erected like skyscrapers in the big city

All on my own, I wander into the poorly lit Bar of America

I find dream lovers and myself a fair heir to that mans throne

I sit in haste although I have nowhere to be , no one to greet

A maiden turns her head to me,

Expecting her to speak, I prepare a question about her lineage

She remains silent as a politician's mistress and dresses as such

I focus my eyes down to the floor as the barkeep drops glass

A family tree of poison spreads through the floor, creeping to her shoe

She offers me a drink called "i think I know your father" and is confused when I reply "no, thanks."

As my body is pulled from the inside to the outer brick, a short-haired phantom pulls on a smoke as the carcinogens seep out through her skirt

Nice weather you're having

Transparent red fills the street above my battered shell

I lie to myself as I lie on pavement

"My time has yet to come"  I say

"I'm still with myself"

But everyone crowding the nightcrawler's bar knows they are on the way out.

A feeling of sadness lingers in my chest,
like the ghost that haunts me late at night.
Each night I become less and less like a person, and more like the ghost that visits me.
And sadly I cannot stop what has already been started.
And soon,
I will haunt you too.

-o.b.

Cigarette smoke fills my lungs as I press graphite to the dimly lit page
I am uncertain if my light source is the street lamp or the moonlight
Mucus builds up in the back of my throat
Lovely habit
I look up and see Orion and wonder what he thinks of me
Does he think of me?
I put out my cigarette and the faint yet pungent odor of marijuana hits me
Maybe some Mary Jane would help this flow better
Maybe
I begin to count
Ten
Ten cigarettes to last me until Monday
I reach for another, begrudgingly
Filthy habit
Orion looks down at me with disgust
Or is it indifference?
Marlboro Red's
The sharp veil that adorns Death's alluring figure
Each puff is a tighter grip onto my unhallowed lover
Smoke hits my eyes, stinging them
Death is such a tease
And I am in love

Be who you want to attract,
Before you start "searching" for the right person,
Be the right person,
Find yourself,
Be comfortable with who you are,
Find happiness within you,
If someone is the only basis of your joy,
I'm afraid,your joy might be a mirage.

I didn’t know it then but I was blessed
It took this woeful person so wretched
To dispel my sweet-nothing illusions
And wipe away my vast delusions

I didn’t know it then but I was spellbound
It took this ranting being to quell the hound
And restore my sense of mad reality
Till I began to believe I was wholesome again

In truth they are mad who are made breathless
By the simple things of a commoner’s life
Dangled before your mesmerized eyes
In that moment of sighed realization

When you grasp the beauty of absence
And know just how sweet loss can be in essence
These are the lessons life has always talk
That absence invokes the presence of the other

And that none is so wretched as one so unfortunate
As never to have known the pangs and doubts
That condemn all seekers to following their bouts
Of distraction to the limits of the conscious world

These dear lonesome wayfarer adrift in time and space
Are the lessons that life has always taught us
When it is time for great moments you will know:
Each moment carries you along regardless

Wherever the drum is sounded
There will his feet and ego lead him
For there's none so adept as he
At fouling the mood with a few
                home truths
when the village brew is frothy and virile
There too will his keen appetite him drive
For there's none so deferred to as he among
Folk hungry for forgivable misdemeanor
                and some home truths
He's the inimitable village drunk
Endowed with a surfeit of expletives
For there's none so free as he here
To douse all and sundry in invective ubiquitous
               laced with a few home truths
This village drunk is high on the power granted him
By a grateful captive audience that's allowed him
Freedom to free them of secrets and all
When he dons his invisble crown and dispenses
              a few home truths 'bout everyone

"I don't like being naked, my skin has been through too much." - Naledi Raba

Crowded, foggy, checkerboarded screens- all showing the death of the individual and the eyes of the new-born kids who follow more people than last time, more crowded desires and confusion are shared, an exchanged glance and a quick darting of the eyes in another direction, the made-up face you have come to hate, the small explosion of tears you wish you could have, the little number of years you have lived, the large portion of time you spend wishing you were asleep and not awake. It won't be long until your heart murmurs for the last time And you'll forget what was dreamt And what was felt And you will move along And take a journey of your own And feel similar spectrums of apathy And sadness And love And un-comfort And warm insides And regret And lust And yearning And longing And wanting. You will never find yourself but you will find companions and maybe even a place to call home. At least a place that is yours, with doors, floors, walls and tables.