We are the missing, the dead, the lost
Never found, and in the world
No monument exists for us
No flag has been unfurled

We lie in riverbeds and wood
Beneath stream beds and in fields
Were tears of woe ever wept for us?
Did a heart break, did it yield?

We wandered off in cases, some
In others, lured, abductions
Our bodies never found, but though
We caused a family some reduction

In others, we were found too late
Dead, mistreated in a hole
The one who did this thing to us
Until caught, ******* their soul

We lie here waiting for the day
For our remains to be found
We lie in woodlots, basements cold
Buried crudely in the ground

Some of us were lost before
We ever lost our lives
Roaming streets, with no real home
Dancing on a hundred knives

Some of us are living
Still at odds with where we are
We're prisoners inside our mind
And have gone and wandered far

But, those of us, the dead, the cold
Lie waiting for the day
When our bones will be discovered
And then at rest we'll lay

Are there people out there looking?
Many years for us have passed
Are we still an open case?
Or has the time for that just passed?

Do we still have family waiting?
Time goes slowly when you're lost
We lost our lives to violence
And I question at what cost?

Are we still considered missing?
With us the searching will not cease
We lie here, the dead, the missing
Until our souls can be at peace

i don't think it's fair
to hide away
by the way
it was the driest parts of you
that made the spell of aging
fade
like freckles in the winter
bloomed only to evade
like wax heavy and damp
take another pill
to ease those cramps
or maybe just light your own candle next time
because i guess we're both a little damaged
or have seen too many moons
either way
there will always be unmarked tombs
and cigarettes to cloud the air
and graze fingers as a reminder
you're only seventeen
too young not to care
you grew with such ease
orange trees
sprawling roots remain to prove
gods talk as loud as monsters do
but heaven will always have gates
to keep out lovers naive to fate
and pyramids tell the geometrical truth
Wes
the blood on the floor
would be better hidden beneath a bruise
because theres no time like the present
is time a present
or a curse
is the water clearer or worse
on your side of the bridge
and how long will it take to cross?
i don't want wet feet for christmas
forever is a greedy business
when sincerity lacks
scars sliver like snakes
my lips beg this cycle to break
pull sleeves down
to avoid demons that drop
from sky to ground
to dust beneath the Tennessee sun
just in time for draught thats begun
breaking southern girls who are fragile
enough to turn from glass to stone
so stop complaining and open your eyes
its april again
even the birds stopped crying
your tears will turn to mud
scrape them from you
knifes aren't only good for killing
and when i opened my mouth to scream
you silenced my cries
my words never said as much as my eyes
opened wide as i utter in sorrow
if you died today
i'd die tomorrow.

Naked pictures of God on my nightstand,
Dry bones of Moses painted on my button down shirt screaming,
“to be or not to be” is not an English word.
In the daze of the thoughts of Neurology, I saw a man kick a bucket full of Starbucks giftcards down the avenue street. He screamed in pain as he watched the bucket tumble and roll down the street, blessing every Bohemian with a slight cold.

Naked pictures of God on my nightstand,
I dreamt about a land before man where the Oxygen that sprang from the pores of flowers
sang a sweet death. Where dishwashers are saints, for afterall, man will not be if not for food.
Where books are written not to be read, but for the sake of Orange trees that will grow in the future.
I once wore a poker face to a funeral and laughed at the man in the casket because the souls he had underneath him were two left feet.

*We all once had naked pictures of God on our nightstands but lost it after Einstein  
Lost the fried chicken war of 1812 to Isaac Newton.