Weird I know
but as I sit or stand and watch my beard grow
it seems to tell me of my days spent in an alcoholic haze or drug fueled cruise down motorways without an end,
yet through all this,my beard has kissed my face as if I,the Angel, was just another case of ,
Mistaken Identity ,and the beard becomes me, like it's using LSD and has a mind not of its own,but oh my,
how my beard has grown
as I have too
and all I have to do is reconcile this beard that stares at me through the mirror,I can see it's not an easy task,
but I ask in all humility is should I shave it off or wait and see and let it grow and If I do will the beard I see become the man that's me or something more?

I watch the shadow,seven o-clock, there's a knock upon the bathroom door and then it fades away along another motorway and LSD has got the best of me again.

I go through phases of cleaning
And I mean cleaning everything
Your room, my room
The entire city
I could clean and clean
But still feel *****

I'm becoming OCD
Obsessive Compulsively Dicking around
What's gonna happen to me,
When he finally gets out?

It's not like I look in the mirror
and see something I don't want to see
But I can't help but feel just a little *****
Ever since he touched me
When I didn't wanna be
Touched

A three month sentence
For a life long pain
If it wasn't for my strength,
He wouldn't even know my name
He'll never know hers
               or hers
                    or hers
But I made sure he knows mine
I wonder if in just three months
He's had enough time
To remember my name
For the rest of his life
To remember my name
As I unconciously recite his
I wonder if he missed his kid
If he called his mom
Or if she called him

Twelve people sat in the jury that day
And I wonder how many of them
Truly believed that three months
Was enough time
To bring justice
To anyone
I wonder if even one of them
Would change their mind
If they heard what I had to say tonight
If they could hear me
I'd make sure they knew
I spent two years
Believing in a justice system that never came through
That I'll spend the rest of my life
Wondering, trying to be tough
Wishing I could finally get clean enough
And he got *three months

plumes of thick smoke
hung over the badly burnt town

I miss your familiarity
with my silence
your understanding
of my laughter
and your simple way
of letting me know
that I was not alone

it isn't beautiful
not in the same way that you were
with your earth toned sighs
and your heart-wrenching lullabies
not like your summertime sweaters
or the way you waited for dreaming
it isn't beautiful
in the way you wore your sadness
cloaked over your sunken shoulders
oh so lovely
but it is new
and bright
and feels so very alive
it is beautiful like
I may never see your lips shake
and dreaming can wait
because I'm no longer
so heavily pained by day
it is beautiful like
escaping laughter
because happiness
holds no shame

Once,
just once
before, I sang
the song of sorrows-
the song that cracks the eyes
and breaks the sanctimony of lips.