We are all humans,
trying to fit in.
To please others,
to be liked.
Popular.
Cool.
We want  a steryotype at first,
thats untill we understand who we truley are.
There is one thiing that I know for sure,
it is simpley that ,
the meaning of life, for all,
in my thoughts,
are that all we want to be,
                                                     is free.­
Which cannot be done with catagorization.
So don't try to fit in,
be free.

There was an army of ants in the plastic plants
So I poured light through a magnifying glass
And I created a fire on the artificial grass

They scurried and hurried
with flames on their backs
Like soldiers on a hopeless plain,
searching for invisible barracks

And I sighed as they died,
because we are all the same:
Scurrying and hurrying from invisible pain

It's really hard to believe,
every single one of us
started out
as a reproductive cell,
swimming deeply
into a dark wet ******.
All of us were consummated,
******* during
different variations
of the intimacy act.
In fact, some of us
were quickies,
others one night stands
& maybe more than a few,
long romantic evenings.
Whatever, we all became babies.
I would like to think,
I was made on a warm summer evening,
lying on a white-sand beach,
under a beautiful full moon
next to the sound of the surf,
moving to a sweet rhythm.
But I wonder,
was I a mistake,
a break in the protection,
or something worse,
some type of infection.

It's the silence that always gets you.
The laughter is a drug and there is no worse a addict than the comedian
Behind the laughter is the insecure person you never see .

It's the empty rooms the miles between gigs it  always comes to that next fix.
Those few seconds when I can  be  everything I'm not the escape is the best release there has ever been.

And as you leave it behind the ego deflates and the isolation sets in were all children in tattered shells called adults .
So fragile the rock that seldom does embrace the sea .

Were all ****** up in are own separate ways.
Behind the laugh at times is the worst place you may ever realize you want to be.

“Are you OK?” “Yeah.”
Not really, but you wouldn't understand

“How are you feeling?” “Great.”
Terrible but I can’t tell you because you’d ask why

“Where’d you get that cut?” “Rollerblading accident.”
That’s always the perfect excuse

“Is there anything you’d like to confess to?” “No.”
Yes

“Do you regret anything?” “Yeah, going ice skating.”
Being born.

“Have you felt sad lately?” “No, I’m really happy.”
I feel sad all the time

“Why were you crying?” “Just finished a sad book.”
You don’t want to know

“What book?” “Looking For Alaska.”
The book that told the story of my life

“Are you sure you’re OK?” “Definetly.”
*Definitely not