I will hold you up
On your feet
Head and shoulders
You shall stand
Above those like you
And an angel falls
From the heavens
Broken wings and bones
I shall be
As broken as I am
The lowly Crutch
To heal your wounds
And mend your wings
So you can fly
And leave me behind

a trinity of fairy tales
man
woman
woman scorned
and heaven hath no fury
like
the happily never after
spinning silver lies of lust
remedied by magic dust
or hair
or a slipper
perhaps
from your lady fair
live in your dream of pretty lies
the truth
my love
is in your eyes

Smoke a little
**** a litte
Keep a little
Give a little
Love more

Sand falls from hands
Because that is not what they are meant to hold
Hands grasp chests
Because that is the natural magnet
Hands hold hands
Because they’re fitted for each other
Four fingers just in case
But one thumb per hand
Because there’s really only one
Two hands
Because everyone deserves a second chance.

On the edge of genius and insanity, I walk a colorless line.
To ask pure questions of myself, tasking the limits of my mind.
I wrap myself in complex thoughts, obscuring a realistic life.
Tossing simplistic notions 'way for that grander broader prize.
And as I tear away the strings that bound me to mankind.
My eyes do see from point of view an omniscient god-like prize!
Then such a fear doth take my soul with force enough to paralyze.
And back I'm ****** with jealous hands, slight laughter in blank eyes.
Now mere men do part their way, as I make my by and by,
and I sense the thoughts and notions of their innocent one track minds.

I see this world full of filth and of hate.
That's diluted with pictures of **** and bad taste.
Where *** of all kinds is one click away;
and I wonder just why my soul starts to ache.

This is a world that's been all mans to make,
who've reduced all it's colors and hues to dull gray.
Made ***** by hands and thoughts gone astray;
Whose pitiful dreams are turned nightmare by day.

This worlds made of asphalt, the trees not quite green.
Where the grass in the cracks is considered a ****.
Our ozone alerts are a new holiday,
displayed on our signs and the news of the day.

With all gods creatures turned scavenger now,
to pick through the trash and rummage around.
To beg for the food that has fell from our mouths,
and not all of them use all fours to get 'round.

Oh, how we get up and go through the day,
how we go through the motions and hide all the pain.
He we go to our gyms, and we all run in place;
how we wonder just why do our souls always ache.