You can't handle the truth.

Tell them that when they ask,
But don't really give a ****,
Not wanting to really know.

Do ask me, ******!

**You can't handle the truth.

i guess i got wings inked on my shoulders,
because i think i’m some walking talking
stumbling
paradox.
one day i’ll fly away,
but crash into buildings, scraping elbows among
shattered car windows and
street lamps waiting to
die.
i’m a **** growing among rusty brick buildings,
admired, but confused on which way to
grow.
i am the sock that has no match,
i do not fit, the one puzzle piece that cannot squeeze.
sticking out awkward, desperately clinging on.
no more questions, no more assumptions.
you laugh because i have wings,
i cry because all i see are
feathers.

You're messed up, your mind needs to confess up
you been drinking again?
Your eyes look like drugs.
no dilation, your hearing voices but its all an imagination
stirring up problems with your pitiful noises you are creating
Pumping venom thru your black heart, since you were 5 you never stopped hating
you pray on the day your father walks past that ally your standing at
with a note patiently waitin
with no hesitation,
I swear this boy has become some sorta satin
the truth is he wasn't always like this
seems the evil angel came in through the night and gave him a dark kiss
he conquers all that's weak and smashes all that's bliss
he's been kicked to the ground so much, he just got up and threw fists
protecting all he's worth
while selling himself short
he been playing this game so long, he's becoming a poor sport
his anger launches his passion
while frustration peruses his pains
don't come close to this monster please know that he is untamed
lockdown his believes and feel the wrath of his broken chains
he's a unconscious killer who has revenge all in his veins
targeting the shallow women who consistently cut him deep
its the love you all want, it's the heart break he now seeks
the sky was his limit, he jumped off the peek
this man is not crazy, nor even insane
he's just a normal man, ya choose to not treat him the same
he's become some sorta addict, he's addicted to his pen
he's addicted to "P.s I love you"
starting with "Dear friend"
tick tock on the clock
seems my talent has slowly stopped
a crossroad in my mind, I've must of hit a Writers block...

1.
"In the future," she said,
"you'll see something similar,
a group of twenty-something-year-olds talking,
and think of your past self as sweet."

If this is true,
what, then, will I have lost?

2.
I sometimes dream of a flawless garden
emptied of philosophies,
all flowering assured.

Finding myself back there someday,
will it be the same
though I'll only see

the unwatered bits baking in open sun,
the unlocked, rusting gate
the gardener – drunk on the job –  left open?

3.
I resent what she said.
It suggests
that the older I get,
the less I'll see
of an increasingly disliked present,
and I can't dislike the present;
it's all that's ever here, there,
anywhere.

Lavender parted by blunt wind:
the unkempt morning hair
of a park's running path.
Pale-green grass crawls up everywhere
in tufts like a thousand lost toupées.

In spring
cars, northbound from San Diego,
packed with kids and camping tools
or slimmer businessmen,
get full view of it:
                             a transient glance
between La Jolla and Los Angeles,
a moment of flashing color amid asphalt miles.

The world of dew
Is a world of dew, and yet,
And yet...*
     - Kobayashi Issa

Two dozen dew drops dazzling:
twenty four worlds; one more year?
An expectation, and yet
Issa's words are clear.

Silent treatment
to silent screams
Pick a song
for me to interpret
and I'll play the game
but all the same
I'd prefer your mouth to open
and your words to spill out
from the hidden closet
where you hang your armour
Open up your armoire
and take your big boy ******* out
I don't usually allow
just anyone
to punish me, literally
but in the silence
the whip falls sharp
my silent screams
blend with the violin and harp
symphonicaly, it's a tragedy
emotionally it's a travesty
Physically a diversion
down the same old road
Ya are whatcha ya are
it's nice to know