The day will come
When taking a ****
Will Seem a task greater
Than storming the beaches of Normandy.

On that day,
My bones,
Like wind chimes
Singing in the wind,
Will burn
A dull but ever-lasting flame.
A dying star
Taking its last breaths
And all will stand in wonderment
Asking themselves
"What now"
But only I will know.

From ash
A Phoenix rises
Only to fall again-
But I'm just  
A raven
Cawing
My way to escape.

I long for your voice.

Have I become a vestige of memory?
Are words the only thing keeping me....

Alive?

I fear death; both literal and metaphorical.

These letters trickle from my veins-
Crimson rain
To let you know
I'm still up there
Pouring my all
Into whatever container
You need filled.

I am not dead.....

Still

I suffer
The circular trepidation
Of waiting
For joy

Writing.
Fighting
Demons that should've
Let me rot years ago.
I take my breaths;
Inhale deep and slow.
I consume the world around me,
But never grow-
Stultified caterpillar
With nowhere to go.
I know
There is more to this.
Whatever this is.
But until
My eyes are allowed
See salvation;
You can find me here.

I feel
Powerless
In a world that
Acknowledges
Only power.
Do I even exist?
My voicemail has too many
Unread messages.
I live in the vestiges
Of broken hearts.
I bear resemblances
To tragic arts.
I walk through
A world of slaughter-
Finding words to ease the pain
Is getting harder.
Words now,
Only spew.
Words with meaning,
Are few.
A New World,
But nothing is new
Say a word long enough
And it doesn't make sense.
Do a thing long enough and.......


Powerless
Powerless
Powerless
Powerless
Powerless
Powerless
Powerless
Powe­rless
Powerlesspowerlesspowerlesspowerlesspowerless.

My thoughts coalesce into something they shouldn't be.
Thinking of becoming someone that isn't me.
My family has such a beautiful tree.
Hang myself
As a beautiful leaf.
All we ever looked for was some sort of relief.
All we ever wanted was some sort of belief.
But how could we believe in you all,
When you
Lie instead of talking tall?
How do we believe in ourselves,
When all we know is how to fail?

Oh, cotton candy is falling from the sky.
Pink clouds on fire-
Pink matter.
This world is cold,
I can't stand her.
The heart is tattered.
We never really mattered.

You've been gone too long now.
The tree splits the skies
Rooms filled with dyes
Of pink.
What are we left to think
Or feel
Except..... powerless.

The sublime times
We would climb
Hills
Just to sled down
On trashcan lids.

We were kids
And we were poor,
But we never wanted anything
More;
Just more time to continue the fun.

I seep those memories in my sleep.
I miss when dreams
Were within arms reach.
All we yearned for was the presence of each other.
I was your friend.
You were my brother.

Life doesn't seem
As difficult
As people make it out
To be.

All you have to do is:

Keep breathing...

Keep breathing...

I could like you forever
Or love you
Every now and then.
Emotions
I haven't much use for them.
The ghost memories of a once heart
Guide my hand
Across this surface-
And I feel,
I feel

Betrayed

Blindness:
A courtesy to myself
To not be crushed
By gravity.

In these times,
Caring is not impossible,
But heroic.

But *******,
I am only

Mortal.

I no longer look for greatness
Among men or the stars.
I clang my head, endlessly, across these bars.
I like the ringing sound they make,
Like church bells-
A wedding cake.
My family gathered round,
No longer hurting.
The tiny dreams that keep me awake,
For in sleep,
I am undeserving.
But sleep I must-
There is greatness in ash and dust.
No soliloquies,
No platitudes,
No profound prose.
Simply death
And cosmic truth.

It's ok to hurt sometimes.
Happy people run from their pain, then break like waves on a Cliffside-
I don't break.
I hurt, sometimes.
That is all.
The sun can't always shine, nor darkness last. It is the ever changing tide of life, it is rising to my feet, and it doesn't hurt, it doesn't always hurt most times.

We were young when we were friends.
Always used to play pretend.
I was a cop. He was a crook.
Never did things by the book.

Bang bang, he shot me down.
Bang bang, I hit the ground.
Bang bang, that awful sound.
Bang bang, my buddy shot me down.

It was us against the crowd, But time passed, parted us like clouds.
I fit in. He wasn't allowed.
He looked for help, I didn't make a sound.

Bang bang, I shot him down.
Bang bang, He hit the ground.
Bang bang, That awful sound.
Bang bang , I shot my buddy down.

Festering wounds don't heal quick.
I heard something that made me sick.
Screams echoing through the corridor.
He loaded up, kicked down the door.
I don't thing we're friends anymore.

Bang bang, he shot me down.
Bang bang, I hit the ground.
Bang bang, that awful sound.
Bang bang, my buddy shot me down.

Where is
The escape
From the shackle
That is the body?
There's a whole universe
We'll never experience
Because we're trapped in time
And physics
And scientific laws.
I want to create
Matter
From thin air.
I want to feel
Star explosions.
I want to inhale quasars.
I am not god,
But I am not man either.
A Career, money, taxes, security;
These are the least of my worries.
Each year spent in incarceration,
The soul dies....
How am I supposed to see value in this world
If I have cosmic eyes?

My past creations are revelations
Of the beauty I once possessed.
My mind deserves its rest.
My best
Is distant memory
That I can reflect on
Happily.

How does one muster the courage
To continue on
When dying
Is the natural thing to do?

This thing I do with my hands
Is not art,
Though some may see it's tragic beauty.
Like whispers on a mountain range
I write
Estranged from perception.
It is not for you.
Somewhere deep inside
Remnants of my soul cling to life.
Unrepentant breaths,
Suffering humble deaths.
Cuts across my skin
Just to release endorphins.
Pain no longer suffices.
Numbness has taken a hold of me
The mellow glow of a yellow niceness.
Freedom only in death.
Used up four lives
How many have I left?
My soul cries,
"Not quite yet.
Just write it out.
Ride it out."

Bottle of sake in hand,
Looking for a way to make the momentary pause before oblivion last.
At the end of it all
No one will remember
The war
The love
The joy
The pain.
I sit
Longing to understand the song the cosmos sings,
But barley understanding my own heartbeat.
The trouble is
Trouble is the only peace we know-
We are,
We were,
Moments
Just moments
In infinity

This thing, like a paintbrush on my fingertips, seeks solace in my bed. It purrs at the slightest touch-
I never could quite wrap my head around how we find comfort from inhuman sources. But here we are at 4 AM, as my best thoughts slip away into the forgotten night. It yawns and stretches next to me; I may as well fall asleep while I still can.

Suffer with me
Just a bit longer.
Starless nights
In the city-
Watching, waiting
For a glimmer of peace.
Shooting stars
Zoom too fast for us
to make a wish, but truthfully,
I don't think either of us would know what to wish for.
Stare at me just a bit longer.
Dimmed eyes
Spiral out of control.
"I ain't a kid no more,
We'll never be those kids again."
Said we'd never hurt each other and meant it. Guess we didn't know how hard a promise is to keep. And we sing our emotions cuz we're tired of screaming and not being heard.
Overdose on lullabies
The starless nights
Seem to go on
But the songs,
The songs are lovely.

I imbibe on this treacherous night
Amongst fanged smiles
And murderous eyes.
They all know *******-
But themselves- are afraid to die.
Take another one down-
Their laughter like a car crash rapes my ears. They sin but know no tears. I fail but know no fears. I can't relate to my peers. What am I doing here?

Got flanked by one asking, "So, in your eyes, what's the biggest difference between the rich and the poor?"

"One has nothing but act like it's everything. The other has everything and acts like it is nothing. Both think the other a fool."

Another one interjects, "But surely poverty can't be that noble."
As if Jesus was handing out cheese trays and champagne to dinner guests wearing Italian suits with silk vests.
"Poverty is self inflicted. Anyone who works hard enough can achieve whatever they want."

I smirk and say, "That's why your grandfather's business pays for all of your families' needs, so you can reap the benefits and call it work?"

The subject is changed.
Some nonsense about politics now.

And all they do is talk.
No mind changed or knowledge gained.
The atmosphere is dry; tame has become their death glance.
Maybe I should change the music and show them how to dance.

I have California dreams,
But also
Texas sensibilities.

Begrudgingly, I place shoes upon my feet to go places I've been before
A million paces back and forth
Trail marks left on the floor
Trapped, not by chains or circumstance,
but by a mind unable to feel
Walking through minefields of neglect and lost intellect
How many lies did I forget?
How many lies do I still hold true?
Communication flows from you to me, but not me to you
I'm in dire straits
This turtle race
Makes me anxious
I scratch and scrawl
Diseased words
On my heart
Words like:
"Unyielding pain,
Demons, haunting, hopeless, can't, unable"
And we are conduits of our thoughts
I've been pacing back and forth in these shoes
And just now realized I've never put on socks

Life is a million little deaths,
I'm not sure how many I have left.
Lonely nights I've wept and dreamt for reprieve. God has one too many tricks up his sleeve. Talking doesn't ease the pain, it only distributes it across multiple planes of emotion. How do I feel? The better question is, "How does one survive being stranded in the ocean? You hope and pray; That is the way. Place your faith in the thought, "Some other day it will be ok." Don't mind me I'm dying- a bird flying against the wind, never moving, unable to win. Writing is a practice in futility now. I ramble on about the same problems. A fly crashing into Windows, unable to solve them. A million deaths before we get to live. We take a million breaths before we learn to give. I could create universes with this nib, but instead I ***** and complain about my circumstances.
How does one stop?

Claire ,the soiled, is a clairvoyant. Clears the air of torment, all she sees is past this moment.
She can feel the apathy and ensuing sorrow, consequence of living in tomorrow.
I hope that she can find peace of mind, so I let her borrow a piece of mine.
The offering is slim,
I could never be them, or him.
It seems, for all the dreams we have, the future is never had.
Claire the clairvoyant questions the clarion call of clarity.
I'm losing touch with her, as she's losing touch with me.
I can't see past the present.
Past and present: that's when I learn my lessons.
Past and present: these are my future confessions.
I outlast my presence, but somehow lessen my essence.
I don't know what the end is.
Where is the ending?
I'm lost in a never ending state of ignorant conjecture.
I need Claire, but she's past this, somewhere in the future, and time travel has always been confusing to me.

Tears roll down and sear my face. You would think I'd finally get used to this place- this world of perfect imperfection. How many lessons is one to learn? How many times must one burn under a sun indifferent to our existence? I want to scream in people's faces, "SNAP OUT OF IT!" But they wouldn't listen. What use is this toungue if I cannot speak? What use are these lungs if I cannot breathe easy? I have an anxious disposition and the universe laughing in derision at me doesn't help any.

I've nary a use for dreams.
Stifled memories and obscenities
Created by a tortured mind.
The real world
With it's dangerous and deceitful
Seems more kind.
Nothing left to find.
They continue to sell us the dream of the universe.
"New adventures"
It's like new love same lame heart.
Somewhere along the way
We've lost our art.
What use is a dream
When reality has become absurd

The birds
With their iridescent plumage
Have lost their color due to age,
Or cynical ways-
But they fly
Fly into endless skies
And I'm here
With my pretty thorns
In a world adust with scorn,
Wondering what it's like
To be free

You are a source of smiles in my life of bleakness.
My one desire, my only weakness.
To call it love would be cliché,
But you are the one; my saving grace.
That's how I feel, though I don't always show it.
That's how I feel about you, and you should always know it.

And so
The wind changes
The birds sing along.
I'm going to Dakota
Where the cold silence is understood.
As the rose blooms,
My grip loosens;
The thorns didn't hurt very long.
"Why haven't I done it sooner?"
I guess I just wanted someone to feel the pain I feel.

I'm sorry
I tricked you
Into loving me......

On this day, one of the few I look to see what's going on around me,
I finally notice I'm out of place;
Amongst teens that speak of a love they don't truly know, that's why they speak of it so romantically.
And the older souls so full of hope. The brightest future shows itslef when you go through a dark past, but, in that case, an incandescent bulb would do- that is the tragedy. Not everyone gets a sun. I sit here dumb trying to be a part of something I am not.  A poet... no.
A writer... no.
Just a man
With too much time
Not enough heart.

I drive, during daylight, through the city.
It's a different side I never get to see.
I'm looking to satiate my hunger;
A hunger older than time.
A hunger that leads men to create gods, governments, science and traffic law.
The endeavor is foolish,
Restaurants and bars brimming with people looking for substance,
They're looking too.
And the flea-ridden dog with the lame leg, he's looking too.
The woman at the bus stop with all her belongings in a trash bag, applying makeup,
She's a looking too.
The man wearing a baseball cap and glasses in his convertible Porsche,
He's looking too.
The earth hasn't gotten any bigger, yet there's enough to keep teams of scientists- different fields too- occupied for years.
And I'm driving though the city
Looking for something to do.

Our  skin is
                   Bats
blindly
        fluttering in the night.

The melancholy
Settling
          on our bones
Is an old man
Spending
                    $100
At a ******'s
In exchange for
Some pretty girl's
                                 attention.

Our heroes
              are Silver plated
But
               Cast in clay.

What is there

Left
          To say?
Life has conned us all

            As dried leaves
Scorched

                    Under sun rays
Fall

Without dancing in the wind.

We were meant to
  
               Glide up
In the sky,

While stars look upon us
    
                           And cry.

Eyes:
The glimmer has dulled.
In the winter
We curled together
Hopeful that summer would melt our frozen hearts.
Cryogenics never quite took off; forever is nothing to scoff at. How are we to spend eternity when this quarter century has already lasted too long? We listen to the same songs on repeat- we know the words but forgotten how to tap our feet. Asymptotic lives forced to come close but never meet. Summer is here. Our hearts were never really frozen, that's just what they told us. And to come together is to burn alive- Salem witch trials- mediocre minds know extraordinary vileness. Nights I wake up drenched in sweat wondering what could have been. I play our songs half hoping to be frozen in memory. I reach and reach, but touch only air. Heavy, humid air. Always choking on ghostly emotions. Rain clouds come round but nothing falls. Existential drought. Bodies fall,
Silent
Under the sun.
The unaffected
Play on the beach
And have fun.

The sweetest victory
Is the one you don't see coming
The saddest loss
Is the one you don't see coming

People spend their time
Trying to predict
The future
Then wonder why
The outcome seems bitter

I had a vegetarian steak.
It wasn't horrible,
But it wasn't great.
I'm in a vegetative state.
Not really living,
Not really dead.
Cocooned in silk.
Waiting to molt into
Some thing of a greater ilk
-don't think I ever will-
Diamond encrusted shackles
Glimmer pretty in sunlight,
But I can't wipe tears away from my eyes. I have no joys,
No fears, no meassage,
No thoughts worth thinking anymore.
Vessel broken, I'm sinking into depression more and more. I have suffered, as we all have. I have struggled, as we all still do. We are the same, but I cannot connect to any one of you. What do I have left? Music, women, drugs, poetry, TV, liquor; all the distractions are pointless now. As i stare off into space reminiscing simpler times, I realize, I never really named the voice in my head. I can't mourn it now that it's dead.
Life is a paper plane in space flying toward the sun.

I'm in trouble....

I want to find a way
To be pretty
For the USA.
I am more than my eye color.
More than my skin tone.
Underneath the mask I wear
Is a being that looked upon the world
And thought,
"This is not enough."
The soul knows better, but the flesh is used to the rough conditions we are kept in. Trapped in our skin. Trapped in our looks. Trapped in our insecurities. The judging eyes of others are hooks reeling me in towards their predispositions and maligned visions.
No one seems to see,
I am not the me they think I am.
I'm more than anyone could've ever imagined.

I am a blood diamond
Beautiful to see,
But rife with pain and agony

Looked upon by dead elk eyes
Sold by treachery and pretty lies

"I came from the dirt
Made the cut and blew"

To shine
A light
I never knew

There is no escapin'
The vulture or the raven.
There is no dulcet tone
To dull the ringing in your craven ears, too afraid to hear, "I'm done."
The poor soul knows the misfortune of gold; the gold soul sees poverty as a misfortune.... somebody has to lose. And this desert, bigger than the Gobi, is the one and only locale one can walk infinitely to their doom-
Room enough only for the sun, the moon, and the vultures circling on high.
There is no chance....
Why even try?

No one has answers.
You can ask priests or rabbis,
But they take everything on faith.
And the redeemed vehemently believe, the innocent wonder why bad things continue to happen.
No one has answers.
My words, in some semblance of hope, carry me day to day.
I randomly want to break out in tears-years of repressed emotion no doubt-
But I stifle them back for another time.
I don't know why.
No one has answers.
Every good thing in life can be quantified and sold, by those who scheme or dream. No one knows the fiber of our being or our meaning. We drift endlessly at sea. "Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink." Innumerable bodies floating around, too many thoughts to think.  
Our eyes, in pain mirred,
Leave much to be desired;
Knowing, after all these years,
We have come to no greater conlcusion:
We all sail in confusion.
We assail the demons inside,
But they never truly die-
We just learn to live with them.
We never win,
And I don't know why.....

My tale is one of impermanence.
Waste this life,
Lament the next.
I Breathe,
simply
As a reflex.
Children enjoy the show,
I know all the magic tricks
So I sit in the back looking for other distractions.
A million times or more
I've seen bulls slaughtered on the stadium floor;
Dying to the thunderous roar
Of people's silent indifference.
It doesn't make any sense.
And the tears don't fall like they used to.
After a while you gain a disdain for the world and how it used you.
Every now and then it gets too much to bear.
I sought escape but couldn't find it anywhere.
Maybe my chances will be better in the next,
Or ,maybe,
I'll be lost in the process

I'm watch the news talk about school shootings on the rise. Middle class families crying that their children shouldn't have to worry about gun violence- a novel idea. I'm not trying to say the events aren't tragic, because they are, but I think back on a time time- I was eight or nine- and I was at the corner store buying chips and a soda after scrounging all day for money. I had the bag in my hand and I was opening the fridge when shots rang out- they always sound like firecrackers- and I ducked and waited. When all was said and done I payed and left. As I walked out, I saw the bullet holes perforating the store wall. "Our kids are supposed to be safe." They say. How is it I learned that is not the case long before most? sigh I don't mean to come off as insensitive, but I guess I can't help it?
Idk....

Forgotten how to cry
Tragedy tragedy tragedy
Has numbed the pain
Unfortunately
Only the dull remains.
Forgotten
What it's like to die
Slowly
Day by day.
Some demon eye watches
From a dark grey sky
Tempering
My tamagahane soul.
Belong above the moon
Light years above this place
As Bowie plays
Exclusively for lost ears.
A voice tells me,
"In life, you're either in pain or in delusion."
I've been losing
My grip
On this string of reality.
Forgotten how to cry.
What's even the point of these eyes?
To watch the crumbling stars;
Struggling to figure out what we are?
To look through darkness
For some kind of hope?
This is my drink.
This is my dope.
No need to think.
No need to cope.
I'm drowning in the quicksand.
End this poem
End it all.
Blood, like rainfall
Keeps me talking tall
But falling short of paradise.
I'm in danger.....

Placate their shattered hearts.
Let them play their tragic parts.
Their eyes are sunken dreams.
Life, death, and
Everything in between.
Jesus is no where to be found.
I sigh as I look around

At the preachers
Giving into devils,
Look how the pious pray.
What more can I say
As i look
at the woman
Dealing with the wrong guy.
Oh no
I wonder if she'll ever know,
She's on the best selling show.
Is there life on mars?

Oh the piano is out of tune
To those who grew
On the moon.
So detached from this place.
Hear it in their voice
You can read it on their face.
This life is a depressing chore,
'Cause they lived it ten times or more.
They're about to be sad again
As we force them to look

At the preachers
Giving into devils,
Look how the pious pray.
What more can I say
As i look
at the woman
Dealing with the wrong guy.
Oh no
I wonder if she'll ever know,
She's on the best selling show.
Is there life on mars?

Tumbling Out of no where
From some indescribable source

With the force of a million babies
Squeezing your finger

Where do we find the strength
To continue
When there is war
Thievery
Taxes
Broken hearts
Lies
A 9 to 5
Religion

Life is enough
To make one want death
Yet still
We draw breath

And we find comfort in the smallest of things
Music
Hope
Love
Movies
Poetry
Games
Virtue

Had we known
The veil was so thin
Would we still have worn it
Like a cape

I think we would've
Because IT comes

From somewhere

Whatever IT is

If my face
           Reflected
My inner scars

                         People
Would give me

                                              A wider
                                                             berth

Everything has its place,
Has it's meaning
'Til you realize
The abject truth:
A spider eats a moth
The same way it does a butterfly.

This person sitting next to you tells you their life story- you listen so as to not be rude.
They go on about their plans
For the future; every one has plans.
And you scream, "It's all so redundant!"
You go on to say "what we want can never be achieved in this mortal form."
Try explaining a rocketship to a sloth.
Your dreams are too big to even make sense
So everyone thinks your crazy,
But they are insane.
"We're already dead, can't you see?" You tell them.
"Our dying breath lasts over 50 years.
Exploring our cell doesn't mean we are free. Don't you want to be more than a tax attorney?"
You plead, hoping somebody can offer some sense- anything, a nod of acceptance. All you're met with is silence and bewildered eyes.
You break down and cry at this feeling of lonliness.

But really
You say nothing.
You just sit there
Listening so as to not seem rude.