It's dark tonight
And I cannot breathe
The hands of time
Are slowly choking me
Tick Tick
Watch the color
Fade from my face
Tick Tock
Watch my body
Fall through space
Caught inside
These hands of time
Losing my grip
Losing my mind
Tick Tick
Why can't I see
What these hands
Want from me
Tick Tock
I'm fading fast
This life is just a memory
That can never last

My apologies

I never was a very good human

I use to know the best ways to waste silence

Climb into the sun and dive for time and place

True thoughts prevailed and distract an eager mind

Smile like slapstick and form a new foundation

I suppose we could lose ourselves in these sublime moments

Some tools left for mending
some words left for reaction
Anxiety properly positioned

Misplaced an ego
artificial in it's hold

Lost and fumbled
Temporarily found

Some creatures can't be helped

Claimed this body as your own

went to work with your indifferent sabotage

I slowly shattered with each new head space

Broke me down for spare parts

mumbling a need for mending holes self inflicted

I watch myself in shambles
patchwork for your dark corners

Suggestions are plastered
new breeds are rendered

Remember those days

shots called by sanity

Boring yet stable

safe yet


Maddening?

Morbidly we wait
drool drops
Hydration for insects
They gag on the taste

The eyes need illumination
conclusions by way of structure fire
Ash covered and mechanic

These minds crave the edge
purveyors of our time

We breathe easy
glass separates the chaos
Structured and correct
rather observe than interact

When these walls shatter

and we gaze into that abyss once so distant

We finally see the irony of our curiosity

It touches the skin in numbing complexity

A malfunctioning brain spins dizzy
nerves become alien
No control

Still we deny
asking why?
Muscles go slack
eyes glaze for the fun house

Ink filled pages

Tell nights tragedies in the boldest of detail

More looks of longing
coffee over obituary breakfasts
Eyes slightly gleam with glee
victorious in an insect existence

We crave the ***** and the depraved

Even the healthiest of minds stops for the strange

So we wait for the new downfall

Never thinking we could be the ones next observed with primitive pleasure

One billion hungry souls screaming for more

My sound broke so I'm suspended in silence

That's okay because these ears hear too much

I sit here head throbbing
Westside window perception
chipped paint with the dead fly

The can man collects his cart
shoes need mending
Soul needs comfort

Bags of treasure
he has it gladly
Rattles down my street
off for a penny
Only an empty echo
scrap for a malt beverage
Sometimes life is that simple

I have a four pawed companion

It's not mine but sometimes he knocks on my door

Which is just fine because I can barely handle myself

We sit in quiet

Watch the tree sway and garbage gather

He stayed away tonight
cold weather being the culprit I hope

No time for the calls at my windows
I know she only wants madness
and I am exhausted

People come

Checking on a body to make sure it was in working order

They say I will give them cancer from worry

I appreciate the intention
I resent the implication

I fear love

but was never cold enough to deny it

There will be a moment, when you will try to weight the time.
You will count the remaining grains of sand in your hourglass like spare coins in your pocket.
Then, and only then, you will understand that you are in debt.
Don't fool yourself.
The Ferryman always gets what is his.
You will pay.

I came out here hoping for a clue

I found satisfaction
I'm feeling quite nice

I fell away from the rest
lost in a man made haunting
I still felt the joy of transparency

That last moment of ecstasy is where true inspiration lies

However it's fleeting through such  chaotic vision

Sometimes the wires hanging for communication unravel from neglect

Out here in these forgotten spaces breathing comes easy

One can forget his nature and succumb to a more primitive state

In this form simplicity reigns
walk with ease
Sun tinted and dusted
Nature's natural weave woven

But free will is such a beautiful mishap

So to sacrifice that gift for the sake of slow motion seems cowardly

An ignition falters in light of these new procedures

I come back down to earth once in awhile

Sitting here now I feel the humor that caused my last collapse

Watch the complex complicate for the sake of boredom

The strings attached breathe simplicity

So strange these creations
We make them hurriedly
Excusing lives lost for comfort

I came here hoping to unwind

but this carbonation hinders my side step

I hear the hum of the suburban atrocities

I care not for your new satin curtains or white picket fences

Why does your happiness have to be mine?

I have no interest in your self pasta steamer

I feel only joy and confusion that your yoga cancellation is the biggest bad of your day

So I look out of my corners wishing for an escape

In the distance that sanctuary already long forgotten

I see the pines and lack of hate communicated

I ease out of the flesh boxes and word salads

Make my way back to that high point where I roam with that universal flaw

That too much of oneself leads to unhinged behaviour and flight in the most hysterical

He never littered so his pockets smelled of cigarettes and sweets

This caused a poor reaction from the ladies

But mother nature loved him dearly  

He made songs out of junk
Rusted melodies played
A poet of high caliber
A mind of high grade brain work

A bottle and a sniff
A word and a smoke
out comes the guilt

I often ask him why he needed these calamity riddled confines

Sometimes he would whisper his replies

Because he worried the gods could hear him

He lost his mind inside a ghost town

Time stained structures watched the regression

A soul needing silence

Instead he found childhood fear and crumbled

I went to visit him on the fifth floor

Psych wards terrify me
not because of it's inhabitants
But the fear they won't let me leave

I found him playing connect four

He claimed his competitor was a monster

nobody in sight

He said he was writing a novel

The pages he showed me contained
beautiful images and hysterical assumptions

Yet they made my soup filled stanzas seem reasonable

Only his circle could decipher his words and symbols

The final product was too mad for the casual observer

It's pages made scenes of unspeakable horrors and unlimited joy

We buried him next to his dog

He always claimed she was the only one who gets it


"Great poets die in steaming pots of sh*t." (Charles Bukowski)