Holy hell I hate you,
we sit,
we laugh,
we lie,
about what we should love.
But I know that you do not love me,
you despise me like a Jew in Germany.
You know I do not love you,
for I despise you like a Palestinian in Isreal.
Holy hell we hate one another,
and we both know,
but we lie,
and say we agree with one another,
while we **** each other.
Holy hell I ******* hate you,
how could you do this,
how could you lie,
how could you not care,
how could be be like me.

On a warm summer night filled with the waft of ***** and beer,
surrounded by the fears of every corner rat begging for change,
immersed in the aura of being alone when anything but.
I envision being like a caterpillar growing into a butterfly,
an overcooked metaphor,
but fitting cause I want it.
I imagine leaving these streets and growing big,
throwing down these cigarettes and walking out the door,
working hard until I am hardly working,
living life to the fullest.
As I look out into the endless jungle,
the concrete trees,
that can only be described with another overworked metaphor.
The sun begins to rise
the rats scatter to the dark,
and the lions begin to walk the streets.
I looked down like a newborn monkey,
put out my cigarette,
and go to bed.
"Tomorrow"

Hold my head down and drown me in that lake which we swam in before.
Take the memories of flips and smokes and drown them with me.
Take the idea of us being family and hold it under.
Take the thought of our future and let it suffocate.
Take your heart and let it die with me.
For while I may be dead,
You must live.

I am always told:
What to do.
Where to go.
How to live.
"Climb that mountain to your dreams",
I did. I fell. Now I have a broken back.
"Travel the world and your memories will be your treasure".
I did. I got lost. Now I am a beggar.
"Do not love her! She will take you away!"
I did not. I stayed. Now I am alone.
Every waking moment I listen to what I was told.
How I begged like a dog and whispered like a pup.
Every waking moment I remember what I was told.
I did. I stopped. Now I am happy.

You make me able to work a nine to five job,
one where I sit and hate life,
while becoming a slob,
with you as my wife.
You make me able to work a nine to five job,
one where I come home tired,
with a silent sob,
about how I will probably be fired.
You make me able to work a nine to five job,
where I never travel far,
because my back has begun to throb,
and I quit wishing upon my shooting star.
You make me able to work a nine to five job,
where I never see art,
and that is just the start.
You make me able to work a nine to five job,
because you are vacuum that cleans me up,
the light at the end of the day which revives me,
the foreign land which I have not seen,
and the beautiful tapestry which puts me in awe.
You make me able to work a nine to five job,
because you are everything,
that a nine to five job is not.

She makes me sigh with trepidation,
while you steal my breath like a five mile sprint.
She suffocates my freedom,
while you only choke me with butterflies
She burns me with words and douses me with skin,
while you bathe me in love.
She is cancer.
You are life.

Bombs blowing in the air,
ruins the moisture for my hair,
let dying dogs lie I always say,
as long as they don't get in my way.
Let those slum children die,
so I can let out an excited cry,
when my soccer team doesn't let a goal go by.
We should clean and fix this place,
I will say when I visit the disgrace,
how can a country be so displaced,
how did it become such a waste?
But when I get home,
I forget what I saw,
as I have no time to waste,
with society's flaw.