I was drunk off love,
but now I'm hungover.
Your kiss was the last shot I had,
before I threw up my words,
regretting them now that I'm sober...
The hangover cure,
is grab another beer,
and find a nice young lass.
This cures the pain,
but not the problem,
as I drink this love like a drain.

You don't know me,
so why do you flee,
acting as if I will sink into the waters.
I will not hurt you,
but I will not lay down,
ride with me,
through this sea.
I will protect you,
from the biting sharks,
the stinging jellyfish,
and the octopus' marks.
I will be the ship to take you over the ocean,
and I will inhibit my motion,
just so you can enjoy this mild breeze,
without being hindered by self-centered pleas.
And when the storm comes,
and crashes upon you,
I will be there,
to save you from that deep blue.
But if you do not steer me away from the storm,
and cower in fear as the clouds swarm,
letting lighting strike bow and stern,
I will not be able to carry you,
and together we will burn.

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.

My word is a lie,
which cuts the ties,
that held our love together.
So say your final goodbyes,
and look into my eyes,
and see it will all be better.
I have moved on,
and you still call,
because it is me for whom you long for.
But like an overplayed breakup song,
you must take this fall,
so try to land graciously on the floor.

"What is the world coming to?" They say,
******, ****, stealing, and lying.
"How did we let it come to this?" They shout,
betrayal, lust, spying and dying.
Oh sweet ignorance,
is it not such bliss,
have you not seen this work was always like this?
We have killed for years,
while drinking victim's tears,
playing on fears,
to control our peers.
Murdering many for the sake of few,
under the facade that "it was always for you!".
But when will we turn the lights on,
and illuminate the room,
finally seeing our bloodied hands,
and our selfish doom.
When will we stop pretending it is for love,
and no longer say it is for a power that is above.
When will we look into the mirror's eyes,
and see that we have become what we despise.

A politician is a man,
who will feed a starving child.
And as he hands that apple down,
appearing to try and please,
while looking to gain renown,
he is passing on a disease.
But with his goodwill,
no one will suspect him,
in the other closed hand is a pill,
which he will say will protect them.

The symbol of death,
life flying by,
the desolate end within sight.
We can still be pretty,
we can still stand strong,
like a flower fighting the frost.
Do not let your life become a pity,
do not let the people sing your song,
do not let your be lost.
Grow like the vine,
gripping everything you see,
stab like the rose,
letting them know you will not flee.

I'm drunk,
and your sober,
but it doesn't change much; as our thoughts still parallel.
*****,
*******,
I love you still; as that is always the case.
It began with joy,
turning to contempt,
was this all your ploy?
or just a failed attempt.
Excuses are apparent in every conversation,
my love is like food, and we've begun to ration.
But isn't love like a communist dream,
of one giving up everything,
to make two supreme?
But when greed takes a step in the game,
it turns into a game of blame.
For we may be different in our acts,
such as me drinking a bottle; with no thought on impacts.
I don't recognize the alienation,
of one I viewed as a blossoming carnation,
as the red color drip from my flower,
and I realize our love has lost all power.

Looking out that dreary window,
as the birds flock together,
scavenging for food.
I can see their haste to grab every bit,
snapping at each other,
having a fit.
As that green grass grows,
giving them food,
they forget their qualms,
from the winter feud.
The point where they would cut out each others throats,
in order to eat,
going for every last bit of meat.
They may not dine upon flesh,
but they will do their best to steal whats fresh.
And within the smallest bird I see myself,
beaten out by the strongest crow,
but as I watch this little bird die,
I question whether the crows will let him run dry.
And as they continue to ****** up every worm,
the little bird lays there and begins to squirm.
He goes off and leaves to a faraway place,
one where he can eat alone,
without any disgrace.
And while this may be the perfect metaphor for me,
I only lie here,
wanting to plea.
So as I grow thinner and faint,
I think of the bird,
who left without complaint.
What causes this restraint,
which follows every complaint,
with this picture I paint,
of how I am no saint.
I bring myself down,
making myself alone,
when I could have gone out,
and let others see how I have grown.
But instead I lie on my back in my bed,
until I hear a tapping in my head.
It is the little bird who has come back to haunt me,
tapping insistently,
always flaunting.
Of how it is now the biggest bird,
it goes and eats whenever a worm is heard,
and as I see how big is has become,
I can also see how I am numb,
and it has caused me to live under societies thumb,
never free,
never to run.
Because I did not do as the bird has done.

Looking into the vast sea,
unable to gaze into the endless ocean,
the reflection staring back at me,
oblivious to the surrounding commotion.
As our sails are set on fire,
the hole from the cannon is gaining water,
I can see i am about to retire,
as the pirates begin their slaughter.
First they slice my heart in half,
stomping upon it with a laugh,
then my soul is destroyed,
creating an endless void.
But you are safe within their grasp,
they do not hurt you,
you do not gasp.
You stare into my eyes as I die,
and away with then you go off and fly.

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.

In my head,
then it is gone,
no way for it to re spawn.
I want to recreate this life,
"edit" things out with a knife,
cut out the snakes in my veins,
but I just do it in vain,
I try to hold them in my mouth,
but everything just goes south.
The more I stab, mutilate to "edit",
I merely eliminate every bit of credit,
as I try to rectify,
I only manage to petrify.
So I must learn to walk with my head up high,
let the bumps pass on by,
like a bird soaring home,
I cannot stop,
I must roam.
When life tosses me down,
and lets the snakes slither out,
I cannot just sit and pout,
I must walk on without a doubt.

You're controversial,
Insane,
Like a commercial.
Off the chain.
But you make me smile,
and always are fun,
I'd run a million miles,
To play with you in the sun.
I used to go and hide to think of you at night,
I'd squeeze away in that spot you knew which was real tight.
I'd think of you and all we did,
Being children and doing things that were forbid.
It was fun and I miss you lots and I hope you are well,
Skeeter came and you needed company so I guess you two are swell.
-I miss you lots

I stopped in a broken town called Shelton today,
everything dead and nothing at play,
every building was missing it's store,
And every corner had its own *****.
As I walked into the local shop,
grab a pack of cigs and a bottle of peace,
a man stood like a dog by the door,
begging for scraps and nothing more,
I grabbed him a sandwich and some water,
sitting with him I watched him become fodder.
The church let out and everyone came,
grabbing their food and never mentioning his name,
as he dug in the trash they laughed and pointed,
denying him his bone,
while taking a picture with their phone.
So as I watched him break down,
I wondered why no one took him off the ground,
And with a selfish realization,
no one wanted his contamination.
Losing what they have is what they worry for most,
And God forbid they become his host.

Brought down,
brought to the ground,
treated different because I'm brown,
like some stray in the pound.
Tell me officer,
what did I do,
treated like I am from a flying saucer,
by trying to be like you.
So as you subject my face,
and drive my head into the dirt,
make me into a disgrace,
in in front of the people you said I would hurt.
So keep your title and name,
and cling to that moment of fame,
where you saved the civilians from demise,
and make me the object of their despise.
But someday I will rise,
and my people will reach the skies,
but we will not stop there,
for within us there is no fear,
to rise above is our goal,
and we will not stop until we are whole.

I want to write a poem
with similes, metaphors and so on.
one that can describe your face, hair
or even your smell.
I will create words
which make it seem as if you are perfect in every way
so that the reader can feel some form of emotion.
But I can't do that.
It isn't because I'm incapable
I've studied and felt, and described with meaning.
It's because I don't want to
Because you don't deserve it.

Lemme just say this,
before you go and take the ****.
I have feelings too,
some of which you never knew.
Words hit me just as hard,
although I react to them like a bard.
Quick on my feet with a rebuttal,
Although I have a knack of not being subtle.
I'm sorry for when I'm so cruel,
my words poor out like drool.
So why can't we both love, laugh and be calm,
because you are truly the best mom.

Do you think you could help me out?
I've got a wife and a kid,
I'd almost sell them for the highest bid.
Haven't eaten in weeks, showered in a while,
So that's my excuse for smelling like bile.
So can you help me out?
But you have work, kids and gotta pay the car bill,
The new playstation came out and its looking real good,
You're stressed to find if you'll get money from your uncles will,
And you couldn't be bothered to take a step in the hood.

It's fine, I understand, the prolific problems of the poor are of no use,
We will survive these hardships with only a little abuse.
Take our freedom and take our pride,
Do not worry, we will not hide.
But first,
Can you help me out?

I found myself today looking at the first sign of spring,
the quiet blow of the wind introduced me to the silence,
one I had known but forgotten.
As the sun glared into my eyes; illuminating the scenery to create the false pretense of tranquility.
But behind my dirt smeared window I can see the shadows,
as a mouse gets eaten alive by a hawk,
looking to explore, only to find the gallows,
and with its decision, it's fate had a lock.
So while I see this comforting sky,
and the potential to fly,
this fear keeps me in,
from finding what could be within.

What is it about me, that makes it so easy for you to hate?
Is it the way that I have succumbed to being your doormat,
Or perhaps the knack you have of making my heart deflate,
I try so hard to make you proud,
Being your savior, your friend and your trustee,
I try to make you talk about me out loud.
But it would appear that you do not think of me.
I must grow as an adult in order to survive,
And then maybe you will care if I am alive.

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.

As we grow old the times seem darker,
but for the younger they have never been brighter,
as some speak of how things once were,
others speak of how things will be.
Our experiences are what shape our lives,
as a pessimist is one who set their hopes too high,
and the optimists are the ones who made their dives.
As the old grow more bitter,
and the young see life to glitter,
the old press their sadness upon the youth,
believing that they have yet to see the truth.
Acting as if the children are dumb,
incapable, foolish and yet to be hung,
but the adolescents are merely hopeful,
until they are subdued to not be so vocal.
Like a wildfire being subdued by a storm,
the young quiet down,
becoming worn and torn.
And as they grow old and see the mistakes,
they try to have the new youth hit the breaks,
but to remain strong and hopeful the youth must remain,
or else living in disparity, ignorance and pain.

I am a man,
who has no plan,
living life with the flow of the breeze,
swaying to the side from the smallest sneeze.
Yet I find happiness in every turn,
uninhibited by every burn,
because as I explore life's great wonders,
and learn from all my blunders,
I gain knowledge which I never knew,
and all of it leads me to you.

You died,
took your life,
couldn't handle,
all the strife.
You are not weak,
but it seems,
you hit a peak.
You left your family,
you left your friends,
leaving them,
to what ends?
Now they lay,
alone at home,
while you lay,
in your tomb.
What did you think,
when you drank that bottle,
did you know you would sink,
sinking at full throttle.
What did you think,
when you tied that noose,
what did you deduce,
by causing that abuse?
And now that you are gone,
you do not see what you have caused,
you were not strong,
to at least have paused.
Think of more than yourself,
you are not just another, on a shelf.
But now you are no longer here,
and it is slowly becoming more clear,
you wiped yourself out, with growing fear.
Think of your life,
think of the strife,
think of,
your future wife.
Because once you are gone,
so are they,
you will not be the one,
who has to pay.

Hey kid, let's go waste life away,
create our lives by learning from each other,
being told not to go astray,
but we would never bother.
Let's go make one another,
create your life with the sins of mine,
spend nights drinking cheap wine,
while passing smoke with the night.
Like the secondhand smoke you send to me,
it is not fresh like the wine in my glass,
but stale like our love, which has come to pass.
Let us drink ourselves to death,
staring deeply into one other's eyes,
not taking a breath.
Until the last drop is drunk,
the last spliff smoked,
pass the smoke of the last hit,
each let off a cough as we choked.
Letting the smell slip off,
the drink drip out,
we fall asleep on our own side of the bed,
in between us lays our doubt.

The love runs through my veins,
although currently I have a blood clot,
at a younger age I slipped through the chains,
although I fear I have finally been caught.
As these thoughts begin to swell up inside of my heart,
and my heart begins to slowly tear apart,
I realize there is no going back to the start.
I must rebuild and reset my shredded insides,
in an attempt to maintain these growing tides,
for the love building up in me cannot be contained,
which leads me to funnel my love to be drained.
But do not worry as it will not be wasted,
as I will drain it out into your soul,
and I will continue until my heart is fully basted,
or until we are whole.

I just want to sleep.
Please let me fall into a dark slumber,
one where I am by only what I wonder,
I can get away from all of the pain,
while finding comfort in the utterly insane.
To be attacked by a brain eating cow,
would be preferable to any politicians vow,
or maybe to travel, naked, in space,
would be preferable to societies disgrace.
Because we have stopped the comfort and care,
and pay attention to only what we wear,
as we become slaves to the newest song,
where we hear about how everything is wrong,
but we don't care; didn't you see Oprah's thong?
So yes, I would rather fight off giant slugs,
or realize that I can only walk on my head,
its better than societies drugs,
and its better than being dead.

There is no cold,
just lack of heat.
You are the sun,
and yet I still shiver.

Being a poet is a difficult job,
as it turns one into a slob,
with a false sense of security,
due to its obscurity.
For poetry is for the ones who feel,
not those who are afraid,
for every reader has a heart you must steal,
while stabbing your own with a blade.
But with these difficulties comes reward,
as the right words give a strong sense of satisfaction,
with poetry one will never be bored,
while giving one's mind a sense of traction.

Thank god I'm not a poet.

The power you hold merely an illusion,
a smokescreen created by your denial,
believing yourself to be a god,
that you are the judge in this trial.
Recognize your faults and rise above,
recognize your inability,
acting with hate instead of love,
now it is time to accept reality.
You are the same as I,
created by a simple science,
so lose the false sense of superiority,
and come and walk beside me.

I'm drunk,
and alone,
without you.
But that's not why I'm drunk,
for I am like a sponge,
and I must soak up all liquid I make contact with.
But that isn't the point of this makeshift poem,
it's that you are not here like you should be,
and it's causing me,
to think,
thus drink,
and think of stupid poems which do not adequately  describe my feelings of loss.
But I'm sure in time,
I will not need to drink; as you come back to me,
but now,
is not that time.

Come to me my dear,
and I will make things clear,
pushing you down the path,
into my sadistic wrath.
I'll let you believe what you want,
as I watch your naivety flaunt,
but there is a sinister thought,
which I hope you haven't caught,
and a horrible idea,
for which there is no panacea.

So follow me my sweet,
I'll be sure to watch you,
let me take you to my street,
as you believe the ******* I spew.
So don't you dare,
begin to trust me for a minute,
I'll harm every hair,
as my explicit thoughts are infinite.

I look out my window and see a woman struggling with bags,
I look across the street and I see a man in rags,
Weak and torn the people like wasting away,
Their sanity has been been hanging on a fray,
They do not see it this way.
Their lives tell stories which we do not know,
Of hardship and love, and terrible woes,
We look upon their image and decipher their story,
But we do not take the time to recognize their glory,
We only notice the scars and bruises,
As we are caught up in our own muses,
We say "Let us help these harrowed ones!!",
As we sit and twiddle our thumbs...
So before we stare with our full-figured and shallow empathy,
We should be sure to practice our apathy.

My lips are cracked and dry,
my insides longing to be quenched,
nourish me please with your kiss,
and let my throat be drenched.
Your love fills my heart like a cold glass of water,
shocking at first; yet settles soon,
but with your kiss my blood begins to boil  hotter,
and my insides warm up like a smoldering Georgia June.
You make my heart pump ten times fast,
just to make my brain work fast,
because my words have left my mouth,
when you back away from my face,
my cheeks are hotter than summer down south,
and slowly my heart gains its pace.
You are the engine to my soul,
the fuel for my heart,
the final piece which makes me whole,
the fire which makes me start.

Your opinion is not fact,
I know, I know, how could I act,
with such little tact.
To tell you that what you believe,
is not true, only trying to deceive.
But when you look beyond the truth,
using facts you have had since youth,
you are bound to create an emotional bond,
which you will use to respond.
But use the numbers in front of your eyes,
the statistics will not tell you lies,
deaths are rising,
violence is increasing,
but you reject the idea of policing.
Let us be free to decide,
and you hold your morals with pride,
but not everyone is like you,
even you yourself is not so true.
People will lie and manipulate,
in order to control others' fate.
So please take a second right there,
the facts may just give you a scare,
but the truth is that they are there,
this cannot be fixed by a prayer,
so please do not leave the truth to spare.

The only way nature can compare,
is by saying something like:
If nature was nearly as beautiful as you,
then we would be living in the wild.

If the world were to end,
Would I let you know how I feel?
Would I stay as your friend,
Remaining even keel?
Or would I knock on your door,
and attempt to gain a kiss?
Fight through this petty mind war,
and reach that eternal bliss.
As the world would begin to explode,
the wind shrieking with death.
I would never let my feelings erode,
even with my last breath.

Turn on the news and what do you see?
A dead child, and overflowing seas.
Go outside and what do you see?
A beautiful sky and peace with the trees.
Let me sell my joy in life,
to watch others live in strife.
Or I could take a step outside,
and realize what it is like to be alive.

The humid incumbency of my bed is overwhelming; it doesn't help to have your arm on me.
Warm, moist and overwhelming due to the slightest temperature change; which is complimented by the staunch smell of sweat.
I am awake, barely,  as the sun slowly introduces dawn to this uncharacteristic heat.
I have something to do, somewhere to be, but the warmth is containing me.
I think about a number of things, predominantly this woman lying here,
one who I am meant to love, hold high and above; yet I fear.
The room characteristically describers her overwhelming temper,
hushed, surrounding, weakening; as it layers over your mind,
seducing it until you become blind.
As these realizations drip upon me like my sweat drips off my nose,
continuous, subtle, and not enough to wipe away,
yet, bothersome enough to impose.
So as I lie here, sweating, stinking and sweltering; I wonder how long?
How long until my sweat will drown me.

He looked her in the eye,
as he aimed at her head,
he was surprised when he began to cry,
after he shot her in the head.
Yet his body felt an irreplaceable joy,
as this abysmal feeling filled his mind,
for the recognition of pain is also the recognition of freedom.
He was no longer under siege like troy,
and he was no longer blind,
For the recognition of freedom, is also an act of treason.

Sometimes it is hit or miss,
to go for that kiss,
but if you find it,
you are granted eternal bliss.
To shy away,
and not join the fray,
will leave you alone,
like a child sent astray.
So take that dive,
be graceful like a dolphin,
as you make a big splash,
into the ocean of love,
do not worry about the crash,
for you will fly like a dove.
If you were to miss,
and lose that dear kiss,
live and let live,
and continue to strive,
for once you find love,
you will feel alive.

Why do we choose to live life by others rules,
following everything we were taught in schools,
being herded through life like a pack of mules,
it is as if we have grown to accept our dependence.
On T.V. shows about children we don't know,
to the latest celebrity caught with a nose full of blow,
we don't realize our minds being molded like dough,
as shadows prohibit our ascendance.
But we can fight this evil that has entered our brains,
and relinquish ourselves from societies chains,
let the blood run free as it does in your veins,
and no longer live your life as if in attendance.

This pressure is like a waterfall,
as I topple from the force into the water.
I'm submerged in everything you've created,
and drowning in your dissatisfaction.
I can feel myself within your thrall,
as you begin this bloodless slaughter,
my lungs begin to feel weighted,
and I am unable to do any action.

But I have been tossed in a lake before,
and was expected to drown in the pool,
all thought I would die in the bathtub,
but luckily I know how to swim.
I will collect myself out of this mental war,
and not be played as a fool,
and it will be my turn to drub,
and I will make it to the water's brim.

I am so scared to die,
but not because it is the end,
because saying goodbye,
and leaving you to mend.
When I think of my life passing,
I do not think of my goals gone,
or any lost opportunity.
I think of  you waking up at dawn,
without my arms for security,
or the warmth from my body,
the safety which I had embodied.
I think of how you will not laugh before bed,
or dance in the living room,
you will sit and think of how I am dead,
and how your heart is filled with gloom.
I'm so scared of death,
but not just for me,
the idea of not hearing your breath,
would leave me lost at sea.

Release me like a bird from the branch,
close your eyes,
and imagine me flying away.
But when you open them; watch me plummet.
I flap my wings as hard as I can,
only to break them once I land.
Looking down at me you stare,
then turn your back without a care.

I lost it some say,
when I went away,
I lost it she said,
after we were in bed,
I lost it they spoke,
when I didn't laugh at their joke.
But I did not lose it,
it just was not there,
I created a facade for them,
but now I do not care.
I am a butterfly coming out of its cocoon,
flying high above the fears,
during a midsummer June.
I did not lose it,
when I turned you down,
I did not lose it,
when I did not drown.
I swam to the top,
and took a breath of fresh air,
and swam to the shore,
and dodged every snare.
When my feet felt the sand,
pushing between my toes as I would stand,
I did not look back into the ocean,
for I had passed that hurdle,
and am now running in full motion.

I held you so tight, as to never let go.
Only to have you melt through my arms.
I collected you and froze you with fear,
Only to have you melt through my arms again.
So I gathered you in a bucket in hopes to keep you together,
Only to have you become an vapor and fly away.
You eventually fell back down on top of me,
Only to drench and soak me.

I stood in the sun, and let you evaporate,
Only so I could go take a shower.

I was with a friend in a bar in downtown Prague,
It was one of those nights where we only want a couple drinks,
But that doesn't happen.
For we meet a few nice lads who enjoyed their drink,
And the girl they were with seemed like a little fink,
So we indulged ourselves in idle chatter; about hometowns and travels which we soon forget..
But my eyes remain upon this assumed *****,
But her lack of interest is causing a bore,
So I separate to find a new friend,
One who can keep me warm in my conceited mind,
For I do not care for the physical action,
As long as she is stimulated by my interaction.
But as the drinks add up,
And the bill gets higher.
I begin to lose faith in my ingenuity,
And begin to scoff at my insecurity,
So I find the nearest *****,
Who couldn't quite cut it before,
And I discuss how it was a glitch,
I didn't approach her at the door.
And we begin to talk,
About something I don't remember now,
But I'm sure it was smart and obscure,
Maybe about a meaningless cure..
But the night soon ends,
And I don't have my credit,
So we ****.
And leave.
And I wonder if she thought the same thing.

Say something prolific; in an exasperated tone,
separating yourself from the everyday drone.
Over-indulge in your own self shame; as you ***** out your pride,
in an effort for someone to say your name.
You once loved yourself; although unaware that the love is lost,
while trying to prove something,
as your heart was the cost.