"Not interested. "
"We're sorry but we're not hiring at this time. "
Getting that email
Again and again
Is why i write this rhyme.

What am i doing wrong?
Did i really offend or upend someone?
Why do i keep getting my hopes up?
How do i find the audacity to hope,
Again then i get dumped on like a truck?

Unemployment *****

Why did i learn not to cry?
Instead covering up my leaking plasma with mild mannered sarcasm and a half years worth of jokes that take pokes at love and deprecates what little self worth
I even have at this point, but i guess i could only tell you this story if you rolled up a joint
So go ahead and spark away, let your sensibilities fade... I'll wait.


Now that the good stuff is in the air i know you won't care but it goes back a few years and i feel tears fall down as into the mirror i stare
When was the last time i put all i had into the one i cared for? A few years ago and all of a sudden she dissapeared, my faith in love went with her i guess, i was blessed to have even been able to call her mine and she inspired countless rhymes of mine.

She was special, one in a million like a worthwhile investment
But like the stock market in the 30s we crashed and i was alone and shapeless like dust in kansas
So for the sake of myself and others i spent time alone
Rediscovering what self love is and stitching myself back together as my heart and head still recovered like a small town from harsh weather

I guess part of me is scared that that will happen again, even among friends.
But where one chapter ends another must begin
The hands left the wall and the writing is written
My past is my past and that's dead now. Though I'll never forget the harsh lessons.

"Come on page, where do the words fit?"
In the puzzle that is my brain, i ask as at
The table i sit
My hairs have split, like cheap ****** Remy
But then again maybe my idea bulb isn't lit.

"Come along pen, why can't you write?"
We've been up with this piece since last night
I ask myself again, this is really starting to frighten me, i know i might be pressuring myself too much,
But that's where the best moments come from, in the clutch.

"Come on heart, where's your spark? You usually flutter in the act of creating art!"
But alas no wings flapping, and no adrenaline rushing like a spotted chameleon
Just stone faced cynicism like a gremlin

Help me,
Someone save me
I want these corridors of my mind
To be painted black like a rolling Stone, because i find
That my knee **** reaction to problems
Is to revel in my past knowing that won't solve them.
But still they try
To bore into my mind
Breaking and entering is I'm sure a crime
Someone help me, save me please
Save me from the persistence of a memory

Ever have a browser open
With many different tabs?
Its a slippery *****
From one tab needed,
To about 20 for no reason
Some only open for a second
Taking up more bandwidth than the
Christmas season
It's like when it slows down, your computer
Is committing the high act of treason
Bleeding onto the overstimulated neurons
That occupy your mind with things so frivolous
And then you see..

The holes in your thoughts and logic creeping and creaking, closer to falling apart
Like listening to someone with a perpetually broken heart
Speak about love purer than the whitest dove
And how they'll never fall apart...

That's what my brain is like
Ive long since given up the fight...

If i could sing,
I'd exhaust my lungs
To sing you a song that would heal
All the wounds left by that someone
Who didn't know what they had until it was gone
I'd do all i could to repair your fragile heart, bruised and battered by the cold winds of life
I'd strum a melody that brought your mind back together into a place only consisting of peace
Where happiness and wonders never ceased.
Because a song of healing, is something that we all need to hear.

If my brain and heart could both shut up that'd be nice
Or even better if an inventor could create a device
That could remove these ticks and overactive nerves
That manifest themselves as habits it doesn't take an idiot to observe
I don't know what purpose they serve
But it's eating my time and life up like an hors d'oeuvre
Whether nervous or in habit,
I feel and look like a posessed rabbit,
Rabid with energy that must be expended
A toap on a desk, a scratch to my face or a muscle that must straighten and then be bent
Again and again.
I'm sick of this problem but it shall not win!