This is solace,
so let's
let the glass
go down.

This is solace,
no less
than living
life unbound.

This is solace,
caress
your fingers
in my palm.

this is solace.
solace
represents
no harm.

We could talk about this season,
about how it's cold,
about how it hurts more every year.

We could talk about my patterns,
about how they grow,
about their ****** and its punctuality.

We could talk about change,
about how it's inevitable,
about how it could save us, if only we'd let it.

We could talk,
but then again,
just pass the flask.
Let's drink, my friend.

Oh, black and white bumble-bee
I heard that you came for me.
Since then, I've been running away.
Your awkward skin coloring
and dotted-line poetry
is surely a sight to amaze.
But, I've got no infantry,
so I called my cavalry.
I'm sure that you'll battle for days.
Oh, black and white bumble-bee
I heard that you came for me.
Since then, I've been running away.
Your awkward skin coloring
and dotted-line poetry
is nothing I'll see on this day.

Maybe some doubt is exactly what I need;
the staleness may be temporary,
the hollow self-perceived.

I know being humble is exactly what I need;
forgetting who I have been
and seeing who I can be.

Maybe this monocracy is really what I need;
a self-governed dictatorship
that disqualifies my needs.

I hope feeling insecure is exactly what I need;
a push from behind will only make
a non-believer be believed.

But, maybe decision describes my every need;
without the aid of a constant bicker
and without putting off some heat.

I feel that this disclosure
of the real life I should lead,
may bring back the epic epicenters of things I can't believe.

But, maybe it's this doubt
that fringes the end of human being.

Or maybe its the chattering
of hate I've built while teething.

Or maybe its the "no one"
that stands beneath my feet.

Or maybe its the "no one"
that hovers over me.

This is doubt pure and true-
and I know it wants a piece of you.

You know the the feeling
of inseparable grace
hand-in-hand with a sense
of apparent distaste.

I'm so sick of sorrow
skirted by unintentional affection.
Plus, you confuse the relation
between my heart and thought sensations.

I've never hurt worse
in such a short amount of time.
You'll never read this spiel,
but a silent thought is fine.

**** this thought of hope.
**** what I would like to see.
I was so full of accusations
that I forgot to breathe.

i've got weekend friends
all throughout the week.
each doing their part in numbing me.
but, the simple thought of a tragedy
can set me off like you won't believe.
and then i'm gone,
but not back home.
to a place i'm building out of fear
that i'm not going anywhere but here.
but, if i'm gone,
then so are you.
i'm a weekend friend
is that all i am?
'cause if that's true,
i'm so over you.
and if i'm gone,
then so are you.
i'm a weekend friend-
yeah, you're right, it's true.
i'm old on me and i'm over you.
i'm a weekend friend,
but so are you.
we're weekend friends,
i'll be there, won't you?

I had an underwater swordfight
with a giant squid.
The only way to win
was by severing the head.

He had eyes the size of skies;
a heavyweight leviathan
with perfect purple skin
spanning 1000 mile limbs.

There was blood in the water;
it was all that you could see.
The monster that was slain
had been slain by only me.

There was blood in the water;
it was all that you could see.
There was blood in the water,
but it wasn't from me.

You are as confident as broken nails
and as filthy as a rodent smells.
You're like infidels in cheap hotels
where prostitutes have body sales.

This guilt was berthed when your stomach fell
forever deep into an endless well.
This is as tragic as a soiled veil
as you've become an empty shell.

Cigarette smoke climbs the walls,
but broken alarms sound muted calls.
Out here, there are countless brawls.
Your city sleeps; our city crawls.

Right around the corner,
there's a hoarder of liquor.
He wants to put it down,
but he needs it quicker.
The problems that he solves-
they don't mean a thing.
He needs everything with everything.

With a sober-straight face
and hands with nothing,
I try to lay it out to explain something.
But, he doesn't have an ear,
at least not for reason.
The bottle that he spins
doesn't land on anything.

I'm the kind of friend
that won't ever listen
and I don't ever mind it,
because I'm open-minded.

I don't need friends
that can eat their feet.
With that foot in your mouth,
where do you keep your teeth?

If you knew I had you figured out,
you might cease to be.
I see through your encryptions now.
It came so easily.

You're as rare as a Garganey,
but speak in Parakeet.
You're flightless like the Dodo bird,
but, like a Nightingale, you sing.

I thought I saw your body washing
up and down the beach.
Instead I must have seen your ghost
doing a dance for me.

I can't say that I've seen your face.
It remains a mystery.
The next time that you show your face,
I hope that you show me.

I thought I had myself in chains,
but something new led me astray.
I'm blowing all the rules of play,
but I still live the day-to-day.

Don't sit back,
you will need the edge of your seat.
I don't ever forget.
I want your death on my sleeves.

Welcome to my Monster locker.
The hinges are bending, you *******.
I've started a series of major consumption.
I'll **** your face with mind corruption.

I hope you like the taste of soil.
I'll dig real deep; a six foot toil.
The throne you house is less than royal.
I'm sure you're used to blood that boils.

The jetstream-cut clouds we see-
atop twisted trees and sympathy
when the sun gets low speaks to me.

I'm taken back by the beauty
when the stars awake and start to hang down.
The clarity of its being is a distraction
to the things that we think matter.

The sand and the view
and the things that we do
for the shine of all of its glory-
is subsequent to the things that we feel
and the plans that are piecing our stories.

Fill the void of life with me and this and that and this.
Please cherish the thought of a blessed place:
the place where we exist.

We live under floorboards
on watch until you to come.
You won't see the threat
in this ghost town facade,
but we will bind you in chains
and we'll drag you along.
We will pillage what is useful
until all is merely none.

We need your water,
but we don't need your food.
For dinner tonight,
the main dish is you.
We feed upon life and
take pride in your deaths.
We're the one's who live on.
You're survivors at best.

I've counted up to 30.
Can you figure that one out?
A bearded horse ate a feathered tiger
before he finished his fire-grilled trout.
The horse then broke his plate in anger
and the monkeys called out, 'Danger! Danger!'
The beast then laid down for a nap,
but he never woke again.
Because, the owls fed the tiger poisoned radishes
when they found out about the horse's plan.
The community was devastated;
left in awe and disarray.
The event was cemented in history
on that cold and rainy day.

If you are on your way,
what can I really say?
If it weren't already too late,
I'd put perspective in its place.

This is funny, but not funny.
You can take that how you want.
But, to me it's been misleading and it's time that it must stop.
I've not been done wrong by anyone else;
this mind stuck in atrophy was produce by myself.
How many demons run this show?
They're screaming all the time.
I think my body is treading water
and I'm waist-deep in this grime.
It's time to save face and vow for self-improvement.
It will be a ******* revolution- there is bravery in my movements.

My feelings I seek,
but my words I just eat
when I type and delete
and surmise and repeat.

asdfghjkl;

asdfghjkl;

asdfghjkl;

You've planted a ***** seed in me.
It has reduced my heart's capacity
and the way I've found these words
has become a blur.

These spastic spasm fits of venting
are a waste of human space.
So come on, baby- take a listen.
Fill your head with noise pollution
to float on your merry way.

I'm adjusting to a new found wisdom:
a way to **** this frequent nuisance.
By the way, didn't anyone tell you?
We're running out of time.

This is a constant double-standard battle.
and don't you love the way I dabble?
This is a free-for-all that I'm claiming.
Now it's mine.

Heed my advice:
you've got to let it go right.
Let's make friends with misery
and end it all tonight.

You've got to taste with your toes
before you dive in.
The places you've always known
are where I have been.

Since I've carved a pathway
for new souls to follow,
you could do the same
for a better tomorrow.

So, heed my advice:
if you let this go tonight,
you've got to let it go easy
and let it go right.

I am going to live forever-
A time thief until I die.
That may seem contradictory,
but you'll understand in time.

I'm some kind of salesman,
but I'm never keeping stock.
I don't endure the door-to-door
or walk from block to block.

What I can do is take your soul
in exchange for what you want.
Desperation fills my thoughts,
so let's just see what you have got.

I'm not really hard of hearing,
I just don't really care.
I fly through this heart-break city
like the wind in your hair.

Well, I've baited the hook
with the excuse that you took.
I could be a professional liar,
but couldn't make it as an actor.

I've been writing a script
free of any old glitch
just to make my point hit
like a *******.

I'm a sponge-like body
with a hint of faith
and I tell everybody
that I'm all but a fake.

I'm not really hard of hearing,
but skulls are pretty hard to break through.
I am a breeze made of healing
that you shouldn't just be an irate fool.

I'm not beyond feeling
and I seem like I care.
I show the face of an iceberg-
but, the bottom is there.

I'll be breaking the right things,
but good things see repair.
I hope you don't despise me,
but I'm pulling at despair.

Grief giver, soul killer.
I could ruin lives
This isn't self flattery,
It's my possessive pride.
Yet, still I mumble apologies,
it seems they're never old.
But, the freshness of our purity
has since been turned to mold.
How many times can I say I'm sorry,
before you'll even know?
I hope that one day you can trust in me
and realize I have grown.
Well, now you're in a rut,
but you should know this.
I know you'll tough it out
and you know I'll notice,
because I can always tell you at your fullest.
I know a smile can keep you afloat.
It makes the pressure lessen around your throat.
Breathe in that air, here comes the sun.
Good days are coming, your course has not run.

I said, "It's all in my hands.
I don't care if you like it."
You're suffering from feeling different.
You're a dying pilot in a pilot's cockpit.

"And if this is the end of
things we began, then
I'll embrace it automatic
and lets those ******* ******* have it again."

Say it.
Say that it's good.
Tell me something sure;
a promise for just anything.

Say it.
Say that it's good.
So while we roll around,
we won't feel the thought of being useless.

Say it.
Say that it's good.

A gloomy thought has crossed my mind:
to write a note of suicide.
When in times this hard, this rough and gritty
I do not seek your ruined pity.
A personal intimacy is what I desire-
to lift my spirit and start a fire.
With this script, I believe I'd see
the very people that believe in me.
It is with your faith that I move on.
It is with this faith that I grow strong.
My broken heart could fill an envelope
and pressed between I'd be forced to cope.
When I have reached a humbled level.
I hope the sad will weep and revel.
It is this level that I'd like to acquire;
to provide light for the weak as I inspire.

It was an awful mistake;
all the ties that you've frayed,
they get weaker now every week.

And I want you to taste
all the words that you hate.
How do they feel on the tip of your tongue?

Let's correlate;
place ambition with faith.
Let's make everything go our way.

I'll get this down;
I'll make this triangle round.
We come full circle anyway.

The leaves, they own the streets tonight
and trees are waving their goodbyes
while cars are creeping slower than I've seen.
And the only light I see tonight
is the light shone from this city sight
and maybe just a streetlight few and far between.
I heard the skattered pitter-patter
and I deciphered Nature's hidden pattern
and I'll tell you the crude tale
the Master Tree has just told me.
"What you've just heard is no mistake,
we play these songs all night and day.
But, those who have heard more,
they run, they run and they scream."
I gathered up my thoughts of this
and stood proud like a lioness.
I open my head for more before my plea,
"Won't you tell me anymore?
my life has lately been a bore."
This is what he had to say to me.
"In this darkness that you walk,
these Trees and I, we seldom talk.
but, tonight we have a song I'd like to sing,
(he croons)
"We'd like to de-root this earth's humanity
and bruise you and curse you for ruining
this beautiful thing
that we have all come to call home,
but soon we'll be extinct,
so I ask if you'll lose this battle with me.
It's one we can not win alone."
"I don't understand," I say,
"because I can't do anything.
I'm a man,
I'm a lost one,
you see?"
Well, quickly he looked down on me,
drowning in my blasphemy,
and the tree grew 1,000 feet tall.
"You are now my enemy
and I would **** you instantly,
but I'm just a tree,
I'm a tree and that's all."
Before I could give a response,
I ran as fast as I could
and, eventually, I made it home.
I thought, "These tales are tales for garden gnomes
and fake elven heroes."
and with that I finished my wine
and went to sleep.
For, I am just a man.
Just a lost one, you see?
There's no hope from a man that's like me.

I love a devil's birthday from the sky.
Instead of from the ground, it's coming down.
I saw clouds collide before my eyes
like salty sea foam when the tide is nigh.
It is short-lived glory that lives the most.
I'm making the best of the time I host.
I've been told to not hurry or rush myself,
but I'd rather live fast than die on a shelf.

Well, I'm sorry, but that isn't enough.
Well, you're sorry, but that isn't enough.

We nullify chances for happiness.
We're hopeless so, let's pack up and go.
I've seen myself sink deeper than the sea
starting at my toes, flooding past my teeth.
If there's no salvation for soulless men,
I better cover my tracks and where I've been.
This rope-a-dope hope game has no class.
I'm running out of time and I'm out of gas.

Well, I'm sorry, but that isn't enough.
Well, you're sorry, but that isn't enough.

Oh, songbirds nestled in a treetop
singing songs, well that's what I want.  
I'd change the world, I'd change it if I could.  
I'd fight harder than I once fought
and take pride in all that I've got.  
I'd offer more than offered if I could.  
I'm standing at a junction
finding temporary function
in coping skills I've gained from only me.
I've prepared for an eruption,
but couldn't fathom the corruption
that I've been holding all along inside of me.  
I'm too afraid, so I'll just run then
to get away from what I've closed in.  
I'd open doors but I can't, that's just me.

When I don't know what I want to know,
my thoughts become intangible.

I'm forever on the edge of this
undying threat of helplessness.
But, with my hope, if I persist,
I'll cross the line of competence.

To slow down time, I need machines
to manipulate the flow of things.
I'm having trouble swallowing
the corruption that my harvests bring.

I don't know what I need to know,
but I know I'm indestructible.

Her mouth: the trap door.
It pulls you in and screams for more
and now she's flirting with disaster,
playing with fire and burning faster.

Her latch is weak and opens easy.
You'll always lose when she gets greedy.
Also stemmed from her abyss:
the self -respect of a dying fish.

Oh, it comes and goes, but here it comes.
We better latch the door and ******* run.

Defeated

I have my white flag waving.
I'm in the trenches waning.
I have my black heart breaking
with the pressures gaining.

I've got a spot of color just behind my eyelids.
I've got a sense of anger burning red and vibrant.

I've got a flash of hope behind apprehension.
I've got the notion of defeat in our separation.

I have my white flag waving
with the pressures gaining.
I have my my black heart breaking.
I'm in the trenches waning.

Your sense of delusion makes me sick
and while I thought that I was good at it,
my efforts don't seem to amount to ****
next to the heaps that you've harvested.

I swear your face is a place only for waste
and your eyes tell lies that pile to the sky.
To find that you've not mustered a sense humility
might be a worldwide shock, but is no surprise to me.

I know **** well  just who you are
and I know where you've come from.
Yet, I still don't understand the things
that we had once begun.

I swear you turn demons out from angels
and could make a Moon out of the Sun.
Just know that I'll be the one who's laughing
after all is said and all is done.

Analog kisses.
You'll soon be
my Mrs.

In a digital mission,
you're sculpting
my vision.

Analog kisses.
We're closing
the distance.

Digital collisions
are spewing
precision.

Analog kisses.
Seminal wishes.

Seminal wishes.
Analog kisses.

I'm used to disappointment,
but I don't readily avoid it.
It's a fixed and constant chain,
like always constant is change.

I'm used to disappointment-
I've been known to travel with it
and it's an ever-constant pain
like always constant is change.

I think I've been bugged, but not the whole world is watching.
This is a sight for private eyes with sad, cryptic mumbling.
I've got more tabs than a notebook,
but surely she won't look
because there is nothing to find.
She tells me to worry,
I tell her to hurry
and clean up the mess that's not mine.
All of the doctors will diagnose this,
it's only a matter of timing.
A.P.S. in your chest.
The gears of your heart have been grinding.

I can't tell if this is real.  
I have horrible depth-perception skills.
It kills me, but fills me
with time-spent reciepts,
new feats and new beats;
a loud symphonic repeat.
'3-2-1' wont sound like much
with my self-destruction once
I separate it from the bunch
by destroying everything I touch.
I'm a ravaging savage
scavenging habits.
I'm blasphemous at average,
without a handle on damage.
I am everything love wants to hate.
I am death reincarnate.

The disillusion of man:
the most epic grandeur.
Smoke and mirrors,
mind tricks and light tricks,
without all the filler,
but not without power,
has been drowning in valor,
been making us cower,
been making us bitter
and turning us sour.
It's for the worst.

There's a sizable difference
between our lives and existence.
But, we can cover the distance
with an epic persistence.

We should try out indifference
without leaving our imprints
and cast away our existence
to the edge of fickle brilliance.

She has a presence in this room
that hangs like death in the air;
with scripted apologies,
as if we are unaware.
she swears,
but no one really cares.
she swears.
but, why would anyone care?

Her words, they smell of ****,
like a crooked spasm of a fit
over nothing to be seen;
some imaginary being.
She swears,
but no one really cares.
She swears and she swears,
but she's just a culprit *****
of the ******.

Her words, they smell of ****.

Yes, I am your lover, but I won't ever be your friend.
We will never be more than we have ever been.
I've been writing down these words in repentance of my sins.
There's no need to be alarmed; this merely ends where it begins.

No, you're not my lover, but you'll always be my friend.
We will never be as much as we've already been.
You've forced on me this distance and I will break before I bend.
There is cause to be alarmed; you've severed ties that we can't mend.

I couldn't keep up.
I could not keep in touch.
I couldn't ever tell you
that we needed to grow up.
I had to sever ties.
I need you kept out of my life.
I had to get by my denial
just to get by your lies.

You are a poison.
You're a stain.
You're a fight.
You are helpless.
You are wrong.
You were right.

I had to speak up.
You had to interrupt.
You need to find a way to trust
the rotten feeling in your gut.
I could not see you through,
but I could see right through you.
While it is spouting an excuse,
your mouth will never tell the truth.

You were reason.
You were effort.
You were light.
That was then,
then was day,
this is night.

I've got slivers in my thumbs
and an infection in my gums.
I'm throwing out my stops
and setting fire to my crops.

I want to start this venture with a newly cleaned slate.
I've built bridges in my mind to new places I don't hate.
I've done things I've been ashamed of and I've done things I can't believe,
but the past is not my future and my faults will take their leave.

You can trust me now.
My dishonesty, I cede.
I've loosened up these chains
and made it possible to see.
So who else will to step out
to take a new life on with me?

Could you cut the ****?
Because, you sound like me;
playing on the edge of sanity.
Violets and violence
and things like defiance.
Could you just ******* trust me?
We all need some guidance.
Misdirection, perception and my misconceptions-
I might as well mention the years of deception.
Oh, the panic! The havoc!
"We think that we have it!"
Now, they've got us preaching
like screaming fanatics.
Go ***** to the wall.
I'm giving my all
and you'll only witness
my rise, not my fall.

My alarm clock screams.
Been awake for three hours;
so ahead of the game,
unaware of my powerless range.

I’ve been tossing, turning, creaking,
coming up with new names;
another attempt to link together
all of my fireless plains.

Hey, I’m running on fumes.
Hey, I’m Eugene Tooms;
stretching, twisting, warping,
got you reaching for clues.

It’ll all come together,
posted up in my room;
just typing up a dichotomy
of life as a lifeless plume.

I crawled into your mind
to steal a piece of beauty to call mine.
It took a lot of effort,
but it didn't take a lot of time.

It was a spray of bright colors
separated by slumber
and a series of numbers;
a natural canvas of infectious affection,
gorgeous perfection
and a skull for protection.

But, I harbored your hard work
like a grunt doing yard work.
I gathered much hastily
and I'm taking it back with me.

At even a mind's world apart,
with a quick enough start,
we can do enough damage
to leave permanent marks.

Get comfortable.
Get back to what you think you know.

Become able.
Become the keen and valuable.

Be gracious, giving, heartfelt and kind.
Give love, give thanks, give peace of mind.

These eyes are tired.
This stomach is weak.
iIve been vaguely thinking of why this could be.
But, right now it isn't vague; it's a little bit more
and in the back of my head is a thought.
Perhaps it's this thinking and the things i'm repeating
or maybe it's a little bit more.

I'm complete with sobriety and self-proclaimed notoriety
of living a life without sleep.
Now the wear, the tear, the feeling of nothing
and this fatigue are starting to creep.
My own deprivation just might be the answer,
but maybe its a little bit more.

It keeps adding up, just like I had thought
and it will only keep growing, I'm sure.
There's a little bit more, a little bit more.
There's a little bit more, of that I am sure.

Let's say a godsend is just a dishonorable mention
and that we improve ourselves with our own inventions.
Then, would we have the right intention
to merely carry on without discretion?

Let's say that you and I are real
and these miracles that plain to see.
Let's take two steps back and fit the bill,
while the ticket still has vacancy.


I propose that we just live
and swear to you I'll die by this.
Connect our senses with a kiss.
Let's breed romance with hopelessness.

I live and die by what I know
and always question what I'm told.
I'd like to see what you can show.
Your privacy is getting old.

I'll set the pace,
control the course,
I will make waves
with no remorse.

You will be scared
and that's the worst.
I will make waves
with no remorse.

Its time to make or break,
time to make it work.
I will make waves
without support.

It is time for open minds
and open hearts.
I will make waves
without support.

I set the pace,
control the course,
I'm making waves
with no remorse.

Apprehensive means fearful,
but what's the big fear, though?
This time it can't be the unknown.
Because, wherever the trust went,
it took something with it.
It's that "something" I'm trying to find.
I feel like I've been mind-****** by only myself.
My dimensions of pride have been standing on stilts.
Out of 10 bright lights,
10 of them flash red.
The notion of progress is trite
and straight ******* dead.
As of late I am not a body,
just thoughts that keep me up at night.
So, either I've become invisible,
or I've gone ******* blind.