I wear this tattered shirt
It has a little dirt
The sleeves are too long
And the buttons are wrong
It has diagonal stripes
And a little pocket for wipes
Its red white and yellow
People think i am an odd fellow
I wear this shirt everyday
No matter what people say
Even if the tag is in Latin
It may be expensive satin
But i love my shirt
I'll wear it into the dirt.

You've  worn down the souls of your shoes.
Looks like you've blown a fuse
***** hit the fan
your left without a plan
Everyones moving and your standing still
Popping that little white pill
Laughing and singing as time slips away
What do you have to display?
A stroll with no end in sight
A stoner's rich delight
Stand up or stand down
There's no other way around
Time to get new shoes
Time to stop singing the rich boy blues
Get your **** straight
And clear off your plate

They shrink inside their coats
Their voices stuck in their throats
They want to scream in pain
They walk through the rain
Their trench coats a pitch black
Hope is something they lack
They walk a dead man's march
Its hard for even them to watch
They stare at there muddy shoes
As they silently sing the blues
It echoes in there heads
As they long for warm beds
The line seems to be endless
All of them alone and friendless
Empty trench coats marching on
All of them already gone
An empty husk
That will be gone by dusk.

I ride the silence of the night
Wind blows all around me
Trust me its quite the sight
Flying free always free
I open my eyes
Everything is off shade
From the black snow skies
Things burst and quickly fade
The clouds are thin and thick
The cold grips my skin
It chills me quick
I awake in my bed
I am scared
It was all in my head

The woods are cold and desolate
The sun is dimly lit
The shadows move fast
Nothing bright will last
old gnarled trees stand tall
at the roots lay an old little doll
her old brown hair tied in knots
her cloth skin slowly rots
an old man walks around
his gray eyes facing the ground
he steps on crushed leaves
For the lost souls he grieves
The woods here are dying
the birds are no longer flying
all has fallen to the floor
what once moved doesn't move anymore

A bag full of winds
Nothing ends or begins
I chose a direction
There is no correction
I just wander
Thoughts i ponder
I bathe myself in smells
I experience personal hells
I hear a child's cry
I see a woman die
I don’t know what i know
My wind does not blow
My bag deflates
I consider my fates
I realize all is fair in love and war
and its shaken me to the core
Love and war are in all things
With all the troubles they bring
I get back on my feet
I refuse to admit defeat
The sun still shines
On our impressionable minds

The poem stretches down the page
Stained with tears and flowing with rage
Written with a trembling hand
Its disconnected and hard to understand
It jumps from here to there
It is everywhere
Its all in the poets head
it sleeps with you in bed
it follows with its jumbled lines
You read what is seemingly defines
But your eyes rearrange the words
They appear like soft little birds
You read what you want to read
afraid where to where it might lead