There's a little
boy that hides in
the dark corners of
my soul.
He doesn't want to
be hurt anymore.
I spent eight years
with Beth.
For the most part,
it was hell and
constant pain.
She made nightmares
look good.
I heard the
little boy cry
late into the
silky night,
while snails got
smashed on the streets
of Ventura.

When I drank, which was often,
the little boy seemed
at peace for awhile,
while swans were
murdered in Venice,
and I tasted the ashes
of Neruda.
Years flew by
like seagulls;
up
down
and darting.
The little boy
continued to
hide in the
dark corners of my soul.

He wanted to
come out and be loved.
He was thirsty for it,
but there wasn't
any around.
It was dry, like the
deserts in hell.
It's too late for
sorries here comes
the plow.

He began to see
the pattern of life.
Some monsters walk in the light.
Vulnerability equals pain.
The little boy got mean.
And now he carries
a knife.

Get drunk, they said
but on what?
The clocks melted and laughed,
the stars bled through the cracks in the sky,
and the wind whispered sermons to no one.
The city was a carcass,
neon guts spilling into the gutters,
and I? I was just another fool
sipping gasoline from the hands of a prophet,
chasing ghosts down the boulevard of Never-Enough.

Oh, but you were there
your shadow sprawled against the moon,
your lips curled like a dying cigarette,
your hunger raw, open, beautiful.
We drowned in the music of collapsing dreams,
danced on the rooftops of forgotten prayers,
let the night chew us up and spit us out
into the morning's hollow teeth.

Time didn't own us, no
we broke its back,
ground its bones into powder,
snorted the years like they meant nothing.
Every second was a funeral for the past,
every breath a resurrection of madness.
We were the outlaws of reason,
the vagrants of meaning,
the poets of apocalypse,
and the stars burned brighter just to watch us fall.

Oh, but you wanted more
wanted the taste of infinity on your tongue,
wanted to stitch the universe into your skin,
wanted to be the god of your own ruin.
So you drank from the chalice of Never-Enough,
tore open the sky just to see if it bled,
whispered secrets to the wind
and let it carry you into oblivion.

And I?
I watched.
I carved your name into the walls of my ribs,
let your laughter echo in my broken soul,
let your shadow crawl beneath my skin.
I watched you dissolve,
watched you slip between the cracks of the night,
watched you become nothing
but a story whispered by the wind.

And now, the clocks are silent,
the city is dust,
the stars are tired of watching.
And I?
I am still drunk
but on what, I do not know.
Not on you.
Not on time.
Not on hope.
Just on the weight of everything that was,
and the quiet that followed after.

My heart is mine to rule. My life is mine to spend.
My soul is mine to stain. My mind is mine to end.
I shall grant no quarter, to fancies without order.
Fairy tales, I name them—fools, the ones who claim them.
Though reason may be theirs, though logic may be sound,
Fools I still will call them—their whispers, I will drown.
I will not heed their reasons, for reason I reject.
I will not grant them audience; their pleas, I shall forget.
Wicked, cruel, deceivers—all who claim faith’s name,
I blind my eyes against their love, for sight would bear me shame.

Yet still this hound pursues me in comment and in creed,
Soft-speaking of a Love unknown, my tears begin to bleed.
In painted dreams He haunts me, with visions rich and bright,
Where life and purpose bloom, in hues I dare not write.
His voice like water calls me, it soothes, it lulls, it sings.
Yet I will not be conquered—I will not bow to kings!
I steel my heart against Him, I bar the door with pride,
For though the song is lovely, I must not step inside.

He's writ his sonnets on my soul, yet I shall tear them free,
For though my heart may hunger, I will not let it be.
Let me be a dust speck—a fleeting breath of clay.
Let me rot in comfort until I meet decay.
No joy, no peace, no meaning beyond this fleeting spark—
No future shall I fathom; I will not fear the dark.

Too harsh, too cruel, too simple, this writ upon my soul.
My pride will suffer nothing more than death to be my whole.
I stand upon this nothing, unshaken and alone,
A throne of silent echoes, a heart as hard as stone.

Yet echoes of that singing still haunt the air I breathe,
And whispers trace a hollow space, where certainty should be.

when your feeling down.  look inside your mind and see
all the many good times that there used to be
memories you treasure that mean so much you
all those special things that you used to do

this will make you smile again take away the blue
happiness once more will return to you
memories are there to look back upon
when your feeling down help you carry on

Fly fly like a bird
high so high
wings open wide
nothing can stop you

Fly fly up up
into the sky
never looking down
don’t turn around

Fly fly your now free
Released