My dear you are shades, degrees of the person never meant to be whole.
Tragedy is then regrets cast stones long sense that the demise in the darkness of the river's bed.

Can you take to wing what was never meant fly?
Embrace the man you never truly knew.
From have heard conversations and bedside confessions my dear does the night still hold true the way I never held you.

Can we erase this simply redesign it to her own liking?
Bury your head in the pillow lose yourself within pleasures only to mask it in half heard desires.

I give you this and nothing more dead skin under nail, souvenir of what never was.
Sometimes we make it more than it ever truly could be, paint the picture that never capture the flaws.

When to stained-glass views blind vision is my true reprise.
Will you answer that call?

Our children will ask,
They will point to us,
And their eyes will see our souls,

What will we tell them?
We kept silent as the world fell apart,
We let monsters scare away our freedom.

Maybe the moon isn't as full from where you stand tonight across the distance only fools and coyotes know.

Maybe my old vices will do me in as you always said they will.
If it were nothing more than traggic  wouldn't that be something just the same.

I never was meant for a vision you see of better days locked within your head.

I told you goodbye that night as the stars were masked by street lights and the pavement gave little cushion for are demise.

Maybe is a word often used in dreams but im far to awake to care for now.


The luck like the bottle around me is often empty.

I never hid behind dark glasses kid .
And I know you will learn to forget with time.

I never was meant for the sunset guess I will simply have to fade with the night instead.

Maybe you will recall me later in life .

Something tells me you can't love a lie no matter its intention.

And nothing understands the truth like the night passed .

Maybe .

I should leave here
but there's a hole needs burying

- a mountain of memories
and a thousand miles of pain -
it still smells like you
even after it rains

At the table by the window
where you used to read -
there's a whiskey bottle
that I'm trying to put away

There - is a hole that needs burying
one of these days.

r ~ 9/1/14

you see
as much as i see
that we cannot

yet we both know
which goes to show
how good we get

each other

you make this hard
for it to be easy

just to reach out and
hold your hand
with my small hand

because even doing
that
folds my heart
corner

i do not choose wisely
and i do not release
rarely

The venom shared from the pillow held witness by the dark.
Can this embrace be cancer to us both?
Are the words hollow as so is the bullet just as dangerous in a lovers hand.

All will be forgiven one day when the hate has been washed clean and all truths tattered beyond reality.

Did we go beyond the path somewhere deeper than are first intention.
A ocean may drown as easy as the silence between us.

Nothing knows better than the night .
And her tears shed were simply a casting calls allure .
Smoke rings to the celling to vanish and linger all the same.

I am memory.

The worst poison of them all.
Killing with time and good intentions.

Nobody has a answer .

the floor digging into curves
i did not know by body had
with my body curving absurd
my hands full of realization
that my shapes are awry
off-the-mark

my legs sit ahead
lax tired filled with exhaustion
of not enough miles walked
enough sitting around day
to day and working on
support of my sitting body

i feel sorry to have taken
away their purpose
a life should be better
lived but it's owner
weary and filled
with excuses

works day and night
on sitting or sleeping
not doing much but
just a floater
focused on
a sky always cloudy

a pathetic soul
one of many
just a sad sad soul
in its generalizing
with the many
and the soul has no
shine

but hit escape
life has its
own rhythm and groove

but the groove that once
made itself known
seeps into the silence of
trees, nights, stars
rarely seen

words barely written
unartistic
unassuming
arbitrary
uninteresting
invisible

­screaming heart
quietens under
burden of
weightlessness
of existence