there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at ****** are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to **** you
to **** anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

their finest art

My life is the stage.
The bright lights shimmering on the black gloss of the piano,
the intent audience beaming with anticipation,
the spine-tingling shivers you get when everything goes right.

I love the stage.
You leave it and people clammer about you,
force feeding you words of affection,
words of excitement,
words of belief.

No one ever wonders what it’s like when you leave the stage.
Do they really care?

A week after a show:
an army of fans.
Two weeks after a show:
they ask for you to do it again.
Three weeks after a show:
it’s like you never existed.

Is all you want from me a song,
a monologue,
a poem?

Did you ever stop to think that I’m more than just a voice,
a face,
a pen?

I feel like you think I’m a machine,
heartless,
soulless.

I am human too,
I am a pulse too,
and I am a soul too.

My life is the stage.
When I leave it,
I become my own shadow.

Matthew Skelly
October 5, 2013

Death has followed me home.
Standing just at the edge of my vision.
Walking near me but never with me.
Silently and subtly you've become my companion.

The fire in my soul has ceased giving you reign.
Cold has come over my entirety.
A stillness that makes me uneasy.
A black deeper than the night.

I can't feel my hands
I can't face the light.
I can't focus my eyes.
I can't seem to feel my breath.

So easy to let it slide away from me.
So simple to concede this war.
So elegant to become nothing again.
So amazing to fade away.







I won't do that though.  

There are people I want to see smile for at least a life time more.
There is a woman I love and I want to be near.
There is a man I want to break.
Selfishly I'll keep on moving.

I'll trudge on because there is still so much I've got to do.

I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.

it was the first time I'd
realized
that.