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Ryan Topez Mar 2014
Years of being **** on
Taken away in a day
The small things in life
All fell into place

A package came in the mail
I got a new tattoo
I booked a trip to Brisbane
I get to see you

The corner store didn't have
The cigarettes I wanted
I tried a brand they had
Kind of glad I got it

I made a new song
On my second hand guitar
It's not very good
But it's my favorite so far

I got the bus for a students fair
The café I went to was closed
They let me anyway
Why? I don't know

Now I'm sitting by a steady river
On the outskirsts of the city center
Just my perfect day and I
The wind blew past and didn't shiver
There's not a cloud in the sky
Ryan Topez Feb 2014
Good things don't happen to those who wait,
Good things happen to those who stay up late,
And study their books,
Of predetermined fate,
I know good things don't happen to those who wait.

Waste the day,
Stay up late,
Live life in a nocturnal state,
Of being,
And be that bird of prey
That hunts the mice of the day.

Stay awake,
Stay afraid,
Stay looking like five lines of *******.
All white eyed and dry.

Look for lines, search for friends,
No more ink left in my pen.
Metaphors so vague, less vivid,
It's not hard to tell that I'm ******* timid.

Gaze from the window in your
Packed like sardines shack,
And shout to the city skyline,
The trains shout back.

Lie to yourself and 'live' under a light polluted sky,
If only for another night.
Give all you have to give,
Shiv who you have to shiv,
Just to get by.

In the end the sardine tin opens,
Right before we die,
Before we go stale and feel numb inside.
Everything is open but we're so shut out,
I'd rather die in the day,
Just like the mouse.
Ryan Topez Jan 2014
Tonight I went to a house warming party,
Just to be nice,
When I really should have been at home,
With my hungover head on ice.

I didn't like most of the people there,
They bored me in fact,
Especially the cliche hippies with long dreaded hair,
Clothes, barely intact.

As the night went on,
The washed up ****** ****,
Came through the gate.
One by one by one.

I don't have time for people,
They drain me.
Trying to be nice by buying minors alcohol,
But no one repays me.

The welcome wasn't the warmest,
I was patronised because of my mode of transport,
By yet another ****** ****,
And his tattered up Jansport.

Eighteen years to realise,
That the public and I don't get a long.
Eighteen years later and I can guarantee,
That i'll be singing my own funeral song.
Ryan Topez Jan 2014
The girl at the book store
With dark shoulder length hair
Fervent in the way she moved
And all I could do was stare

She approached me, dancing
'Can I help you look?'
'Sorry? Oh, I'm just glancing'
'Let me know if you need help finding a book'

She hung around,
No more than an aisle away
When I looked up,
Her body was in the way

'Do you stock Factotum?,
Then i'll be on my way'
Ryan Topez Dec 2013
A night of high expectations and slick back hair.
A night of hopping trains from where home was, to here.
When I asked for a good time,
The night responded with *** fights,
Under the flicker of street lights.
Casting shadows of bare tree branches, leafless and old.
Defining what it means to be empty and cold.

The people at the station take photos of themselves,
With the person they've chose to love for the night.
Not knowing how to recollect,
A memory probably not worth remembering.

Everyone brushes shoulders with everyone else.
They lack an artistic view,
Yet they still try hard to paint themselves.
Ryan Topez Dec 2013
I drifted unnoticed like a muted sound,
As loud people floated past.
Through the roaring of a busy crowd.
I drifted as silently as a muted sound.

In back alleys of the polluted downtown,
I stood on cigarette butts
And kicked Starbucks cups along the ground.
But still could not make a sound.

One sound, any sound
And I would be proud
One sound, any sound
And I would forget this frown

Across the river and under the bridge,
I walked silently and alone.
Asking people for directions,
Trying to find my way home.

Standing on uncommon ground,
So far from the few I miss.
Still unheard like a muted sound,
The hushed silence of the abyss.
Ryan Topez Dec 2013
The affiliation with gangs keeps the *** shops in business after hours
The prostitutes sell their souls and bodies to make ends meet
But what does 'making an honest living' even mean?
When the police can't even keep the streets we call home, clean?
When the government can't keep crime at bay,
And show these forgotten souls a different pathway?
But can still look forward to a pay rise every second day.

Déjà vu of a man walking his dog home after the transaction is complete.
The drugs are in his hand and his dog is on a leash.
The man doesn't have dark skin so police let him walk in peace.

The moon is high,
Casting a shadow,
Over the kids in the streets.
Higher and brighter than the moon could ever be,
They stay out late,
So they can afford to sleep.

The world was theirs if they had a can and clean walls,
To express the lost art called freedom of speech,
But if they didn't,
Then who's world was it?
Probably yours.

The stumbling ******,
Caught fumbling his car keys,
Is put behind bars,
Before he reaches his car.

After further investigation,
He was searching for his insulin.
Oh well,
Six months imprisonment.

If he does't retaliate he'll get off on probation,
But if he has a fit from not getting his medication,
We'll say he attacked us.
Beat him to death,
And get awarded community protection,
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