The words on the page,

From the awkward man-boy,

Flow so freely form the pen.

They speak of pain, and love.

They speak of life, and loss.

He does it to be free,

Free from the stress of life,

Free from the times of hurt.

Only a boy and a book,

The pen flows freely,

As the man-boy opens up.

If I could tell you how I feel,

It would probably hurt you.

It's the last thing I want to do,

But I'm being pulled like a rope.

To stay or go? How do I know?

This decision will not be easy

I don't want you to think I'm sleezy

The young man was hungry,

The young man was innocent.

His clothes were very *****,

His face showed his fear.

The decisions of his past,

Left him lost to all, a ghost.

He was alone in the world,

Not a penny to his name.

He was oh so trusting,

Maybe to a fault.

He wanted to see the love,

The kindness of Humankind.

So when asked for a favor,

He instantly accepted.

The young man took the bag,

No questions were asked.

When the police came,

The truth came out.

The bag was filled with money,

***** from the botched heist.

The young man will never be the same.

As the jail cell slammed,

And he was locked in,

The young man screamed,

"Why me?"

Writing makes the world go 'round.
Writing brings the Earth down.
Writing teaches those all around.
Writing can lead to new ground.
Writing has caused so many wars.
Writing takes us to many places.
Writing has opened up closed doors.
Writing can give us brand new faces.
Writings words can bring us all together.
Writing words can be lighter than a feather.

The bottle followed him around,

Like the sun to the skies.

He spit like no other,

Always giving him lost words.



The man with the lip,

Made it oh so enticing.

But the resulting cancer,

Made it so engrossing.



He would do it every day,

Until he could do it no more.

He made his habit known,

Like the characters of before.



When the boys saw the thing,

They had no clue what to do.

To try it, they say,

Was the best thing to prove.



The history of their fate,

Is told from the man,

So addicted to what he thinks is life,

The rest are lost in the path of lore.



Once addicted, always addicted,

And that’s the way the cards played out,

And that’s the way the world pays out,

Every day a struggle to deny,


The temptations of many, the vice of one

The child looks for guidance.

The man looks for answers.

The child chooses defiance.

The man chooses the wrong cancers.

The child is thrown in the wrong direction.

The man is ****** into the wrong life.

The child is all ready for the injection.

The man fears the sudden strife.

They know nothing of whats ahead,

While they lay in their comfy bed.

The worker bee hurries,

As the queen worries.

Like the underlings rush,

As the politicians hush.

The intensities of the world,

Seemingly more and more bold.

The everyday man,

With his everyday plan,

Has no idea what’s in store.

After the end, he’ll want no more,

Of this crazy little thing,

We like to call the War Machine.